Eline Vere

XIX

‘Eline! Eline!’ a voice called from the garden.

Eline had woken with a start at half-past seven — breakfast at De Horze was served at eight — and she had to hurry with her toilette. At the sound of her name she went, half dressed, to the window, which stood open. Looking outside, she saw Theodore’s two eldest girls, Marianne and Henriette, sixteen and fourteen years old.

‘Good morning!’ called Eline brightly.

‘What, are you up already? That’s quick! Will you come soon?’

‘In a moment.’

‘Hello Eline, hello Eline!’ shouted a new voice from outside. Eline looked again and saw Gustaaf, a handsome ten-year-old with bold blue eyes, ever-dirty hands and comic as a clown.

‘Hello there, Gus!’ she called.

‘I say, Eline, remember what you promised?’

‘No, what?’

‘That you’d marry me instead of Uncle Otto! You promised, remember!’

‘All right then, I will! But Gus dear, I must get ready now or I’ll be late for breakfast!’ said Eline, returning to the mirror to do her hair.

From the sunlit garden rose more voices, among which she could now distinguish Theodore’s bass tones as well as the excited cries of the Van Rijssel youngsters. She felt nervous, her eyes were still a little puffy with sleep and she could not get her hair to look as she wished.

‘Eline! Eline!’ they chanted.

‘Yes, yes, I’m coming!’ she called impatiently. Still tying her sash, she flew down the gloomy, oak-panelled corridor, down the grand staircase and out of the vestibule.

In the garden she saw Otto strolling with his sister, Catherine Howard. She was not beautiful, but had a pleasant, cheerful way with her, and a bright vivacity almost matching that of their younger brother Etienne.

‘Oh, Otto, I can so well imagine—’ sighed Catherine, clasping his arm. ‘I think she’s very sweet. In their letters Freddie and Mathilda gave the impression that she was a society girl, so I was rather expecting her to be one of those snooty young ladies from The Hague. I have only seen her once or twice before, you know, and that was quite a while ago. Wasn’t she living with that elderly widow, her aunt Vere, at the time?’

‘Yes, she was,’ said Otto.

‘Anyway, I think she’s quite the sweetest thing! She talks in such a gentle, sweet way, not in the least affected, and yet she’s so distinguished-looking, quite a lady. And as pretty as a picture. Beautiful, in fact.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Otto.

‘Yes. You must be very proud of her, not every young man has your good fortune. Oh, there goes the bell! They like to make an early start at De Horze.’

They made their way to the conservatory at the back of the house, where they found Madame van Erlevoort presiding over the long breakfast table. She looked up with a fond smile as they entered. Eline was talking to Theodore, noting how sturdy he was, broad-shouldered and even slightly stocky, with his thick beard trimmed short, so unlike his brothers Otto and Etienne, but in his loud, cheery voice the family resemblance was unmistakable. His wife, young Madame van Erlevoort, or Truus, as he called her, was still busy with the preparations for breakfast, assisted by Mathilda and Frédérique. Nurse Frantzen was settling the Van Rijssel foursome on their chairs and tying napkins under their chins. Etienne came in from the garden with Cor, Theodore’s eighteen-year-old son, a midshipman on furlough. They were followed by the girls and the boys, Willy and Gustaaf, full of fun at the expense of their Uncle Howard, whose English they did not understand and whom they were trying to teach Dutch.

‘Good morning, Nily,’ said Otto, approaching Eline.

‘Morning, Otto,’ answered Eline, offering her hand. She found herself enjoying the noisy bustle of a happy family. To her, who as a child had had no one but her sister to play with and had spent several years in quiet tedium with her elderly aunt, the joyous mêlée, so very far removed from the soirées and balls she was accustomed to in The Hague, was exhilarating. Everyone was so friendly, too; they all seemed to be growing quite fond of her, even Frédérique. She didn’t mind when the little ones climbed onto her lap and patted her with their sticky fingers or disturbed her hair. She was seated between Otto and young Tina, on whom she doted and who kept hovering about her just as Cateau van der Stoor had done back in The Hague. That became her fixed place at table. Old Madame van Erlevoort was flanked by her two youngest grandchildren — Theodore’s youngest, Edmée or Memée, and Kitty Howard, her English son-in-law’s only child, and as she surveyed the long table alive with youthful gaiety she thought no one in the world could be happier than she, grey-haired but young at heart.

After breakfast Theodore proposed a visit to the Big Tree, which, he claimed, had one of the thickest trunks in Gelderland; he would go there on foot with Howard, Etienne and Cor. Eline and Otto would walk, too, they declared, and the three girls herded all the children, including Memée and Kitty, into the covered wagon.

