‘You have a gift for child-care, Eline! It’s as though you’ve been doing it all your life.’ exclaimed Mathilda with gratitude, for she was still occupied with Johan. Madame van Erlevoort and Frédérique looked over their shoulders and smiled at Eline. Willy and Gustaaf were teasing Hetty, who had been supplied with dry stockings at last and was now pulling them on in the middle of the floor, which was littered with shoes, wet stockings, discarded underclothing and towels.
Visibly pleased with her success, Eline set about helping Tina to don her fresh set of clothing.
‘How nice you look in your clean vest! Wait, I’ll give you a tickle, shall I? There you go: lift this foot, now the other one, so we can get your bloomers on. Dear me, if you go on wriggling like this and waving your arms you’ll muss my hair. Fasten your buttons, go on, I know you can do it! Or did you think I was going to do everything for you? Ah, where’s the hairbrush? Wait, I’ll go and fetch a comb!’
‘And my red hair-ribbon, too!’ called Tina.
Eline ran off, pausing on her way to tie a large bow in Marianne’s sash.
Tina grew impatient and clamoured for Eline to hurry.
‘Here I am!’ said Eline, returning, and began to pile Tina’s hair on the top of her head in ladylike fashion, much to everyone’s amusement. Tina was thrilled, but meekly submitted to having her thick brown tresses taken down again and tied into braids.
‘That’s better! You’re as pretty as a picture!’ said Eline, combing the fringe down over the little girl’s forehead.
‘Now children, off you go!’ said Truus, regaining her confidence, and they all trooped down the stairs.
‘Eline was so good with Tina,’ Madame van Erlevoort said to Truus in an undertone. ‘You should have seen them together! Such a pretty sight! Oh, I can’t tell you how relieved I am that they are all back home again, safe and sound!’
…
Bedtime was early at De Horze; by half-past ten all was still. Eline had spent an hour chatting with Frédérique in her bedroom, very happy to perceive the growing sympathy between them. Freddie was already under the covers and Eline had perched on the side of the bed while they exchanged confidences about all kinds of subjects, stifling their occasional giggles so as not to disturb the silence prevailing in the house. At length Eline had returned to her room on tiptoe, and now she was alone at last. She lit her candle and slowly began to undress, her lips curved in an unconscious, happy smile. She paused a moment, sunk in thought, with her hair hanging loose about her bare shoulders. There was nothing else that she wanted, nothing at all: she had simply everything she could wish for.
She opened the window and looked outside. The rain had stopped and the air was fragrant with moist foliage. The sky was clear, wiped clean of leaden clouds but for some lingering streaks, from which rose a brilliant crescent moon. The far-flung fields lay muffled in silence; a lone windmill held aloft a dark, motionless sail, starkly defined against the pale sheen of the evening sky. The ditches glittered like strips of metal, and a scented freshness emanated like a gentle sigh from the slumbering landscape. Eline leant out of the window, hugging her bare arms. She felt as if that soft sigh of freshness had sweetened all her thoughts with the fragrance of wild flowers, banishing the stale, sickly smell of her former state of mind. It was like inhaling the heady perfume of musk and opopanax, and she felt very young, younger than she had ever felt before, and oh! – of this she was certain – never had she been in love as she was now, never! Her Otto! Thinking of him she felt no need whatsoever to conjure up some idealised image of him; she thought of him as he was, manly and strong in his good-natured simplicity, with one single thought governing his mind: the thought of her. His love was so rich, so full, so all-encompassing. And hers was growing by the day, she believed … no, it couldn’t grow any further, that would be impossible! No further wishes, no concerns about the future; it would unfold of its own accord, a perspective tinged with a golden glow! Nothing but the stillness of that lake into which her soul had glided, nothing but the peace and love of that blue ecstasy! Nothing but that … She could not imagine what more a human being could wish for.
