The next morning Vincent had a final conversation with Eline in her boudoir.
‘So you really are going?’ she asked.
‘Of course, my dear girl. You know as well as I do that Betsy can’t stand me.’
‘What will you do in London?’
‘I have friends there, and some money matters to attend to before I go to America.’
‘You’re going to America then?’
‘You know I am: you brought me St Clare’s letter yourself, remember.’
‘I didn’t know you had decided for certain. Poor you!’
He smiled wanly, gratified to hear the concern in her voice.
‘Do you feel sorry for me?’
‘Yes, I do. And with you going back to your roaming existence, who knows how long it’ll be before I see you again? Maybe never!’
She sighed.
‘I’m always happiest when I’m roaming,’ he retorted.
She longed to ask him if she might accompany him on his travels, join him in his search for happiness in other lands and climates, but she could not think of how to frame her question, so she waited, hoping that he would raise the possibility himself. He was in love with her, after all; it was because of her that he had decided to go abroad in the first place, and now there was nothing to stop them being together.
‘He doesn’t dare ask; he doesn’t dare!’ she thought, unsure whether she was pleased or disappointed by his timidity.
‘Happiest when you’re roaming!’ she echoed pensively. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. You’re a man, you’re free to roam … But I am a girl, and I have lived in the same place all my life … Not that it makes me happy, though. Not by any means!’
He gave her a quizzical look. After a pause he asked:
‘And why aren’t you happy?’
‘Why I’m not happy? I don’t know, really,’ she murmured.
She waited for him to press her for an answer, but presently told herself he might think it inappropriate to do so now, given that she had only recently broken with Otto. Yet she was sure she had heard the intonation of love in his soft voice, and she looked at him expectantly. A ray of sunshine entered the room through the parted curtains, setting aglow the slight figure on the sofa, and a pang went through her as she thought how closely he resembled her father. Her heart began to race, and she felt a great surge of love for Vincent, on account of that very likeness, on account of his suffering under the narrow-minded conventions of society, on account of her idealised, romantic perception of him.
He returned her gaze with an expression of sympathy. She had jettisoned her chance of happiness, as he himself had been known to do on several occasions in the past, although he had never been so acutely aware of it as she seemed to be now. For an instant he was of a mind to tell her as much, but then thought better of it; she would not have listened, anyway.
‘Vincent!’ she stammered at length, fraught with waiting for him make some kind of declaration. ‘Vincent, please – we might never see each other again. Are you sure you have nothing to say to me?’
‘Oh, I have lots to say to you, Elly dear. For one thing, I want to thank you for nursing me and pampering me like a true sister, here in your own room, at a time of such painful suffering for you.’
‘What makes you think I was suffering?’
‘Because I know a thing or two about human nature.’
She shook her head in denial.
‘I don’t think I did suffer, really. Not personally I mean, only on behalf of Otto.’
She felt a twinge of guilt at that lie, but it was for Vincent’s sake, Vincent who was in love with her and must not know of her heartache. He looked at her intently, wondering why she should wish to hide the truth from him. He did not understand her, but then the workings of the female mind were always hard to fathom, if not to say shrouded in mystery.
She for her part did not understand him. It was inexplicable that he had not asked her to be his, now that nothing stood in their way, now that he was on the point of going abroad. Another hour and he would be gone! Ah, but perhaps he thought it was too late. She took a deep breath, and with a new urgency in her voice she said:
‘Vincent, I want you to promise me something. If there is anything I can do for you, if I can ever help you in any way, you must write to me from New York, and I shan’t disappoint you. Promise me that you will write?’
‘I promise. You are very kind.’
‘Another thing: I know you’re often short of funds. If I can be of help, you must let me know. Just now, for instance, I have two hundred and fifty guilders to spare. Yours, if you need any money. Shall I get it for you?’
She rose, making to open her writing table, but he grasped her hand with a show of emotion.
