My life is little,
Only a cup of water,
But pure and limpid.
Dear oh dear, she was waxing quite poetic! She smiled to herself and looked out into the garden, where the bare, dripping boughs were being whipped into a frenzy by the wind.
The doorbell rang out; she heard footsteps and laughter in the hall, and a prolonged wiping of feet on the mat. Marie had returned with Freddie; she supposed they would go upstairs, but no, they were coming this way, and entered a moment later, having divested themselves of their dripping raincoats and muddy overshoes. They were still laughing, and brought with them a rush of cold air and moisture into the warm room.
‘Well I never!’ exclaimed Marie. ‘Behold Milady warming her feet by the fire! And quite right, too!’
‘Would Milady like a cushion for her back?’ teased Freddie.
‘You can laugh as much as you like!’ murmured Lili, nestling herself deeper in her chair. ‘Here I am, warm as toast and my feet all nice and dry, but you’re very welcome to go splashing about in the mud.’
Marie said she could do with some refreshment and went off to make tea, while Freddie stepped into the conservatory to greet Mr Verstraeten.
Then they all sat down together for afternoon tea, and Lili was quite happy to join in, for all that she had not been splashing about in the mud.
‘How dark it is in here, Lili, how could you see to read? You know it’s bad for your eyes to read in such poor light,’ said Marie.
‘I wasn’t really reading at all,’ responded Lili, relishing her dolce far niente.
‘Ah, Milady has been meditating again!’ said Freddie.
‘Mm, divine!’ said Lili, smiling with half-closed eyes. ‘Doing absolutely nothing … just dreaming the time away.’
They all broke into laughter at this confession of unashamed laziness. Madame Verstraeten came in, looking for the basket of keys Marie had neglected to return, and she came upon the three girls giggling over their tea while the keys lay beside the pastry dish.
Thereupon Frédérique declared that she must be going; she had been invited to the soirée dansante at the Eekhofs that evening, and still had some details to see to regarding her party dress. Madame Verstraeten pronounced it very sensible of Lili to have stayed indoors when it was raining cats and dogs, unlike Freddie and Marie.
…
Again there was a ring at the door. This time it was Paul, bringing with him so much cold and wet that he was sent out of the room again to wipe his shoes properly.
‘Such abominable weather!’ he sighed, glad to be permitted to settle into an armchair at last.
Leaving the young people to themselves, Madame Verstraeten moved to the conservatory to sit with her husband who, however, hearing of Paul’s arrival, came forward to greet him.
‘Hello, Uncle.’
‘Well hello, Paul, how are you? And how is your mama?’
‘Oh I’m very well, Uncle, and Mama is well too; when I left home she was immersed in a book lent to her by Eline.’
‘Tell me, have you paid a visit to Hovel yet?’
‘No, Uncle, not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, don’t leave it too long. Hovel is anxious to make your acquaintance.’
‘Paul, you said you were going to see Hovel four days ago!’ cried Marie. ‘How can you take so long to make up your mind to do it? It’s not as if it’s a long journey, is it?’
‘I was planning to go tomorrow.’
‘Well, I hope you do. I suggest you call at half-past six, he is always at home at that hour. I urgently advise you not to put it off any longer!’ said Uncle Verstraeten, with a gleam of annoyance in his otherwise cheerful dark brown eyes as he returned to the conservatory with unwonted briskness.
‘Paul, you naughty boy!’ said Frédérique, shaking her head. ‘How could you be so lazy? You’re worse than Lili.’
‘I’ll do it tomorrow for sure,’ said Paul gruffly, lifting his cup of tea.
‘You’re nothing if not lazy,’ Marie pursued, unafraid of his temper. ‘And to be honest, we all disapprove.’
‘You’re not going to give me a lecture now, are you, you old granny?’
‘I don’t care what you call me, I’m just giving you my opinion. You see, I think it’s a shame you’re like that, because there’s such a lot you could achieve if only you had a bit more determination. You mark my words, if you don’t pull yourself together you’ll end up like Henk; he’s good and kind to be sure, but not one for undertaking a great deal, is he? You know I’m not mad about Betsy, but I can quite understand her getting terribly bored at times with your brother doing nothing all day.’