Only, there was one tiny blemish in all that clear expanse of blue, an inkling of fear that change might yet come! It was so very long since she had prayed, and she was unsure how to go about it, whether she should say the words aloud or just think them. Indeed, she no longer knew whether she believed in God, she no longer knew what she believed, but now, at this moment, she dearly wished to pray that it might remain as it was now, that nothing would ever change – oh, for that gentle happiness, that tranquillity of mind, that blue to remain with her for ever!
‘Never again as it was, please God; make everything stay the same as it is now! I’ll die if anything changes!’ she whispered under her breath, and as she folded her hands in prayer, a teardrop quivered on her lashes. But it was a tear of joy, and in her joy that tiny fear drowned like a drop in the ocean.
XX
August was stiflingly hot in The Hague, though the evenings were refreshing on the terrace at Scheveningen or at the Tent in the Wood. It was Sunday evening, and Betsy decided to stay in for a change. It was so long since old Madame van Raat had been to see her, and so, rather than go to Scheveningen, which was less interesting on a Sunday anyway, she had instead invited her motherin-law to visit. Tea would be taken in the green conservatory, where the glass doors already stood open. Henk took a turn about the garden with his mother, who professed admiration for his splendid long-stemmed roses. Betsy and Vincent sat alone.
‘I have had a letter from Eline; she is returning with the Van Erlevoorts next Wednesday. Apparently the Howards are staying on a little longer at De Horze,’ she said.
‘Oh? And when Eline returns I am to move out, I suppose?’ he responded bluntly. Betsy was taken aback, but smiled very sweetly.
‘The very idea! Certainly not. You know that our home is yours until you decide where you want to go. Have you heard anything from that friend of yours in New York, what’s his name again?’
‘Lawrence St Clare. No, I haven’t had any news for quite some time. But then it’s hard to keep up with friends over such a long distance. I can’t say I blame him.’
He leant back in his cane armchair with a slightly aggrieved air. In reality, however, he felt very well at ease, agreeably lulled by the luxury surrounding him in the tenebrous lighting of the green conservatory. The garden beyond was well kept, rich in flowers, with an ornamental marble urn on the lawn. In that soothing environment, with the presence of Betsy in her light summer dress, elegantly poised over the softly gleaming silver and Japanese porcelain on the tea tray, he felt shielded from the discomforts of life. It was all very reposeful, monotonous even, but to him it was refreshing. He knew he had the upper hand with Betsy, but there was no need to throw his weight about just yet. Besides, he felt distinctly idle. For the present, life was easy, and he had nothing to worry about.
‘What would you say if I were to look for a wife?’ he asked abruptly, the sight of Betsy having put him in mind of the pleasures a wealthy marriage might offer.
‘A wife? Oh, an excellent idea! Shall I try and find you one? What sort of wife did you have in mind?’
‘She needn’t be a beauty, just elegant. But not too naive and idealistic, please! And with money, naturally.’
‘Naturally. You wouldn’t want to get carried away by an unsuitable passion, would you? What is your opinion of the Eekhof girls?’
‘The very idea! All they do is giggle! No money there either, is there?’
‘Some say there is, others say they live beyond their means. Anyway, you could find out. But are you serious, Vincent? Or were you just making conversation?’
‘No indeed. I think it would be very sensible of me to get married. Don’t you agree?’
Betsy looked at him intently, full of secret contempt. With his lacklustre eyes, his languid gestures, his weary drawl, he appeared to her as anything but an ideal husband f
or a young girl.
‘Not entirely. It seems to me that you’re an inveterate egotist. And I can hardly imagine a wife getting much support from you. You’re weak – I mean your morale, of course.’
She regretted her words on the instant, and was annoyed by her carelessness. She almost shuddered as he regarded her with that inscrutable smile of his, and those pallid, snakelike eyes.
‘And a wife always needs support, eh?’ he said, with slow emphasis. ‘As you do yourself. You find support in Henk, you can rely on him for everything, can’t you? And he’s strong enough – I mean his physique, of course.’
