Eline Vere

II

At half-past two the Van Raats made their way homeward to Nassauplein. All was quiet at the house, the servants having gone to bed. As Henk slipped his key back into his pocket and drew the bolt across the front door, Betsy was reminded of her rosy little boy upstairs in his white crib, asleep with bunched fists. She took the candle from the newel post and started up the stairs, while her husband stepped into the dining room with the newspapers. The gas light was on, tempered to a wan glow from a small, fan-shaped flame.

Betsy’s dressing room was likewise illuminated. She turned the knob, causing the light to flare up brightly, and drew her fur wrap off her shoulders. In the small grate a flame leapt upwards like the fiery tongue of a heraldic lion. There was something soothing about the room, something reminiscent of a warm bath and the sweet perfume of Parma violets. For a moment she stood over the white crib in the darkened adjoining nursery, then returned and with a sigh began to undress, letting the lace gown slide down her hips like a black cloud. The door opened and Eline came in, looking rather pale in a white flannel peignoir, with her hair loose and flowing.

‘Why Elly, not in bed yet?’

‘No, I. . I’ve been reading. Did you enjoy your evening?’

‘Yes indeed, it was very nice. I only wish Henk weren’t so insufferably dull. He never said a word, just stood there fidgeting with his watch chain and looking awkward, except when they played whist during the intervals.’

Somewhat tetchily, Betsy wedged the toe of one foot against the heel of the other and kicked off a dainty shoe of gilded leather and beadwork

Eline stretched herself languidly.

‘Did you tell Madame Verstraeten I was indisposed?’

‘Yes I did. But you know me, Sis, after a late night like this I can’t wait to get to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, all right?’

Eline was used to her sister being mildly out of sorts after an evening out, regardless of whether she had enjoyed herself, desiring only to shed her clothes as soon as possible.

Nevertheless, she was tempted to make some sharp reply, but in the next instant felt too lethargic and feeble to do so. She touched her lips to Betsy’s cheek and, without thinking, leant her head against her sister’s shoulder in a sudden craving for tenderness.

‘You’re not really ill, are you?’

‘No. Just feeling a bit lazy, that’s all. Goodnight then.’

‘Sleep well.’

Eline, languorous and graceful in her white peignoir, retired. Betsy picked up her lace gown from the floor and continued undressing.

. .

In the corridor Eline felt a vague sense of banishment, which caused her momentary displeasure. She had been quite alone all evening, having giving in to a whim of indolence and ennui not to go out, and any length of solitude tended to bring on melancholy, making her long for some company and light-hearted banter. She paused in the dark, undecided, then groped her way down the stairs and entered the dining room.

Henk had flung his tailcoat on the sofa, and now stood in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves preparing his nightly hot toddy. Swirls of steam rose from the glass as he replaced the kettle on the hot plate.

‘Hello, my dear!’ he said heartily, an affable smile spreading beneath the bushy blond moustache as he regarded her with his sleepy, blue-grey eyes. ‘Weren’t you very bored this evening, all by yourself?’

‘A little, yes. Not as bored as you, maybe,’ she responded with a coy smile.

‘Me? Quite the contrary; the tableaux were really rather good.’

He stood straddle-legged, sipping his hot drink with audible relish.

‘Has the youngster been good?’

‘Yes, sound asleep all evening. Are you staying up?’

‘I just want to have a look at the papers. But why aren’t you in bed yet?’

‘Oh, no reason. .’

Turning to the pier glass, she stretched her arms again lingeringly, then twisted her loose hair into a sleek, dark chignon. She felt a need to confide in him, to have a heart-to-heart talk, but in her vacant, dreamy state she was at a loss for any particular topic to engage his sympathy. She wished she could break down and weep, overcome by some not-too-lacerating grief, for the sole purpose of hearing his gentle, bass voice consoling her. But she could think of nothing to say, and continued to stretch herself with languishing gestures.

‘Is anything wrong? Tell me, my dear, is anything the matter?’

Widening her eyes, she shook her head from side to side. No, nothing was wrong.

‘You can tell me, you know!’

‘Well, I’m just a bit upset, that’s all.’

‘What about?’

She gave a little moan, pouting her lips.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve been feeling rather nervous all day.’

He laughed his gentle, sonorous laugh.

‘You and your nerves! Come now, little sister, it’s time you cheered up. You’re such good company when you’re not in one of your moods; you really shouldn’t give in to them.’

Feeling insufficiently eloquent to persuade her of this, he grinned and changed the subject:

‘Care for a nightcap, Sis?’

‘Thank you. Yes, I’ll just have a sip of yours.’

She turned to face him, and he, chuckling beneath his blond moustache, raised the steaming glass to her lips. Then he noted the glint of a tear in her hooded eyes, and with brusque determination set down the glass and caught her hands in his.

‘There, there now, tell me what happened. Was it something between you and Betsy? Go on, you know you can tell me everything.’

He cast her a look of reproof with his uncomprehending, trusting eyes like those of a good-natured Newfoundland dog.

. .

Only then, in a voice broken with sobs, did she let loose a torrent of misery, for no apparent reason other than the prompting of his voice and his eyes. The urge to pour her heart out was too strong to resist. What was she living for? What use could she be to anyone? She wandered about the room, wringing her hands and lamenting without pause. She didn’t care if she died within the hour, she didn’t care about anything at all, it was just that her existence was so futile, so useless, without anything she could wholeheartedly devote herself to, and it was all becoming too much to bear.

Henk sputtered in protest, discomfited by the scene, which was no more than a repetition of so many previous ones. He began to talk about Betsy and Ben, their little boy, and about himself, and he was on the point of mentioning that she too would be mistress of her own home one day, but then thought that might be indiscreet. She for her part shook her head like a stubborn child refusing to be distracted after not getting its way, and then, in desperation, hid her face against his shoulder and sobbed there, with her arm entwined around his sturdy neck. Her nerves were frayed from the lonely hours spent in an overheated room, and she resumed her halting tirade, bemoaning the pointlessness of her existence, the wretched burden life was to her, and in her tone he detected a hint of reproach directed at him, her brother-in-law, for being the cause of all her woes. He was much confused, and also touched by the warmth of her fragrant embrace, which he could hardly return with equal tenderness. All he could do to stem the flow of disjointed sentences was murmur trite words of consolation.

Slowly, slowly, to the soft tones of his sonorous voice, she cast off her melancholy mood, as though scattering rose petals on a stream.

She fell silent at last and took a deep breath, but continued to rest her head on his shoulder. Now that she had calmed down, he thought it incumbent on him to chide her for her foolishness. What nonsense it all was, to be sure! A lot of fiddlesticks! Because, dash it all, there was no call for such a fuss, now, was there?

‘But Henk, truly—’ she began, raising her moist eyes to his.

‘My dear girl, all this talk about there being no sense to your life — whatever gave you that idea? You know we all love you dearly.’

And, recalling his earlier, unspoken consideration of her eventual marriage, he added:

‘Fancy a young girl like you complaining of the futility of life! My dear sis, you must be quite mad!’

Tickled by this thought, and feeling there had been enough philosophy for now, he gave her arms a firm shake and tweaked her sad lips into a smile. She resisted, laughing, and it was as though the balance in her mind had been restored by her outburst. When a few moments later they started up the stairs together, she could barely suppress a shriek of laughter as he suddenly swept her off her feet and carried her the rest of the way while she, fearing a fall, half-ordered and half-begged him to desist.

‘Now Henk, let me go! Don’t be silly! Put me down at once, Henk, do you hear?’