Magic Flutes

18

Guy arrived at Pfaffenstein the following evening and setting aside the servants’ efforts to announce him, found Nerine and her relatives at dinner in the Spanish dining-room.

Though a small party, they were dining in style. Light from two rows of candlesticks glowed on the walls of Morocco leather, the Goya portraits. An enormous silver epergne of writhing horsemen, which it took two footmen to lift, adorned the centre of the elaborately set table.

‘Guy, dear! We weren’t expecting you!’ Nerine was in white, diamond combs in her hair, one curl dancing on her throat in the way that had always enchanted him.

‘Let me introduce my family. This —’ Nerine’s voice took on an awed tone — ‘is my Aunt Dorothy. Mother you know, of course, but this is my Uncle Victor, my Uncle Edgar, my Cousin Clarence…’

The men half-rose, the women inclined their heads. Guy bowed punctiliously and shook hands.

His future in-laws at meat were an awesome sight and a disquieting one, for here and there on the dull and staring faces he could make out a curve of the lips, a line of the eyebrows which proclaimed unmistakably their kinship to Nerine. In sudden need of solace, he looked round and said, ‘Where’s Martha?’

Silence. Nerine’s eyes slid away from his and she began to fiddle with her napkin ring.

‘Is she ill?’ Guy’s voice had sharpened. ‘Has something happened? Has there been an accident?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. Guy, you must be starving.’ She motioned to a footman. ‘Hans, another set of covers, please.’

The digression was unsuccessful. ‘I asked you a question, Nerine. Be so kind as to answer it. Where is Martha?’

It was Aunt Dorothy, throwing a glance of reproach at her dithering niece, who now replied.

‘Mrs Hodge is dining elsewhere. It was felt that she would prefer it.’

‘Where?’

The question was put quietly. Guy had not moved and his hand did not even tighten on the chair-back where it lay. Yet both footmen drew back, seeking the shelter of the sideboard, and Uncle Victor looked over his shoulder at the door.

‘In the place to which her station in society naturally calls her,’ said Aunt Dorothy. ‘And where she herself is most at home.’

‘And where is that?’ Guy’s voice was still gentle, reasonable, quiet.

‘In the kitchen, Guy.’ Nerine was holding his eyes, appealing to him. ‘She has made such friends with the servants and — Guy! Guy! What are you doing? Don’t, don’t—’

Moving softly and seemingly quite relaxed, Guy had bent over and gripped the handles of the great silver epergne with its rearing horsemen. Then he slowly and steadily lifted it up and held it — to the incredulous gasps of the footmen — for a long moment above his head, before hurling it with demonic force against the window.

‘I thought you would prefer me not to hit you,’ he said pleasantly to Nerine.

And without a backwards glance at the screaming women and the shattered glass, he left the room.

A few minutes later he entered the castle kitchens.

The spectacle which greeted him was not a particularly pitiful one. A long, scrubbed table ran the length of the room. Hams and salamis hung from the rafters; bright copper pans gleamed in the light of the roaring fire; the smell of onions, fresh bread and schweinebraten floated deliciously in the air. Rows of cheerful-looking men in white caps and apple-cheeked girls in snowy aprons were busy eating and cracking jokes. And in what was clearly the place of honour between the chef, Rudi, and old Otto who kept the wine cellar, sat Martha Hodge.

‘Aufstehen!’

Guy’s barked order was superfluous. One glimpse of the Englishman as he stood in the doorway, and every person present had risen to their feet.

‘Not you, Martha,’ said Guy softly. ‘It is not necessary for you to rise.’

But she was already standing and as she faced him he saw, unmistakably, the hurt and distress clouding her gentle eyes.

‘Fetch the head steward.’

‘Jawohl, gnädiger Herr!’ Rudi almost ran out through the vaulted doors and reappeared seconds later with the castle’s most senior domestic servant.

‘I am at your disposal, Herr Farne,’ said the old man, bowing his head.

‘Who gave the order that Frau Hodge was to eat with the servants?’ And as the man hesitated, ‘I asked you a simple question. Answer it!’

‘The order was given by Frau Hurlingham, gnädiger Herr. She came with the other lady, the one who is her aunt, but the order came from her.’

‘Thank you. You may go.’