Each word was uttered with what sounded to Betty like spite, and each word pricked her like a needle, but for all her domineering nature she dared not answer back, hiding her consternation with an amiable little laugh, as if it had been mere banter on his part. He echoed her laugh with his own, equally light and amiable.
They paused a moment, both keenly aware of the resentment underlying their ostensibly jocular exchange. To end the silence Betsy launched into a plaintive account of her relations with her motherin-law, how she was misjudged by the old lady and how she despaired of their ever getting along. But his air of utter indifference as he listened brought home to her just how much she had come to loathe him in these past weeks of proximity. If only she could send him packing there and then! But she knew that would be impossible without risking some awful scene; he would simply not go away, he would hang around for ever and ever, while she remained powerless to take matters in hand. It was all Henk’s fault. If her husband had given Vincent that miserable sum of money he needed she would never have taken it into her head to invite him to stay. She despised Vincent, and she despised herself for being intimidated by him; she was rich and happy after all, so what harm could he ever do to her? But the harder she tried to shake off her fear, the more firmly lodged it became, like some debilitating idiosyncrasy of mind.
Henk and his mother returned from their leisurely stroll in the garden and seated themselves in the conservatory by one of the open glass doors. The old lady had not spoken since admiring the roses, and had grown pensive. In her son’s luxuriously appointed home she now perceived a degree of coldness, an emptiness, which she found even more dispiriting than the vacancy of her own lonely abode. And suddenly it came to her: she missed Eline – Eline who radiated charm and agreeableness wherever she went. She missed the dear girl, so unlike her sister Betsy, so warm-hearted and sympathetic. And she could not help remarking dolefully:
‘Your home seems so empty with Elly being away. How dreadfully we will miss her when she is married and goes away for ever. Dear, dear Elly.’
She did not hear what Betsy and Vincent said in response, nor did she hear Henk’s comforting words. She sat with her head bowed, staring vacantly at the veined hands she held clasped in her lap. How bleak life seemed, nothing but heartache, sad partings and tears, a grey realm peopled by tragic shadows.
A shiver passed through her, and Betsy asked if she felt cold, whereupon Henk closed the glass doors and called for the gas lamp to be lit.
…
Although she would never have cared to admit it, Betsy agreed with her motherin-law that it had been lonely and dismal in the house of late, despite Vincent being there to entertain her with his supposed social graces. There was so little variation in the summer, it was always either the Tent or Scheveningen, and she was beginning to feel quite suffocated by the tedium of it all. And when Eline returned at last, radiant in her newfound happiness, it was as though a fresh country breeze blew through Betsy’s plush salons. With Eline babbling on about the delights of life at De Horze, about Theodore and Truus and the children, about the Howards and the Van Rijssel foursome, Betsy came to realise that her motherin-law had been right about her home being dreary without Eline. Betsy herself began to have misgivings about her sister’s departure, and her feelings towards her softened considerably. She also changed her mind about Otto, whom she had earlier found too stiff and mannered to her liking. Now that she knew him better, she found him likeable enough, and urged him to dine with them often.
Thanks to Eline’s presence the talk at the dinner table became lively again, quite different from the stilted conversations she and her husband had been having with Vincent during mealtimes. Betsy was grateful for this, and cordial towards Eline as a consequence, and the sisters had endless discussions about Eline’s trousseau, which she would have to hurry to assemble if they were to be married in the autumn. They spent their afternoons shopping or consulting with seamstresses; one time they accompanied Otto on a two-day trip to Brussels, where Eline wanted to order her wedding dress: extravagant yet simple, nothing but white satin, no lace trimmings or bows.
Meanwhile Eline, in all the bustle, had little time to think, only at bedtime did she find a moment’s peace. The evenings were often spent at home. It was September; Scheveningen was gradually losing its appeal, and with Otto coming to dinner so often it generally grew late without their noticing it. She sat with him in the garden, or in the violet anteroom, absorbed in her tranquil felicity, as though she had never known anything else … it was all so very calm and contented that she almost wished for more diversity of emotion … but no, she loved Otto, and that single emotion was enough for her … just that sense of peace, that blue haze of serenity, lasting for ever and ever.