The breakfast room was a shambles, the chairs in disarray and the table a chaos of platters and glasses while the floor was littered with napkins as well as Tina’s hat, Nico’s toy spade and Memée’s ball.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind all the commotion, Mama?’ asked Truus, taking Madame van Erlevoort’s hand. They were still seated at the breakfast table, surveying the ruins. ‘Really, I’m becoming rather worried. The children are so dreadfully noisy at times that it’s a relief when they’re absent.’

‘What a thing to say!’ responded Madame. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’

‘Well, my foursome often drives me to despair, too, Truus!’ Mathilda assured her.

‘Now don’t you worry about me, dear,’ said Madame. ‘I spent all winter looking forward to my summer visit to De Horze, and I am thrilled to be with you all. And it was sweet of you to invite Eline, too.’

‘I have invited them to London to join us for the season next year, once they are married,’ said Catherine. ‘I rather like her.’

Truus looked away, reaching for a crumpled napkin which she proceeded to smooth and fold.

‘And you, Truus?’ asked Madame van Erlevoort, noting her daughter-in-law’s hesitation. ‘You like her too, don’t you?’

‘Well, I don’t know her very well yet. I do think it very nice of her to adapt so entirely to our ways and habits, so that we can dispense with ceremony — for which I wouldn’t have time in any case; I’m far too busy. I appreciate that very much. But you know me, it takes me a while to form an opinion about people.’

‘That sounds remarkably diplomatic to my ears. As for me, I either like someone or I don’t. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t being diplomatic, all I meant was that I hardly know Eline since she’s only been here a week. She seems very nice, but I’m not sure how I feel about her yet.’

It was on the tip of Mathilda’s tongue to say that she wasn’t sure how she felt about Eline either, despite having known her for years, but she kept silent.

‘Please don’t take it amiss, Mama, but now that we’re on the subject—’

‘Well?’

‘The thing is, there’s something about Eline that makes me think she might not fit in very well with the rest of the family. She adapts herself, certainly, but I’m not sure she does so with all her heart. You don’t mind my saying this, do you? There’s nothing I’d like better than to find that I’m completely mistaken about her, which I probably will, once I get to know her properly.’

She was loath to admit it, but she did not care for Eline. A large, sensible woman and a good mother, Truus ruled over her small empire with firmness and gentle determination, making her will pass as law, and was consequently accustomed to speaking her mind. Now, however, she had restrained herself, for she had noticed how touched her mother-in-law was by Eline’s attentions and displays of affection towards her; she did not wish to disappoint the old lady, who had evidently taken Eline to her heart as her son’s bride-to-be. Nonetheless, Truus couldn’t help feeling that Eline looked slightly out of place in their rural family setting, there was a certain artificiality about her, something that didn’t quite ring true. She was not to know that Eline was in fact feeling more herself than ever, that she felt happy in the bosom of the Van Erlevoort family, and that staying at De Horze had sharpened her faculties. All Truus could see was an over-civilised, pampered society girl affecting to love the simple life in the country, and this irked her, as did the large blue bow on Eline’s dress of smooth, pale-blue lawn.

Catherine Howard was all indignation. Eline would be a lovely sister-in-law, she maintained, and launched into such high praise of Eline that Madame van Erlevoort’s face was soon wreathed in smiles once more.

‘No, really, Truus, I don’t understand your reservations. I admire Eline, especially for the way she has made herself at home with us all. I can assure you that when I first arrived in London with Howard to meet his family I felt very awkward, even though they extended me the most cordial welcome you can imagine. As for Eline — good heavens! I feel as if I have known her all my life, she is such agreeable company, so accommodating, I can’t imagine anyone easier to get along with. Truly, I can’t understand what makes you think she might not fit in. It’s not very charitable of you to think it, either.’

Truus gave a light laugh and excused herself as best she could, and as the maid had come in to clear the table, her mother-in-law, Mathilda and Catherine went out to the veranda to sit in the shade, while she herself remained invisible for the rest of the morning, absorbed in her domestic duties.

. .

The covered wagon had long since departed. Theodore, Howard, Etienne and Cor walked in front, followed by Otto and Eline, who had opened her large lace parasol.

The men conversed in a mixture of English and Dutch; Howard claimed to understand the latter and was able to speak two or three words, while Theodore kept wavering in his English discourse on the subject of tenants and farming. Some farmhands in their Sunday suits passed by with a respectful greeting. The sun-baked road ran between russet-gold fields of rye and oats; there was not a breath of wind. Beyond, white on pink, gleamed the flowering buckwheat. On the horizon stood a farmhouse near some trees, with a faint plume of grey smoke rising up into the bright blue sky.