‘Elly, oh Elly, no – I couldn’t possibly. It is extremely kind of you, and I’m deeply grateful, but I wouldn’t be able to pay you back for quite some time.’
‘Please don’t say no, I’d really like you to have it.’
‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your offer, but no, truly, I cannot accept. It would not be right.’
She stood quite still, her face drained of colour. Yes! Yes, of course he loved her! How could she have had the slightest doubt? Why else would he refuse the money? It was because he loved her that he wouldn’t let a debt come between them! But then why didn’t he say something?
At last he stood up; the cab would arrive in a few minutes.
‘Can’t you make it up with Betsy before you go?’ she said imploringly. ‘It’s so horrid to part under these conditions.’
‘I’ll go to her now, and all will be put right again soon enough. But now I really must be off. Goodbye, my dear Elly. Farewell, and thank you a thousand times for everything you have done for me.’
‘Goodbye, Vincent, goodbye.’
As he made to embrace her, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.
‘Spare a thought for me now and then, will you?’ he said. ‘I hold you very dear, and there aren’t that many people I hold dear, as you well know. Farewell then, Elly, au revoir.’
Struggling against her tears, she kissed him again, and as he moved away she subsided on to the couch, giving a final nod of farewell. He left, shutting the door behind him.
She sat staring at the door until she heard his cab rumble off. She was perplexed. How could he have kissed her so coolly in that final moment of intimacy? She dearly wished to understand his sentiments, and also to probe her own feelings so that she might know whether she really loved Vincent, but she was tired and her head felt heavy, and with a weary sigh she fell back in the cushions.
…
Betsy had pardoned Vincent at the last moment. In the knowledge that he was leaving at last she could afford to soften towards him, and so she made conciliatory remarks to the effect that their time together would soon have been curtailed anyway because she was planning to travel abroad in the autumn. Once he was gone she gradually became herself again, no longer venting her temper so frequently at the servants, or at Eline, Henk and Ben. She even spoke amicably to her sister from time to time: it really wasn’t a good idea to shut oneself away from the world the way she was doing, it would make anyone lonely and miserable, and besides, it was bound to attract attention – people might think she was sorry to have lost Van Erlevoort! No, it would be a good thing if she showed her face in public once in a while; there was no need to accept every invitation if she did not feel up to it, but sending her apologies every time was giving the wrong impression. As it happened, Madame Hovel was giving a dinner party the following week; her evenings were usually rather intimate, and this invitation was no exception. Emilie and Georges de Woude would be there, as well as Paul – in other words, should Betsy accept on Eline’s behalf?
Eline herself was beginning to feel a desire for a change of scene, for she was enmeshed in her solitary thoughts, which went round and round in her head without leading anywhere. So she conceded that Betsy w
as quite right: she would accept Madame Hovel’s invitation. It would be her first appearance in company since breaking off her engagement. The dinner party a few days hence became an anchor in her fluctuating emotions, a welcome distraction from Betsy’s constant references to Vincent’s tiresome sojourn in her house. What a blessing it was to be rid of that languishing, insufferable cousin of theirs! True, she had taken offence at a fairly minor breach of etiquette on his part, but it had been quite wrong of him, and she wasn’t a bit sorry she had told him off, because if she hadn’t done so he would still be there! Good gracious, what a bore he was! Why she had ever thought he would be good company she could not imagine. And that long face of his – rather like a reptile, quite loathsome, really. Ah well, thank goodness he was gone now, and she was glad to let bygones be bygones.
During mealtimes each day Betsy chatted on in the same mindless vein, reciting the same litany of disparagements. Henk and Eline sat in glum silence, numbed by her loquacity. Much as Eline wanted to speak out in Vincent’s defence, she felt too dispirited, and simply gave a sigh of relief when Betsy finally ran out of steam. She suffered mutely for Vincent, who was in love with her and had acted so honourably.