‘Now don’t you say a word against Henk! He’s such a dear!’ cried Frédérique.
‘And besides,’ Marie went on, ‘you’re much more talented than Henk, which makes your laziness and your lack of energy doubly inexcusable.’
‘Just leave him be, Marie,’ said Lili, rising from her seat, ‘don’t get cross with poor old Paul.’ Then, turning to Paul, she whispered: ‘Now make sure you go and see Hovel tomorrow, do you hear? Then everything will be all right.’
He gave her a grin and promised to better his ways if that was what they wanted.
‘It looks as if I am to be placed under the guardianship of my cousins and Miss van Erlevoort,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Well then, perhaps they will be so kind as to grant their young ward another cup of tea?’
…
The downpour had come to an end, but the dripping boughs were still swaying in the wind. At half-past five the doorbell sounded yet again.
‘Half-past five already!’ cried Frédérique. ‘I must dash, because I bought some ribbons this afternoon that I still I want to put on my dress. Oh, it’s going to be lovely tonight – me wearing all that floaty tulle! Where did you leave my parcels, Marie?’
‘Did you hear the bell?’ asked Lili. ‘Another visitor, do you suppose?’
Frédérique waited a moment, as she had to put on her raincoat in the vestibule, and Dien came in to enquire whether they were at home to Mr de Woude van Bergh.
‘I rather think not, Dien, but go and ask in the conservatory.’
‘Oh, not him again!’ cried Lili. ‘He’s such a prig!’
‘He’s not so bad,’ retorted Paul. ‘And not in the least priggish, either.’
‘Anyway, I have no wish to see him!’ she said, and made to close the sliding door when Dien was dispatched to show the visitor in.
‘Lili, don’t be absurd, come along now!’ said Marie.
‘No thank you very much, you go yourself,’ she said, and slid both doors together just as De Woude stepped into the salon. He was welcomed by Marie, who led him to the conservatory.
Paul and Frédérique laughed and bade Lili goodbye, then all three passed through the dining room to the hall.
‘Au revoir, please convey my respects to Uncle and Aunt, and tell Uncle I shall certainly go and see Hovel after supper tomorrow,’ said Paul.
‘Please give them my regards too, and tell them I had to rush!’ said Freddie.
‘All right then, goodbye, have fun this evening, in your floaty tulle! Brr, how cold it is here in the hall!’
Paul and Freddie left, and Lili returned through the dining room. Georges de Woude? Oh, he was making a courtesy call after last week’s soirée, that was all! No, she couldn’t abide him. So affected, so stuck up! How could Paul see anything in him? Paul she thought a thousand times more agreeable and more spirited. How Marie had lectured him! Paul was all right, and if he had turned out a bit on the lazy side, what of it? He had money, after all, and could afford to enjoy himself for a time; he would get himself a position eventually, she was sure. She would tell Papa that Paul had promised to call on Hovel tomorrow, and he always kept his word.
She sat down again in the old armchair and leant forwards to poke the fire, then put on some more coal and peat, and another log. She warmed her fingers, which had grown cold, and rubbed her
small hands, cool as white satin. Through the closed door she could hear the muffled exchange going on in the conservatory. Mostly she could distinguish Georges’ voice – he was obviously in a very talkative frame of mind. Her curiosity being aroused, she stood up and carefully opened one of the sliding doors a crack so she could peep into the conservatory, past the broad-leafed palms. Papa and Mama were not in view, but she could just see Marie’s face and Georges’ back. How funny it would be if Marie saw her spying on them like this, but her sister appeared to be absorbed in what that fop Georges had to say for himself. Lili could just make out the shiny edge of his collar and the tails of his coat – very smart! There, Marie was looking up, yes she’d noticed her! She waved gaily, dropped a little curtsey, then pulled a face which made Marie frown and purse her lips so as not to burst out laughing.
…
It was getting dark as Frédérique hurried home to the Voorhout. Willem, the manservant, let her in, and she flew down the spacious hall and up the broad staircase. She almost tripped over her niece and nephew, Madeleine and Nico van Rijssel. Their mother was her elder sister Mathilda, who, since her separation from her husband, had taken her four children to stay with Madame van Erlevoort.