‘I expect you feel yourself quite the king of the castle here,’ said Howard.

‘Oh, no,’ replied Theodore. ‘I feel more like a farmer than a king, to be honest. But if you turn round a moment you’ll have a fine view of my castle.’

They all paused to look. Through a break in the trees De Horze could be seen in the distance, white as chalk, with its dainty shutters, its white, pointed turrets jutting into the blue and the wide verandas festooned with Virginia creeper. The pond glittered like an oval mirror in the midst of the fresh greensward, which was speckled with white doves.

‘What a delightful view,’ enthused Eline. ‘Oh look, there are people waving at us!’

‘Grandma and the aunts, I suppose,’ said Cor.

In the shade of one of the verandas they could make out the flutter of several white handkerchiefs, and they waved back, while Etienne shouted Hurrah at the top of his voice.

‘Well, so much for the fine view,’ said Theodore. ‘Time to move on, or we’ll never get to the Big Tree.’

Eline spoke English quite fluently, and Howard enjoyed talking with her. He drew her into an animated conversation while she strolled arm in arm with Otto, who was holding her parasol. She was struck by how easy it was for her to engage the sympathy of men, while women only seemed to like her if she made a conscious effort to make herself agreeable to them.

While she was conversing it flashed through her mind that Madame van Erlevoort only liked her because of Otto, and Catherine only because she was friendly by nature. Their feelings did not run deep, she could tell, but on the other hand, how different it was with old Madame van Raat, with dear Cateau, and now with little Tina as well. She smiled and leant closer to Otto; what did she care about the others? She had him now, and his love was all she needed.

It was close to an hour’s walk to the Big Tree. Leaving the golden cornfields behind, they took the lane along a stretch of heath flushed pink with Erica, then entered the deep shade of a grove of densely columned pine trees, redolent with the pungent odour of resin.

The lane curved, and a huddle of houses came into view. It was the village likewise known as De Horze, which boasted a bakery, a vicarage, an inn with stables and a modest church in the centre. Eline looked about her with bemusement, declaring that she did not see any village.

‘But that’s it — right there!’ said Otto.

‘What? Those cottages?’ gasped Eline.

They all laughed, including Howard, and Etienne asked Eline if she had been expecting to see something along the lines of Nice or Biarritz.

‘Or were you were thinking of somewhere like Scheveningen, with the Kurhaus?’ he quipped. ‘I say, Elly, can you tell the difference between rye and oats yet?’

‘No, not quite. I know what buckwheat looks like, and I know flax when I see it — very pale yellow, dotted with wild flowers — and I know potatoes,’ said Eline, counting the crops on her graceful fingers. ‘But I don’t know anything about rye or oats or barley. So you can stop quizzing me, Etienne! But Theodore, are you telling me you are lord and master of all this?’

She laughed beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. There were chuckles all round at Eline’s ignorance, although a look of dismay flitted across Theodore’s features. Eline immediately regretted having laughed, for she did not wish to give offence, and quickly added that De Horze was a truly delightful place with the most picturesque views.

‘And the Big Tree?’ she asked. ‘Where is the Big Tree?’

They crossed the village, scattering chickens as they went. The blacksmith and some farmers doffed their caps to the landlord as they stood by the wayside, grinning and ogling the strangers in his company. Then they had to walk across a meadow and Theodore called to a young farmhand to keep the cow tethered, as Eline was clearly afraid of the massive beast with its bulging eyes and chewing, drooling maw.

When Etienne and Cor began to make mournful mooing noises at the cow, Eline became nervous and begged them to stop.

‘Serves you right for making fun of De Horze, Eline!’ boomed Theodore, but the veiled look she gave him so beguiled him that he hastened to add that Etienne and Cor should stop teasing. At the far end of the meadow stood the Big Tree, an oak with a colossal trunk and a mighty crown. Frédérique, Marianne, Henrietta and the children had already settled themselves between the spreading roots at the base, and raised a cheer when the walking party arrived. They clamoured for Howard and Eline to say what they thought of the Big Tree. Eline, looking very serious, complied by pronouncing it immense and prodigious, but Theodore noticed the twinkle in her eye as she said this, and wagged his finger at her accusingly until she pealed with laughter, especially when Howard solemnly concluded:

‘A big tree, indeed! I never saw one quite so big. How interesting!’

‘You wait! I’ll catch you!’ cried Theodore, and ran after Eline, who fled shrieking until she collapsed on the grass with her arms outstretched.

‘Theodore, stop it! I shall call Otto!’

‘I’ll teach you, you wicked girl! Call Otto if you like! I’ll teach you!’ and he seized her wrists and shook her arms with mock force, while she pretended to be in abominable pain. Finally he helped her to her feet, and she, still giggling, promised to better her ways and show more respect for nature.