The day of the dinner arrived. For the first time in weeks Eline took great care over her appearance. While they were waiting for the carriage to arrive, however, Betsy pronounced her to be overdressed: such a dark gown, and so formal, why, she looked as if she were going to a funeral! Eline said nothing, merely shrugged. She glanced in the hall-stand mirror and was reassured: she thought she made an impression of subdued elegance with her pale, melancholy features and her low-cut dress of black, frothy tulle.
They were the last to arrive at the Hovel residence, and when Eline made her entrance she had the feeling everyone in the room was observing her with a kind of eager curiosity. It was the first time she had ever felt ill at ease being the centre of attention, and yet she knew all the dinner guests quite intimately: Emilie and Georges de Woude, Françoise Oudendijk, Hijdrecht and Paul. On the other hand, none of them had seen her since she had called off her engagement, so there was nothing for it but to try and ignore their inquisitive glances. At the table, seated between Georges and Hijdrecht, she felt little desire to talk, and was glad of the latter’s rambling conversation, to which she pretended to listen, smiling vaguely and not saying a word in response. Georges was more quiet than usual. But on the opposite side of the table a loud, jocular exchange was taking place between Emilie and Françoise, while Paul, placed between them, acted as referee.
The clamour opposite, Hijdrecht’s incessant chatter at her side, and the general animation around the dinner table made Eline’s head swim. The servants intoning each variety of wine as they made to replenish her glass, the copious servings, the joking and the hilarity – how very boring it all was. She was jolted out of her gloomy reverie by the mention of Vincent’s name. Betsy was telling the host that her cousin had departed and might be going to America.
‘To tell you the truth, I was not sorry to see him go. I don’t care for him, really; in fact I think he is rather disagreeable. Of course, since he’s our cousin, we can’t ignore him completely, but he is very peculiar, and I couldn’t help being afraid he might do something to compromise us.’
Eline no longer heard what Hijdrecht was saying; she was all ears to Betsy’s gossipy voice, which she could fairly easily distinguish in the hubbub. So it was not enough for Betsy to be constantly running him down in the privacy of her home, with Eline trying valiantly to keep her counsel, she was actually ventilating her hatred of Vincent in this dining room, among strangers! Eline listened with mounting rage.
‘There’s something creepy about him – a bit like a toad, or some reptile, don’t you agree? Unnerving, too, with those pale, shifty eyes of his.’
Eline could control herself no longer. The person who was dearest to her in the whole world, who reminded her so much of her father, was being vilified in society by her own sister, in the most vulgar terms imaginable! And she was making Hovel laugh! Eyes flashing, Eline burst out in tremulous indignation, raising her voice so that it would reach across the crystal centrepiece to the other side of the table:
‘Betsy! Please mind what you’re saying! You are not in your own home, and I advise you to find something else to amuse Mr Hovel with instead of saying such hateful things about Vincent!’
Her voice was so commanding that everyone stopped talking in mid-sentence. All eyes were fixed on Betsy and Eline as the fun succumbed to leaden embarrassment. And Eline, to whom making a scene in public would have been anathema before, sat bolt upright, glaring defiantly at Betsy and the rest of them, not caring a whit that her conduct went against the conventions of respectable society. Betsy, her face flushed with nervous agitation, was on the point of making some cutting reply, but mastered herself just in time. Turning to Hovel instead, she spoke with ostensible calm:
‘I do apologise, Mr Hovel, for this interruption. My sister has been suffering from her nerves lately. Do not mind her, please.’
Suppressing her anger with tact, she was soon laughing again and holding forth on another more lighthearted topic.
The hostess was rather shaken by the embarrassing episode at her dinner table, but Emilie de Woude, true to her ebullient nature, came to the rescue with more tact than Betsy could muster. She turned to Eline, who was still casting baleful looks at her sister, and addressed her directly. Her tone was placatory at first, but very soon turned humorous.