In goggle-eyed silence, the servants waited for further explosions. But Guy now smiled charmingly and addressing the chef said, ‘You will have to move over, Rudi, and lay another place. I shall be dining here today.’ He wandered over, lifted the lid of the soup tureen and sniffed. ‘Erbsen suppe!’ he said appreciatively — and settling himself comfortably beside Martha, took the bowl and spoon proffered by an awed kitchen-maid, ladled out an enormous helping and began to eat.

That night, Guy slept little. It had become necessary to take certain decisions. Hitherto, his chivalry had been directed towards Nerine, whom it was necessary to protect from the consequences of his own disillusionment. Now it turned to the protection of Martha Hodge.

That Martha’s own humility was such as to make it impossible for Nerine to wound her, that she regarded her banishment to the kitchens as not of the slightest consequence was something Guy was temperamentally incapable of perceiving. He had seen her hurt. Unaware that her pain was entirely for him and his unhappiness, he decided to act.

But how? Outside an owl hooted, a clock struck two, and still he sat sprawled in a carved chair, frowning in thought. Every so often, he irritably flicked away, like the ash from his cigar, an image which nevertheless continued to recur: that of Witzler’s little brat emerging from under his father’s desk to lift a tear-stained face to Guy.

‘What the devil?’ thought Guy, who less than most men concerned himself with the tantrums of young children.

Then suddenly he sat up. Of course! He reached for a notebook and pencil, jotted down a few instructions and, ten minutes later, was asleep.

At six-thirty he woke David.

‘Go to Vienna,’ he ordered. ‘Contact Witzler. Tell him I want to see him at the Klostern Theatre tomorrow at three o’clock, with all the stage-hands and technical staff. Not the singers. Say nothing to anyone. And wait for me there.’

Nerine had dreaded meeting Guy at breakfast, but he was friendly and courteous and made no reference to the events of the previous night. Curiously, his loss of temper had made her more determined than ever to go on with the marriage, for the caveman streak he had shown was not entirely displeasing. It had always struck her as odd that men, having admired her beauty, then wished to destroy it by ‘The Act’ which alas inevitably followed marriage and which left her, however calmly she tried to take it, dishevelled and not at her best. But if the thing had to happen — and she had lived long enough to have no doubt of this — then better by far that it should be with someone like Guy, with his saturnine looks and power, than poor Frith whose freckled knees and sandy, thinning hair, made the thought of ‘All That’ particularly uninviting.

So she apologized and promised to reinstate Martha in the dining-room, an action made easier by the fact that Guy’s foster-mother had made clear her determination to return to Newcastle as soon as the wedding was over and to stay there.

‘That’s all right, Nerine.’ Guy, though obviously ready to forgive, looked absent-minded, even anxious. ‘Look, my dear, I’ve had some bad news this morning. It seems as though there are problems with some of my investments.’

Nerine paled. ‘Guy! Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘No, no. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Only I’m afraid I have to be away for a few days to see to things. You just go on preparing for the wedding. And don’t listen to rumours — have faith, won’t you?’

With these disquieting words, he left her. What he told Martha before he left, Nerine did not discover. It was certainly not to have faith, for that Martha would have faith in him was something Guy had known since he was six years old.

By lunch-time he had left, with Morgan, leaving Thisbe in charge — and no word came for several days.

‘What,’ said Tante Tilda faintly, ‘is that?’

Tessa looked hurt. ‘It’s my wedding dress,’ she said.

The aunts exchanged glances of anguish.

‘Theresa, you are getting married, not buried,’ said Tante Augustine, standing with her back to the streaming window of Spittau’s state bedroom with its view of the vast and heaving lake. ‘Where did you get such a dress?’

‘From wardrobe.’ Tessa’s small head, with its wisp of veiling, emerged from the folds of the gargantuan and slightly dusty garment like a snowdrop surmounting an igloo. ‘Herr Witzler said I could take anything I liked. It’s from Lucia di Lammermoor, but it’s not bloodstained. It’s the nightdress that’s bloodstained. She goes off after the wedding feast, you see, and it is then that she murders Arturo.’

Though presumably grateful for the information, the faces of the aunts continued to reflect complete despair, and another drop of water seeped through the leak in the ceiling and plopped into the Meissen soup tureen beneath. Maxi’s compensation had been agreed but not yet paid, and though Spittau would soon be warm and dry, the autumn rains were making things a little trying.

‘It’s not the bloodstains I was worrying about,’ said Tante Augustine, returning to the attack. ‘It’s the size.’

‘I’m going to take it up,’ said Tessa soothingly.