The youngsters and their English uncle were holding hands to form a ring around the tree.

‘It’s quite ridiculous of Theodore to make such a fuss of Eline,’ Frédérique muttered to herself, but Etienne overheard.

‘How tiresome you’ve become lately!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t even enjoy a joke any more!’

. .

Nearby the small church was a pine grove, where Eline reclined on a bank smooth with fallen needles, propping up her head with her hand. Otto sat beside her. They could hear the creak of the rope pulling on the headstock before each slow clang of the bell. It was time for church. Some country folk in glossy broadcloth and shiny silk aprons passed by on the road, prayer book in hand, and Eline and Otto, themselves scarcely visible among the trees, followed them with their eyes. The scattered church goers were few in number, and after a few latecomers hurried by a Sunday hush descended on the countryside. All was still save for the distant bleating of a goat.

It was true: Eline had imagined De Horze far grander and more luxurious than it had turned out to be, and the simplicity of life on the estate made her smile when she thought back on Ouida’s English castles with their complement of dukes and princes, and how, during her vigils at Aunt Vere’s sickbed, she had dreamt of inhabiting such a castle herself. Compared with the past splendours of that fictional aristocracy, the living conditions of these well-to-do but necessarily frugal members of an ancient house were positively austere. Yet she would not have exchanged her present circumstances for anything, and with a smile she told Otto about how enchanted she had once been by Ouida’s novels and her English castles, but that she would now give preference to De Horze, just as she preferred him, her poor country squire, to some fantasy Scottish laird with an immense fortune and a name like Erceldoune or Strathmore.

Yes, Eline felt her heart swell with happiness as she sat in that quiet glade beneath the pine trees, with Otto’s voice, deep and full, sounding in her ears. He told her he could scarcely believe that she was his, his alone, and that they would indeed be united for ever. He told her she had only one fault, which was that she did not know herself as he knew her. He knew her as she really was: she had untold treasures hidden within her character, and it would be his privilege to attempt to bring them to light. In the fullness of her joy she became candid, even towards herself, more than she had ever been before, and her voice was tinged with regret as she replied that he would yet, when he knew her better, discover in her much that was bad. No, no, truly, he didn’t not know her as well as he thought. There was so much going on in one’s heart that one got muddled at times — she did anyway — and she had to confess that her thoughts were not always of the best, neither was she always as even-tempered as she pretended to be whenever he saw her; and she could be peevish at times, without reason, or nervous, or in low spirits, but for his sake — he was such an idealist! — she would certainly endeavour to live up to the image he had formed of her. She felt pure and good making this admission, assured that she could freely reveal to him thoughts she that she scarcely dared admit to herself. Gone was the fear of losing him through some careless word; she could now see so clearly how much he loved her, and that he loved her all the more for speaking of her feelings in that frank, unguarded way. He was like the personification of her conscience, someone in whom she could confide every secret a girl might harbour. And the more she deprecated herself in such moments of sincerity and truth, the more he worshipped her, and the more he believed he could plumb the mysteries of her soul beneath that beautiful exterior.

They listened to the hymns of the peasantry drifting from the church like a soft current of simple piety, and in the tranquillity of the moment it seemed to them that the rustic voices were steeped in poetry, a poetry that mingled with the darkling boughs above, with the aroma of pine needles, with the love in their hearts. Eline was so affected with emotion that she raised herself up a little, the better to rest her head against his chest; she could not resist twining her arms about his neck, too, and all at once, feeling herself so close to him, with her bosom pressed to his heart, she was shaken by a sob.

‘Goodness! Eline, whatever is the matter?’ he asked gently.

‘Nothing!’ she replied, breathless with exaltation. ‘Nothing, don’t mind me — it’s just that I feel so — so very happy!’

And she wept in his embrace.

. .