‘Miss Frantzen, do take care, the children will fall!’ panted Frédérique when she came upon the stout nursemaid on the first-floor landing, searching high and low for the mischievous youngsters. ‘Madeleine and Nico are playing on the stairs.’
‘Have you seen Ernestine and Johan, by any chance?’ asked Miss Frantzen, looking very fraught.
‘No, of course not, I only just got back!’ replied Frédérique indignantly, and dashed on. She burst into her room, flung aside her raincoat and, with nervous fingers, set about opening one of small parcels she had carried home in her coat pocket and muff.
‘I shall never be ready in time!’ she muttered nervously, sweeping aside the green damask curtain of her bedstead, where her ball gown, a diaphanous cloud of pale-blue tulle, lay spread out on the coverlet.
Frédérique’s ball dress had been delivered by the dressmaker that morning, and she wanted to add a few bows but scarcely dared touch the garment for fear of tangling the filmy material.
‘Oh, what shall I do?’ she moaned. Then, on an impulse, she ran out of the room and called from the landing:
‘Tilly, Tilly, Mathilda!’
A door opened and her sister appeared in some alarm.
‘But, Freddie, whatever is the matter? Is the house on fire?’
‘No, no! If it were I wouldn’t be calling you specifically, now would I? The thing is, I need help, I’m at my wits’ end and I’ll never be ready!’
‘Help? What with?’
‘With my dress! I told you I wanted some little bows as a finishing touch. I thought it looked rather bare on the side, and I’ve bought some ribbons.’
Before Mathilda could answer, the door of another room opened to reveal Madame van Erlevoort, demanding to know what the commotion was about. At the same time a shrill burst of children’s laughter came from the second floor, followed by the loud patter of small feet. Frédérique’s seven-year-old niece came tripping down the stairs with her six-year-old brother in hot pursuit.
‘Mama! Mama!’ screamed the little girl, clearing the last steps with a jump.
‘Now, now, Tina and Jo! What a dreadful noise you’re making! What are you doing here?’ chided their mother.
‘Jo keeps teasing me, he wants to tickle me and he knows I can’t stand it!’ explained Ernestine breathlessly, and she hid behind her grandmother’s skirts while Frédérique caught hold of her brother.
‘How many times have I told you not to run about indoors, and to keep your voices down!’ scolded Mathilda. ‘You know Granny isn’t getting any younger, and all this noise is too much for her.’
‘Never mind,’ soothed Madame van Erlevoort. ‘They were only playing.’
‘You’d better be careful, young man, or I shall tickle you!’ cried Frédérique, and she tickled Jo under his short arms so that he fell about laughing.
‘Mais comme vous les gâtez, toutes les deux; ne les choyez donc pas, quand je suis fâchée. Je perdrai tout mon pouvoir, si vous continuez ainsi!’ fretted Mathilda. She leant over the banisters, where Madeleine and Nico were driving fat Nurse Frantzen to distraction with their disobedience.
‘Madeleine and Nico! Stop that at once!’ she cried.
‘Oh, Mathilda, never mind the children, just come and look at my dress!’ pleaded Frédérique.
‘It’s impossible to keep them in order!’ sighed Mathilda.
‘You had better hurry up, Freddie; dinner will be early today – hopefully in half an hour,’ said Madame van Erlevoort.
The front door opened and in came Otto and Etienne van Erlevoort, their cheerful voices mingling with the children’s excited shrieks, Miss Frantzen’s fruitless admonitions, and the barking of Hector, Otto’s black dog.
‘Mathilda, please come and look at my dress, just for a second!’ Freddie wheedled in her sweetest voice.
Mathilda abandoned further attempts to discipline her brood and allowed herself to be led away by Frédérique.
‘Really, I mean it; they’re getting completely out of hand.’
‘Now, now, children, stop fighting! Be good, now!’ said Madame van Erlevoort to Ernestine and Johan. ‘Come with me, come downstairs with Granny. It’s freezing cold out here on the landing.’