‘And in. Like, perhaps, three metres,’ said Tante Tilda, unaccustomedly caustic.

‘Yes.’ Tessa was gazing at her reflection in the mildewed mirror with every appearance of satisfaction.

‘Tessa, please let us buy you a proper dress. There is still time.’

But the economy game played by the aunts was being turned against them with a vengeance.

‘No. It’s bad enough coming to Maxi without a dowry but I don’t want to waste any more money. You’ll see, it will look very nice. She picked up a flounce of the massive garment and as she did so the Spittau ruby, plucked from the crown of Horsa the Red in 1343, rolled from her engagement finger on to the floor.

Without stooping, Tante Augustine fielded it with the tip of her cane. It was an accomplishment which she had perfected having had, in the eight days of Tessa’s engagement, a great deal of practice.

‘And anyway, Heidi will look lovely — her mother’s made her the prettiest bridesmaid’s dress ever! She’s coming in a minute to pin me; I’ll get her to show it to you.’

The information that Maxi was to become the happiest of men had reached him by letter, during the last week of October. Tessa’s instructions had been clear and businesslike. If he still wished it, she was ready to be married. She would like the wedding to be quick — if possible before the middle of November — and quiet, with as few relatives as possible. If he had meant what he said about asking Father Rinaldo to officiate she would be very grateful, he was so understanding and unfussy. And she was bringing Heidi Schlumberger along to be bridesmaid.

‘A common dancing girl as bridesmaid!’ shrieked the Swan Princess when the contents of the letter had been read aloud to her.

‘Yes, I must say it’s a bit much,’ said Maxi, for once in agreement with his mother.

But Tessa, when he telephoned her, was unrelenting. If he and his mother were too snobbish to welcome Heidi, the marriage was off.

The dismay of Maxi and his mother was nothing to that of Heidi herself when she heard of the honour that was to befall her.

‘No, please, Tessa — please not me! I don’t know how to behave with all those grand people. There must be someone of your own kind to ask.’

‘But it’s you I want, Heidi. I want someone familiar… someone to remind me of the good times I had here and how happy I used to be.’

They were in the deserted, freezing theatre, rummaging among the contents of the skips for garments Tessa considered suitable for her trousseau.

‘But you’re going to be happy now,’ said Heidi. ‘I mean, you do love the prince, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. Only I think perhaps it’s best not to be too much in love when you get married,’ said Tessa carefully. ‘I mean, think how awful it would be seeing everything sort of fade and get less.’

‘Yes… I suppose so.’ The Littlest Heidi looked unconvinced. ‘Oh, I’m sure it’ll be all right; I’m sure it will!’

‘If you come, it will,’ said Tessa. ‘I want you to travel down with me and stay until the wedding. The country will do you good.’

That Heidi should be overborne by the steely will of the Princess of Pfaffenstein was inevitable, but there was one subject on which she stood firm. She was not, as Tessa helpfully suggested, going to adapt one of her Sylphide costumes as a bridesmaid’s dress. Not only would her old dancing clothes no longer fit her, but if she had to go she would be decently attired. So she had run home to her mother, who was a dressmaker in Simmering, and returned twenty-four hours later with a charming, pristine, three-quarter-length dress.

Tessa’s decision to marry Maxi had appeared fully formed in her head the morning after she had parted from Guy at the cemetery. By marrying Maxi, she would get the aunts away from the Vienna flat, for of course they would live with her at Spittau. Spittau was not their beloved Pfaffenstein but it was the country and a familiar world. There would be maids to help them, and plentiful food without standing in queues. Not only would she be able to help the aunts but also Heidi, who had been looking so peaky, and Bubi who could come to stay. Oh yes, the advantages of marrying Maxi were endless. She would breed not only water spaniels but komondors, those enchanting woolly-haired puszta dogs. And if anything was needed to convince her of the wisdom of her action, it was a quick perusal of the railway timetable which confirmed that a churn of fresh milk put on the 6.05 from Spittau would reach Boris and The Mother in time for lunch.

Having taken her decision, Tessa became immediately and radiantly happy. Everyone knew that she was happy because she told them so. True, certain outward and traditional attributes of happiness were not entirely within her grasp. Since she found it difficult to swallow anything much larger than a pea, she lacked the plump, pink look of the more obvious kind of ecstacy, and her nights, spent underneath a pillow not crying, gave her huge, hollowed eyes a look which a casual observer might be forgiven for not recognizing instantly as one of pre-nuptial bliss.