And yet, as she re-adapted herself to life in The Hague, she found her initial vivacity diminishing by degrees as she ran out of stories to relate about De Horze; the wholesome country vigour she had gained seemed to evaporate now that she no longer had occasion to romp on the floor with the children or recline in pine groves with Otto, now that she spent so much time sitting in a comfortable armchair, smiling serenely while she waited for her fiancé to reappear. The hours that she and Otto were parted were filled with the pleasant distraction of Vincent’s soft voice as he held forth about his travels, the cities he had visited, the people he had met, and his own philosophy of life. Having found happiness herself, she loftily dismissed his pessimistic outlook, reasoning with a charming want of logic that made Vincent smile and shrug. That was all very well, he said, but she would discover for herself one day that making a life for oneself was not as easy as it appeared. One thing led to another; circumstances changed, influencing each other in random ways ranging from the slightest, most benign coincidences to catastrophic misfortunes, and life, well, life was the chain of fate linking all these contingencies together … and there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it.
‘So you believe that everything is preordained, and that when I think I am doing something out of my own free will I am really only doing it because – how shall I put it?’ she asked in some bewilderment late one afternoon during one of her tête-à-têtes with him in her room.
‘You only think it’s your own free will, but your will is nothing other than the outcome of hundreds of thousands of previous socalled chance occurrences. Yes indeed, that is what I believe.’
‘Vincent, what fatalism! In that case I might as well remain seated in this easy chair and simply wait for things to happen.’
‘You could do worse. But I assure you that if you did just sit there doing nothing, your passive attitude would not be the result of your own free will, but of all sorts of tiny, insignificant events which you’ve mostly forgotten about or didn’t even notice at all.’
She pondered this, giving a vague smile, then slowly nodded her head.
‘It’s strange, but I have a feeling you might be right. It could be true, I suppose.’
She enjoyed these conversations, which generally ended with her agreeing with him. Each time she felt her old sympathy for him flare up anew, and each time she was reminded of her father, the way he spoke, his gestures, the expression on his face. She thought Vincent more interesting than he was, and one day, in a romantic mood, she suddenly felt that her love for Otto might not be enough after all. The notion flashed across her mind like a bolt of lightning, an
d for a split second she thought she saw a ghost. But the ghost vanished, and she laughed again. How strange to have such peculiar, nervous fancies!
‘So you believe …’ she resumed, still somewhat flustered.
He smiled at her.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘You believe, for instance, that if I marry Otto all I’m doing is following a preordained path?’
He patted her hand gently.
‘My dear girl, why bother your pretty little head with things like that? You love Van Erlevoort, you’re happy, what more could you wish for? Happiness is a butterfly: when it comes within reach it’s no good trying to catch it so you can study its anatomy, it’s far too delicate and ethereal a creature, and you’ll only end up killing it.’
She looked up in wonder. How clever he was at putting his thoughts into words, in such a plain-spoken way, without poetical affectation, as if he were saying something perfectly simple! And he was quite unselfconscious about it, too, which just showed how innately artistic he was. Then she saw, to her alarm, that he had turned deathly pale. He rose unsteadily from his seat, with wild staring eyes and a morbid, purplish look about the small, sagging mouth.
‘Good heavens, Vincent, what’s matter?’ she cried out, springing to her feet.
‘Nothing, I just need some air – could you open the window, oh please–’ he gasped.
‘Can I get you anything? Water?’ she offered tremulously.
‘No, no – air – I need air,’ he faltered.
She rushed over to the window, but her hands were shaking so badly that she was unable to open it, and she rang for the maid.
‘My God, oh my God!’ she cried.
Vincent had collapsed onto the Persian couch in a faint, and was now sliding off the cushions to the floor until only his head remained propped against the side. His forehead was bathed in perspiration and his breathing choked and rasping.
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