…
Madame van Erlevoort was used to the bustle and turmoil of children, which had never caused her the slightest displeasure. As a mother of seven she had always been surrounded by laughter, squabbling and excitement, and could not imagine a large family growing up in an atmosphere any calmer than that which she had known herself. Her house had been filled with shrill jubilation, noisy disputes and the constant running to and fro of her youngsters until they grew up, all aflutter with youthful high spirits. Then, with the passing of her husband Theodore Otto, Baron van Erlevoort ter Horze, member of the Second Chamber of the States General, a period of unprecedented calm had set in, when four of her children in succession had married and left home. The first to go was Theodore, the eldest, who now managed their estates in Gelderland, and who, in possession of a young wife and numerous offspring, appeared to have transformed into a gentleman farmer as well as a youthful patriarch. Next had been Mathilda, her third daughter, whose brief marriage had been very unhappy; she was followed by the two eldest girls, Catherine and Suzanne, the former married to an English banker by the name of Percy Howard and now residing in London, and the latter to the Honourable Arnold van Stralenburg, registrar at the court of law at Zwolle.
Thus Madame van Erlevoort was left with two sons and a daughter – Otto, Assistant Commissioner at the Ministry of Home Affairs, Etienne, studying law in Leiden, and her youngest, Frédérique – and without the novel charm and refreshing emotions of being a grandmother, the comparative calm that ensued would certainly have rendered her despondent, accustomed as she was to the patter of light feet on the stairs and the song and laughter of clear voices in her spacious hall.
And now Mathilda had returned home with her children, over whom she had been granted custody after her divorce from Van Rijssel. He had gone abroad, and little had been heard of him since.
Madame van Erlevoort sympathised with her daughter, who had so long and with such dignity borne her lot of wronged wife, and received her with open arms, inwardly delighting in the fresh, burgeoning life the four grandchildren brought into her house. She spoilt them all, more than she had ever spoilt her own children, and even their wildest pranks failed to rouse her anger. Mathilda, for her part, was concerned about the effect this might have on her young foursome, and begged her mother not to oppose her when she meted out some well-deserved punishment. Madame van Erlevoort conceded to this readily enough, but would forget all about it the next minute, and while Frédérique, herself a pampered child, took her sister’s side, she made little attempt to instil any discipli
ne in them either. It was only from her brother Otto that Mathilda could expect firm support, and it was indeed only to their uncle that the four rascals showed any respect. Otto had inherited his mother’s kind heart and his father’s common sense, and with his calm demeanour seemed older than his twenty-eight years. But his manly features were cast in such a genial, sincere mould, and there was so much sympathy and trust in those dark, shining eyes, that his general air of earnestness and sound sense was by no means unattractive. Etienne, by contrast, was all cheer and lighthearted restlessness, his mother’s favourite and the very sunshine of her existence. Frédérique was devoted to both her brothers, but often called Otto ‘Daddy’, while she would romp with Etienne much as Madeleine did with Nico and Tina with Jo.
…
Madame van Erlevoort had decreed that dinner would be early – at half-past five – so that she might take a short rest before dressing for the ball at the Eekhofs, which she would attend with Freddie and her two sons. Mathilda, the quiet, sad-eyed young mother who seemed to have lost the ability to laugh, would remain at home with the children. The unruly foursome had their meals separately with Miss Frantzen, at Mathilda’s urgent request, for Madame van Erlevoort would have liked nothing better than to have the whole tribe plus their stout nursemaid joining her at mealtimes, not caring a bit about gravy stains on her damask tablecloth, glasses getting broken, or small fingers being dipped in the preserves. Thus Mathilda had been unable to prevent the youngsters from stealing into the dining room one by one after their supper, to the dismay of Miss Frantzen, who would put her head round the door, round-eyed with alarm. After they had done this several times without any protest from their grandmamma they had made a habit of it, in which Mathilda would acquiesce with a sigh. Etienne and Frédérique took it all as a good joke and Otto laughed too, and in the end Mathilda gave a shrug and smiled: it couldn’t be helped.
Eline Vere Page 7