Nevertheless, having made up her mind, she moved with such efficiency and despatch that a week after her letter to Maxi, she arrived at Spittau with her aunts, her bridesmaid and the pug in a carpet-bag.

Though Heidi had had an uncomfortable journey, alternating frequent visits to the toilet with frenzied searches on the floor of the railway carriage for Tessa’s engagement ring, she was deeply awed by her first sight of the Wasserburg.

‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘How beautiful! How melancholy!’ It was clearly the greatest praise she could bestow.

In the vaulted hall at Spittau, the servants were lined up in serried ranks to meet their new mistress. But the stab of misery Tessa felt as she confronted the pomp and protocol she had hoped to leave behind for ever was instantly suppressed. She smiled brilliantly, made (as she knew only too well how) the short, expected speech and swept up the stairs to universal sighs of satisfaction.

During the next few days Tessa was very, very busy. She visited the tenants, many of whom had known and loved her from childhood, listened to their grievances and determined that at least some of Maxi’s compensation should come their way. She rowed over to a neighbouring bay to bespeak from a retired captain of Dragoons an enchanting komondor puppy as soon as it was weaned, and spent hours in the kennels bursting paper bags in the ears of the new pointer puppies to prevent them from being gun-shy. Everything, thus, was going splendidly and the fact that Maxi now kissed her on the lips rather than on the cheek when he said good night was absolutely natural — something she would get used to very quickly and, indeed, enjoy.

Maxi was being altogether most kind and attentive in every way and the only fault she had to find with him was his treatment of Heidi.

‘Why can’t you be nice to her, Maxi?’ Tessa wanted to know. ‘You weren’t such a snob in Vienna. You were glad enough to take her out to lunch and to the cinema when I was busy, but here you hardly talk to her at all. You know how I hate snobbishness, and she’s so sweet.’

‘Yes, I know she is. But anyway she avoids me just as much. Look, just leave me alone, Putzerl,’ said Maxi, who really had rather a lot to bear.

Two days after Tessa had given her aunts the benefit of a preview of her bridal gown, the guests began to arrive for the ceremony. The meanness of the Swan Princess, coupled with Tessa’s request for a small and speedy wedding, kept the numbers down to a minimum. Waaltraut came and was offended because she had not been asked to be a bridesmaid; the Archduchess Frederica came and was offended because Tante Augustine had her room; Monteforelli arrived grumbling about the damp… and Father Rinaldo who looked at the bride through narrowed eyes, flicked her nibbled fringe with his fingers — and held his tongue.

Then, less than a week before the ceremony, Tessa heard the sound of muffled sobbing as she was passing Heidi’s bedroom door.

She knocked, entered and found the Littlest Heidi curled up on the four-poster, her blonde curls damp and her face streaked with tears.

‘Heidi! What is it, love?’ said Tessa, bending over her anxiously. ‘What’s the matter?’

No answer: just a disconsolate shake of the head.

‘You’re still not feeling well, are you? You didn’t have any lunch again. Heidi, please let me fetch a doctor. This has gone on long enough.’

‘No!’ Heidi sat up, a look of terror on her face. ‘Tessa, I absolutely don’t want a doctor. You mustn’t think of it. I’m perfectly all right. It’s just the first months — I’ll feel better soon. My sister was the same,’ said Heidi wildly, now concerned only to prevent a visit from the Spittau practitioner.

‘Oh, my God! How could I be so stupid!’ Tessa had dropped her friend’s hands, aghast at her own blindness. ‘It is really quite unbelievable! Oh, love, why didn’t you tell me straight away? You know I would have helped you.’

‘There’s nothing to help with. It’s all absolutely all right. My mother’s very good, she won’t turn me out.’

‘But Heidi, won’t the father—? I mean, does he know? Surely he would want to help you — or marry you? Goodness, anyone would want to marry you. Or is he married already?’

‘No.’ Heidi had turned and buried her head in her pillow, but not before Tessa had seen the deep flush that spread over her face.

‘Do you know, Heidi, I think I must almost be a cretin,’ said Tessa reflectively. ‘It comes of being brought up in that ridiculous way, I suppose. I kept wondering why Maxi was avoiding you. And he really doesn’t know about the baby?’

‘No, he doesn’t. And he mustn’t — not ever! Promise me… please! Everything will be all right after the wedding, honestly. I’ll go away and not see either of you again. Just let us get this wedding over.’