‘Ah well, Eline, personally I don’t find him nearly as objectionable as most people seem to. But you must understand, having someone to stay under one’s roof for an extended period, as Betsy has experienced, is a different matter altogether; it’s bound to lead to a certain amount of friction. It’s only natural: young men always get under one’s feet. I know what I’m talking about, because with Georges living at home – oh, you wouldn’t believe how much bother and commotion he causes! Always getting in the way – why, it’s enough to drive anyone to distraction!’
‘Me?’ spluttered Georges, affecting outrage. ‘Me?’ and he defended himself with vigour.
There was a chorus of laughter at this comical tiff between siblings, who were known to be devoted to each another. It even brought a fleeting smile to Eline’s face, and Madame Hovel overflowed with gratitude to Emilie.
…
It had rained heavily throughout the day, with strong winds lashing the trees and making the branches groan as they littered the ground with broken twigs and autumn leaves. Come the evening, when Betsy, Eline and Henk rode homewards in their carriage at half-past ten, the wind had risen to a raging storm, causing the glass shades of the street lamps to jingle in their sockets and blowing tiles off the roofs. Betsy had meant to give Eline a piece of her mind on the way, but there was so much noise that conversation was virtually impossible, and the cold coming in through a chink in the door made her shiver.
‘Such stormy weather!’ she fretted. ‘Do you think it is dangerous,
Henk? Won’t the horses be frightened?’ Henk shook his head. Like her, he listened to the howling wind and heard the rain drumming on the roof. Eline, too, kept silent. When they drew up at Nassauplein they were welcomed by Gerard, who flung open the front door even before Herman had time to ring the bell, and Betsy and Eline ran inside while Henk gave some last-minute instructions to Dirk concerning the horses. Eline went straight up to her room.
‘What a stormy night, Ma’am,’ said Mina as she helped Betsy out of her cape. ‘You’d think the end of the world was nigh! A fair number of trees will be knocked down before morning, you mark my words. Grete and I were ever so frightened. Oh, I’m so glad you’re safely home again!’
Betsy did not answer, and started up the stairs with the full intention of confronting Eline. But the storm raging outside seemed to have deflected her anger, leaving her in some doubt as to what she would say. Her thoughts turned to the possibility of windows in the house having been left open
and chimney stacks being blown off the roof.
‘Gerard! Mina!’ she called from the landing.
They both came running.
‘Are you sure you have locked up properly?’
‘Oh yes, Ma’am!’
‘Well, I want you to make quite sure all the windows are securely closed. What about the attic, for instance? Go and check, you never know.’
Having dispatched the servants, Betsy regained her presence of mind. Yes, she would confront Eline in her room. Her sister was not to think she could get away with such insolence.
Betsy entered Eline’s boudoir, where the gas lamp was lit. The wind rattled the window panes and made the curtains billow. Eline was taking off her cloak.
‘What is it?’ she asked haughtily. ‘I should like to be alone.’
‘May I remind you that you are in my house, and that I can enter any room I please? I have something to say to you.’
‘Well, get on with it then, because, as I said, I want to be alone.’
‘“I want! I want!” What gives you the right to speak to me in that tone? You are here in my house, and it is not for you to want anything!’ fumed Betsy, stamping her feet. ‘Acting like some spoilt little princess who always gets her way! Did you think I’d let you get away with being rude to me in public? Did you? How dare you tell me what I may or may not say? I can say whatever I like to Hovel! I don’t need any prompting from you, do you hear?’
‘I warn you, Betsy, that from now on, whenever I hear you speak about Vincent in that disgraceful way, even if it’s in your own home, I shall put a stop to it.’
‘Ah, so you’re warning me now are you? I have no intention of making any allowances whatsoever for your idiotic sensitivity regarding Vincent! Now he’s gone, you’d think we’d have some peace again, but no! Was it he who taught you that it was perfectly all right to interrupt people in the middle of a conversation? I can’t think what came over you! They must have thought you were mad. Yes, you must be mad, that’s the only excuse I can think of for behaving the way you did! And you call me vulgar – what do you think that makes you? You, who dared to–’
Eline Vere Page 32