It was early-to-rise and early-to-bed at the country house, and the days flew by. The weather was splendid, and most of the time was spent in the fresh air, especially by the children, who only came indoors at mealtimes or to shelter from a rare shower. With their faces and hands as brown as berries from the sun, the youngsters — the Van Rijssel foursome, the two boys, Willy and Gustaaf, and Edmée and Kitty Howard — resembled a band of little Negroes cavorting on the lawns and by the pond amid the flutter of startled doves. Often they would be pursued by any one of the three nursemaids: Truus’ governess, Catherine’s English nanny and Nurse Frantzen, the latter being in a state of constant anxiety about the danger of Nico falling into the pond. The youngsters inspected the aviary and the stables, they befriended the head gardener and his men, as well as the coachman and his stable boy, fed the birds and the hens and the ducks, they went swimming and took turns riding Theodore’s unsaddled horse under the watchful guidance of the good-natured stable boy. They also peered in the windows of the gym-room to watch the men exercise, finding Theodore impressively muscular and Howard more lithe and supple, while Etienne made a show of swinging wildly on the rings and vaulting over the horse. Most of all, however, the children were in awe of Cor, who wore a rather conceited expression while effortlessly performing the most audacious turns on the rings with his strong, sinewy limbs. After coffee the boys played cricket with Howard, or they joined the girls at a game of lawn-tennis in the shade of the lofty trees in the park, or lounged under a tree with a book, or simply did nothing but lie back and daydream with their hands folded beneath their heads. After supper they went for walks or took turns in the small boat to float about the pond until darkness fell, and it would be ten o’clock before they knew it.

Eline’s happiness and enjoyment of country living made her feel so entirely herself that she could scarcely believe that she was the same person as she had been a few months before. She felt completely different; it was as though her soul had unwound itself from its gleaming draperies and now rose up before her like a statue of the purest white. She no longer veiled herself in affectations, no longer played a role, she was her own self, her dear Otto’s little wife-to-be, and this newfound candour lent such winsomeness to her gestures, to the slightest word she uttered, that not only Truus admitted having been mistaken about Eline, much to Catherine’s satisfaction, but also that Frédérique took to spending hours exchanging sisterly confidences with her, and that Madame van Erlevoort pronounced her an angel. During moments of solitary reflection on her new selfhood, tears welled up in her eyes in gratitude for all the goodness that she had received, and her only wish was that time would not fly, but stand still instead, so that the present would last for ever. Beyond that she desired nothing, and a sense of infinite rest and blissful, blue tranquillity emanated from her being.

. .

Dusk fell slowly, and the cloudless sky turned a pearly shade of grey studded with stars. The park was a vague, shadowy mass in the background, the glass doors of the illuminated garden room stood wide open, and out on the terrace the tea table shone in the soft light coming from the house. The children were in bed, but Marianne and Henrietta were allowed to stay up a little longer. They all sat in a large circle while Truus poured the tea. Inside, Eline could be heard singing, and from time to time a star fell from heaven.

Catherine played the accompaniment while Otto sat on the sofa, listening. It sounded to Eline as if she were hearing her own voice for the first time. She was singing Mozart’s ‘Evening Thoughts’ — crystalline but with a new velvety timbre, light and almost downy, from which the previous glittery, metallic quality had vanished. She sang effortlessly, without a thought for technique or art, and not for one moment did she imagine herself on stage in front of an audience, as she used to do during her duos with Paul. She had only to part her lips and all her joy seemed to well up from her soul, charging the melancholy words of her song with a new depth of emotion. On this long, light summer evening, now that the youngsters’ noisy play had ended, her music poured a melodious calmness over the happy gathering, and they loved her all the more for the poetry that she bestowed on them.

After the song there was a ripple of applause on the terrace, and Eline could be heard laughing gaily and talking to Otto and Catherine. Henrietta and Marianne ran inside to congratulate her on her performance.

‘Oh, I’ll never be as good as you, Eline!’ cried Marianne, who, like all Theodore’s offspring, addressed their future aunt familiarly by her first name. ‘I sing in a choir at my boarding school in Bonn, but our music master is old and boring, and I’m not learning a thing. Have you had singing lessons for long? And who is your teacher?’

Eline seated herself beside Otto on the old-fashioned, ample sofa while the two girls perched on the arms, and told them about Roberts and her duets. Catherine had gone outside.

‘I say, Eline, don’t you find it boring here?’ asked Henrietta.

‘Boring? Why should I be bored? On the contrary!’

Henrietta was surprised. She was rather heavy for her age, but still looked very boyish sitting on the arm of the sofa, wide-legged in her red stockings and riding boots with the laces undone. There was no trace as yet of coquetry; she had ginger hair in a thick plait down her back, fun-loving grey eyes, a generous mouth and beautiful teeth. In her mind she carried a confused picture of balls attended by men in gold-braided uniforms and ladies in décolleté gowns, and to her Eline was the personification of The Hague, where all that mattered was dancing and ball dresses.

‘Well, I would have thought The Hague was completely different!’ she exclaimed in her boyish voice. ‘So much more amusing, going to all those parties, I mean. I’m not sure it would suit me in the long run, but I’d love to take a look some day. I’ll come and stay with you, later on, when you’re married. So I thought you’d find De Horze rather boring — it’s always the same. Actually, I love it here, I’ve got my donkey cart and my donkey, and I also have a goat, and I can’t bear the idea of going away to boarding school.’