‘Ah, yes, the wedding.’ Tessa was still sitting on the bed stroking Heidi’s tumbled curls, but there was something in her voice which made Heidi lift her head and look carefully at her friend. Tessa was smiling and her eyes held a look that had not been there for many days: amused, mischievous, yet curiously serene.

‘Oh, you do love him! I thought you didn’t, but now I can see you do. You’re really looking forward to the wedding, aren’t you?’ said Heidi eagerly, clutching at Tessa’s hand. If Tessa was happy, she could bear it all.

Tessa bent down and kissed her friend’s hot cheek. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice light and lilting. ‘I’m looking forward to the wedding very much indeed!’

For two days after Guy’s departure, life at Pfaffenstein continued exactly as before. Parcels continued to arrive with wedding gifts. Magnificent meals were served to Nerine and her family, and every provision made for their comfort. Then on the third day, most mysteriously, the footmen were withdrawn, as were the gate-keepers and the innumerable dirndl-clad maids who had scuttled respectfully along the corridors.

Thisbe Purse, looking harassed, tried to explain the new state of affairs to her employer’s fiancée. ‘These are Mr Farne’s orders, Mrs Hurlingham. I’m very sorry. There’s just to be a skeleton staff. Meals will go on being served of course, but the staff are only to come up by the hour. I’m afraid there may have been some kind of trouble, but we must just keep calm.’

Then on the next day the men came.

They came in three pantechnicons, driving into the courtyard without a by-your-leave and thrusting their way into the castle. Men in bowler hats and brown overalls with pencils stuck behind their ears, swarms of them, flicking with their fingers at the porcelain bowls, lifting up ornaments… And bursting into the blue salon where Nerine sat with her family.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to inconvenience you but we have orders to remove the contents of this residence.’

The man who spoke was clearly the boss: a tall fellow with a yellow complexion and a theatrically curving South American moustache.

‘Are you mad? What do you mean by this? How dare you barge in here? Nerine had risen and confronted him furiously, while all about her came cries of, ‘What is it?’ ‘What has happened?’ from the Crofts whose German was vestigial.

‘We’re only doing our duty, gnädige Frau. It’s to pay Herr Farne’s debts. He’s rolled up, poor gentleman. Here’s our authorization.’ He thrust a sheaf of papers, alarmingly splashed with red sealing wax, in Nerine’s face. ‘You lot start next door,’ he ordered three of his underlings. ‘And you two start in the hall. The marble statues are fixtures, more’s the pity, but we’ll take the rest. Stefan, Georg, Isidor, you stay here with me.’

‘No! No! No!’ Nerine was as white as a sheet. ‘I don’t believe it, it’s a lie!’

Impervious to her distress, the men got to work. Ropes were brought from the lorries with rolls of hessian padding and crates. Moving with incredible speed and the unmistakable air of men thoroughly accustomed to the job, they stripped the walls of pictures, carried out chairs, coffee tables, ormolu clocks and began to roll up the Aubusson carpet.

‘I told you so, I told you so!’ screamed Mrs Croft as the sofa she had been sitting on vanished from behind her. ‘Not just a piece of sacking but a piece of sacking in Newcastle upon Tyne!’

Only Martha remained unruffled. ‘Ee, hinny, you don’t have to take on so,’ she said in her quiet voice to Nerine. ‘Even if Guy’s in a bit of trouble, he’ll come round again. You stand by him and you’ll see.’

Nerine turned to her. ‘Don’t you see,’ she said furiously, ‘that I cannot? I simply cannot be poor, I have no right.’ Her hands flew to her face. ‘Oh God, what shall I do?’

One man only, out of all the bailiffs, seemed to have some degree of pity for the lovely widow: a small, portly man whose long, blond beard and blond locks issuing from the brim of his bowler hat contrasted strangely with his black and soul-filled eyes. ‘You want to watch your personal possessions, gnädige Frau,’ he whispered as he passed her with an armful of petitpoint cushions. ‘Jewels and suchlike. They’re forfeit, too, by Austrian law if an engagement exists.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Nerine was totally beside herself. Her jewels! The diamonds Guy had given her, the pearls… her furs!

‘Excuse me.’ One of the men had brushed past her and was lifting the first of the mirrors off the wall, then the second, the third…

‘No! Not the mirrors! Not the mirrors!’ screamed Nerine.

Then she turned and ran for the door.