‘Just you wait!’ interjected Marianne, who was beginning to put on ladylike airs. ‘Another two years, and then it’ll be time for my coming out and for you to be packed off to Bonn!’

‘In your donkey cart, or with your goat!’ chuckled Otto.

‘How horrid! To Bonn! No thank you very much! I don’t care if I’m not clever. Miss Voermans is good enough for me.’

‘Is she your governess?’ asked Eline.

‘Yes. She’s staying with her relatives in Limburg at the moment. She’s been with us for a long time; she teaches me and the boys, but Mama says the boys are getting too old and that they must go to boarding school as well. Papa doesn’t think so, he’s much more sensible, he doesn’t care for all that learning. Miss Voermans is all right, although she’s very ugly and as thin as a rake. So you like it here, do you?’

‘I certainly do. Indeed I have no intention of leaving! We’ve decided to stay here, haven’t we, Otto?’

He smiled and took her hand.

‘Come along, Henrietta, we’re boring them with our talk!’ cried Marianne, springing to her feet and tugging at her sister’s sleeve. ‘Can’t you see? How could you ask such a silly question, anyway?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s silly to ask Eline whether she’s bored.’

‘Why do you think it silly?’ asked Eline.

‘Because people who are engaged don’t get bored!’

‘How would you know?’ said Hetty. ‘It’s not as if you’ve ever been engaged.’

Otto and Eline rose, smiling at the younger sister’s gruff remonstrations.

‘Where are you going, Uncle?’ Marianne wanted to know.

‘We are going to join the others in the garden.’

‘That’s not what you would do, is it, Marianne?’ teased Hetty. ‘You’d steal off into a dark corner with your beloved, wouldn’t you?’

Marianne looked her sister up and down for a moment and gave an aggrieved shrug, whereupon Eline cast her a smile of sympathy and took her arm.

Outside, the tea things had been cleared to make way for a large bowl of punch made with light Rhine wine flavoured with raspberries and strawberries. Animated conversation reigned over the table while Truus took a long glass ladle and filled one glass after another.

‘What is keeping Theodore and Etienne?’ asked the old lady, looking about her.

‘They’ve gone for a walk in the park,’ responded Mathilda.

‘Theodore! Etienne!’ called Frédérique.

Otto offered to go and find them, and set off towards the darkness of the wood where shadows lurked between the trunks of the lofty trees. Through a break in the canopy overhead he could see a pale moon shining in the pearl-grey evening sky. He walked on, following the winding drive. Seeing no one, he shouted their names:

‘Theodore! Etienne!’

A sonorous voice answered, at the sound of which he took a side path. Presently he came upon his two brothers, lost in the dark, sitting on a park bench. He could barely distinguish their faces.

‘You’ve been sorely missed!’ declared Otto. ‘And now punch is being served!’

He expected Etienne to leap to his feet in his usual boisterous fashion, and was most surprised to see his young brother remain huddled on the bench with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

‘No punch for you then?’ he asked.

‘Come on Etienne, let’s go!’ said Theodore. ‘Let’s take our time getting back though, Otto, because there’s something we ought to discuss. I have been talking to Etienne, and apparently I have not been very diplomatic. At any rate, our young brother here appears to be rather upset.’

‘No I’m not,’ growled Etienne.

‘So what’s wrong?’ asked Otto.

‘Nothing. It’s just that for the past quarter of an hour Theodore has been telling me off. It turns out that I’m lazy, idle, a free-spending scamp and goodness know what else. In other words: good for nothing.’

‘Oh, come now,’ protested Theodore, ‘don’t go off in a sulk. That won’t get you anywhere. All I did was mention your future and raise the admittedly boring subject of your financial situation. No harm in that, surely. What do you say, Otto?’

‘Ah, I have spoken to Etienne on those matters myself. He was quite willing to hear me out, although I don’t believe he paid much attention, I have to say.’

‘Well, I suppose I’m not as tactful as you are. Perhaps that’s all to the good, because he seems to be paying attention now, doesn’t he?’

‘But you make it sound as if we’re as poor as church mice!’ spluttered Etienne.

‘And you, dear boy, sound as pathetic as a girl. I merely explained to you that we have to keep a tight rein on our expenses here at De Horze — and the same applies to Mama in The Hague — because if we don’t we will be obliged to economise in the most unpleasant manner afterwards. Can you imagine what it would do to Mama if she had to leave the family home she loves so much and has lived in for so many years? It doesn’t bear thinking about. And then there’s Mathilda; there doesn’t appear to be any money forthcoming from Van Rijssel, so she has no choice but to turn to Mama for support in educating the children. We all live very frugally, as you saw for yourself when you were here last winter with Van Raat, and it is no different now. The only luxury we can afford is having you all to stay with us in the summer. In the meantime you’re living it up with your student friends in Leiden, all of whom are rich or pretend to be, and you get through nearly the same amount of money over there as we do here as an entire family. So you see, old chap, this cannot continue. I don’t begrudge you your carefree student days, and I’m aware that it’s far from easy, once one is accustomed to spending freely, to start tightening one’s belt. But still, Etienne, you really must better your ways.’

Etienne kept his head bowed as they went on their way, his customary high spirits dampened. He felt a sting of conscience.

‘Another thing: it’s time you started thinking about graduating. Because you don’t seem to have been at all busy lately.’

‘Well, it’s summer now, isn’t it?’ said Etienne.

‘What about last winter? Did a lot of studying then, did you?’

Etienne sighed.

‘No I suppose not, but I wish you’d stop nagging! You know I will graduate eventually. Wait and see. I’ll work harder.’

Otto smiled, feeling a twinge of pity for his young brother. Work and Etienne didn’t seem to go together at all!

‘All right, that’s a promise!’ persisted Theodore. ‘I can take your word for it then, can I? Come on, let’s shake on it!’

Etienne put out his hand.

‘Good. And no more sulking now, please, no long faces!’

‘I wasn’t sulking,’ said Etienne crossly. Theodore’s admonitions had touched a raw nerve. Thinking of his exams, he realised how unprepared he was, and how hard it was going to be to keep his promise. It had never occurred to him that he had been letting them all down — Mama, Mathilda, Theodore and the children — simply by enjoying himself in Leiden and indulging in all those lavish dinners with his fraternity, and he was at a loss as to how to repair the damage. Meanwhile they had arrived at the terrace, where Truus was replenishing the glasses.

‘Ah, there you are! Just in time, too, because I wouldn’t have saved any punch for you if you’d made us wait much longer!’ she declared with feigned vexation. ‘Eline was wondering what was keeping you, Otto; she was afraid you’d fallen into the pond!’

‘That’s not true!’ huffed Eline, whereupon Catherine, Cor and the girls raised a riotous chorus of protest at her denial. There was so much jollity that Etienne quickly forgot his cares and could not resist joining the fray with whoops of laughter. Frédérique tried in vain to calm him down, while Mathilda explained to Howard what was going on.

Madame van Erlevoort shook her head in dismay.

‘It is most unkind to tease her so!’ she chided gently, but her defence of Eline only increased Etienne’s hilarity.

. .

The last few days had been hot and muggy. After coffee the youngsters dispersed. The doves circled round the storks’ nests atop a pair of tall poles in the middle of the lawn. On the veranda with steps leading to the garden sat the old lady with her daughters, while Eline and Frédérique were inside, playing billiards with the men.

‘Where are the children?’ enquired Catherine, gazing out over the freshly mown lawn, deserted now but for Theodore’s three dozing hounds.

‘They’ve gone for a stroll; to the White Hollow, I believe,’ replied Truus.

‘The White Hollow?’ Mathilda cried out in dismay. ‘But that’s an hour’s walk! And I’m sure it’s going to rain.’

Truus stood up and peered at the sky.

‘You may be right, Tilly. I shouldn’t have allowed it, I suppose, but Hetty was so insistent and your little ones so eager that I gave in, without thinking of the weather. I can’t think of everything, I’m afraid. All the bustle and excitement of the children makes my head spin now and then — which is not to say that I don’t love having you here, mind you!’

Heavy, slate-grey clouds were massing in the sky. The light dimmed, the leaves rustled on the boughs and the surface of the pond rippled in the rising wind.

‘I hope they took umbrellas!’ said the old lady, standing up. Catherine and Mathilda followed suit.

‘Umbrellas! I doubt it! Children don’t think of such things, they won’t even have taken their hats, I wager! What shall we do? There’s a heavy downpour on its way.’

‘We can’t just leave them to their fate. Are you sure they have gone to the White Hollow?’ fretted Catherine.

‘Sure? Well, not really, but they were talking about it. Wait, I’ll go and tell Klaas to take the covered wagon to the White Hollow.’

Off she went to speak to the coachman.

Scattered raindrops began to fall. The dogs on the lawn got up, stretched, and ambled into the house one after another. Madame van Erlevoort paced the floor while Catherine and Mathilda grew increasingly nervous as they waited for Klaas to hitch the horses.

The gloomy sky lit up with a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. Hardly had it died away than the clouds burst forth in a heavy downpour. The billiard players hurried out to the veranda, where they all stood close together in the shelter of the awning, united in their concern for the youngsters and heedless of the raindrops blowing in their direction. There were more flashes of lightning and the ensuing thunderclaps became deafening.

‘I don’t think we should stay here,’ said Catherine anxiously. ‘Let’s go inside. Oh, my poor Kitty!’

Truus was very fraught, blaming herself for having allowed the children to go out, and in her nervous condition she snapped at Catherine and Mathilda, then at her husband, even at her mother, and finally at Etienne, who had suggested going after them with umbrellas. Umbrellas! The boy had taken leave of his senses! Why had no one thought to warn her? Why did everything go wrong the minute her back was turned? How could she possibly run this household properly under these conditions? Suddenly she rounded on Eline:

‘Eline, don’t just stand there by the pillars, you’ll get all wet, and it’s dangerous with the lightning. Oh dear, it can’t be helped, so do let’s go indoors! What if they’ve had an accident! I can’t bear it! Oh, Mathilda, why didn’t you warn me? I can’t take responsibility for everything, you know!’

She shooed them all into the drawing room, for there was no sense in standing around getting wet, it would only make the waiting harder to bear. Nevertheless, she kept running out to the veranda to see if the youngsters were coming, while the thunderstorm continued unabated.

Inside, they seated themselves. Little was said, and the atmosphere was charged with restless expectation. They all heaved a sigh of relief when at last the old wagon returned. The hood was secured on all sides, but small hands could be seen parting the flaps and small, wide-eyed faces peering out. The ramshackle vehicle rumbled past the house on its way to the covered entrance at the back, and there was a general rush to welcome the bedraggled passengers.

One by one they emerged: first Marianne and Henrietta, then Willy and Gustaaf, after which they helped the Van Rijssel foursome and Memée to alight. Catherine flew to Kitty, who was crying. They were all soaked to the skin, their shoes and hands were covered in mud and their straw hats soggy and dripping. Bedlam broke loose as the children swarmed through the vestibule into the large dining room shouting at the tops of their voices, the three barking dogs bounding alongside.

Marianne and Hetty hooted with laughter at Willy, who had left one of his shoes in the White Hollow; Tina, Johan and Madeleine shrieked in unison as they told Mathilda how Nico had very nearly been left behind because he had gone off in search of his toy spade, which he had lost in the sand. However, Truus soon showed her mettle as mistress of the house by raising her voice commandingly and rapping loudly on the table until some semblance of order was restored. The youngsters were dispatched upstairs, where Nurse Frantzen, Truus’ governess and the English nursemaid ran from room to room fetching out dry socks and vests from the wardrobes while Truus distributed bath towels. The little ones were stripped of their wet clothes, and no one heeded the thunderstorm raging outside. Marianne and Henrietta went into their room and shut the door behind them for some privacy, as everyone was running in and out, including Papa and the uncles. Willy and Gustaaf were told to help themselves, and Truus threw them towels and fresh underwear, telling them to make sure they dried themselves properly, not forgetting their backs, chests, and between their toes, while she fetched them socks and shoes. Kitty was still crying; she could be heard in another room, along with Catherine and her governess, who were conversing in English.

‘Oh, Tina, do take off your wet clothes,’ cried Mathilda, helping Johan while her mama took charge of Nico and Frédérique saw to Madeleine. Tina, however, sat on a chair and refused to budge. Just then Eline appeared, bearing a complete set of clothes for her favourite.

‘Now, now, Tina dear!’ said Eline indulgently, ‘your poor mama is quite run off her feet, so you mustn’t be cross. Will you let me help you instead? What do you say?’

Tina nodded her head, pouting like a little princess. Eline crouched down on the floor, unfastened the child’s mud-spattered button boots and pulled off her soaked stockings.

‘My pretty poppet, you’re shivering!’ she cried out in dismay, and rubbed the child’s clammy feet and legs with a rough towel until they were warm and rosy once more. Tina wriggled her toes in Eline’s lap, happy again. She untied her belt and began to unbutton her blouse.

‘Good girl! Go on, take your clothes off, and I promise I’ll brush your hair afterwards. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

‘Will you do my hair? Will you put it up like yours?’

‘Gracious no, poppet, I shall make you a braid, the way you always wear it.’

‘Oh please, please, Eline, put it up, won’t you? I want to look like a proper lady!’

‘All right then, if you do as I say. Quick, Tina, let’s get you undressed first.’

Eline made her stand up on the chair and proceeded to undress as if she were a doll, while Tina prattled on about the White Hollow and how frightened they had been by the lightning. She rubbed the slight, shivering body until it glowed all over, after which the little girl flung her arms around Eline’s neck and squeezed with all her might. Eline had to laugh.

‘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.