Eline Vere

XXIV

Betsy’s compassion for Eline initially manifested itself in sisterly concern for the state of her health, but before long her old irritation returned with redoubled force. How very tiresome of Eline to go back on her word! And why, for Heaven’s sake? Why had she done it? She, Betsy, could not for the life of her understand why Eline had changed her mind. Who could she possibly rather marry than Otto, even though he was perhaps not rolling in riches? Now her own plans for the future were ruined! If Eline didn’t get married, she’d go on living with them for ever, and as for Vincent, he was a hanger-on if there ever was one! She was sick and tired of the pair of them, the way they were always spoiling the atmosphere with their selfish behaviour.

Another source of annoyance for Betsy was all the talk about Otto and Eline calling off their engagement. She would not have minded so much about the gossip, which she knew would die down soon enough, if Eline had given her the impression, now that she had got her way, that things would soon return to normal, that she would finally shake off this absurd act of grieving over Otto and gradually become her old self again, the younger sister whose pretty face and charming manners had been rather an asset when she entertained guests of an evening. Oh, if only Eline would be obliging and come to her senses, then Betsy’s dearest wish would be for her to stay with them as long as she liked. But the fact of the matter was that Eline was permanently in a dark mood — either sullen and dazed-looking or enraged, complete with shrill vociferations. Eline never went out nowadays, and only the other evening, when Betsy had invited a few guests for dinner — just Madame Eekhof with Ange and Léonie, Marguerite van Laren and her fiancé, and young Hijdrecht — she had actually stayed up in her room under the pretext of a severe headache. Betsy’s patience was running out. Why did Eline have to look so wan and weary-eyed, why didn’t she bother to put her hair up properly nowadays? And those endless tête-à-têtes with Vincent! True, Vincent was their cousin and a semi-invalid at that, but there something unseemly about the way she kept sneaking off with him to the violet anteroom, or to her boudoir, or to the conservatory. She was determined to say something next time she came upon them sharing secrets; it simply wouldn’t do.

In her irritable frame of mind Betsy’s anger was quickly provoked, and besides delivering pin-pricks of disapproval to Eline and Vincent at every opportunity, she would vent her spleen on the servants, on Ben and on her husband. Impossible to please, she bustled about the house in a pretence of housewifely fastidiousness, flying into a rage at a dust cloth left lying about or a particle of fluff on the carpet, grumbling at her young son when he was sitting quietly with his toys, or berating her husband for some misdemeanour, such as having something urgent to do elsewhere the moment she opened her mouth! Most of all she was dissatisfied with herself, for having become so ill-tempered. And yet none of it was her fault. It was all her sister’s fault, and Vincent’s.

One day, just before dinner, things came to a head. All that happened to ignite her rage was that she had come upon Vincent raising a glass to his lips in the dining room. The dinner bell had not yet sounded, and he had helped himself to some wine from the decanter. Forgetting all her previous caution with regard to Vincent, she lashed out at him for his abominable behaviour. Where were his manners? Didn’t he know she ran a respectable house? Indeed, she had been meaning to ask him for some time whether he possessed any manners at all! Thus they stood, face to face, Vincent eyeing her with cool self-restraint while Betsy let fly, when Henk and Eline entered. Eline made no comment, not wishing to take sides, while Henk tried to pacify his wife. His efforts had the opposite effect, and she turned her fury on him, accusing him of being ineffectual and disloyal as usual. It was not the wine that she objected to — Vincent could drink as much as he liked for all she cared — what stung her was that he seemed to think he was living in a hotel, free of charge, where he could stay just as long as it suited him, helping himself to whatever took his fancy. He had no business coming down to the dining room before anyone else, before the dinner bell sounded, it was downright rude, and she wasn’t having it!

Vincent kept his counsel, conceding temporary defeat, but in retreating from the room gave Betsy a look of such scorn and loathing as to strike fear into her heart. Her triumph at having put him in his place evaporated as she quickly composed herself, announcing that it was time dinner was served and motioning Henk and Eline to take their seats at the table. Henk took a deep breath and did as he was bidden; Eline too sat down, and proceeded to unfold her napkin with deliberation. Neither Betsy nor Henk said very much after that, and Eline maintained a stoic silence for the duration of the meal.

That evening Vincent packed his suitcase in preparation for his departure to London. Henk made only half-hearted attempts to dissuade him, because he knew that with Vincent out of the way there was more chance of restoring some kind of harmony in the home. He felt sorry for Vincent, to be sure, but he couldn’t wait for Betsy to be relieved of this importunate cousin, whom she had first ingratiated herself with and then come to loathe from the bottom of her heart.

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 was 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 light-hearted 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—’

‘I know, I know — I, who dared to interrupt you at a dinner party! Yes, I dared to do so! But I promise you that I shall dare a great deal more if I hear another word spoken against Vincent. You think he’s spiteful, but you’re the one who’s spiteful — first you invite him to stay and then you throw a tantrum over some trifle and shout at him like a fishwife so that he’ll leave! You’re the one who’s spiteful!’

‘Keep your insults to yourself, pray.’

‘And you keep your nasty remarks about Vincent to yourself in future!’ raged Eline. ‘I will not hear another word spoken against him, I’ve put up with it long enough for the sake of peace, but now I can’t stand it any longer! Do you understand?’

‘You can’t stand it any longer, you say? Oh, so it’s because of Vincent that you can’t stand Otto anymore either, I suppose.’

‘Leave Otto out of this!’ screamed Eline.

‘You don’t mean to say that you’ve taken a fancy to that reptile? Is that why you treated Otto as if he were just another beau, someone to have a little fling with? You say you won’t put up with my criticism of Vincent, but I–I won’t put up with any more of your compromising behaviour! Who do you think you are? First you’re stupid enough to break off your engagement, out of sheer caprice, without the slightest reason, so that now we’ve got all the tongues wagging, then you start making a fuss of Vincent here in my house as if you’re in love with him, and to cap it all you have the nerve to insult me in front of other people! I’m not having it, do you hear? If you’ve picked up your bad manners from all those idiotic philosophical discussions you had with Vincent, then—’

Eline was beside herself. Her nerves were strung to their highest tension, quivering under Betsy’s vituperations. What Betsy had said about her and Otto, and especially about her sympathy for Vincent, which she thought she had kept hidden from everyone, filled her with helpless rage. She gripped Betsy’s wrists and, hissing between her teeth, shrilled out:

‘Shut up! Stop it, I tell you! Don’t you dare lecture me about Otto, or Vincent for that matter, or I’ll slap you. You’re horrible. I’ve had as much as I can take of your aggravation! I warn you!’

‘Eline, have you taken leave of your senses?’ cried Betsy, but Eline stood where she was, shaking her fists.

‘Yes, you drive me mad with all your aggravation about “my house, my house”! I am well aware it’s your house I’m living in, but I never asked to come here, and you keep harping on the fact that it’s your house as if I ought to thank you for taking me in. I don’t depend on you for anything, and even if I am living under your roof, that doesn’t give you any say in what I do or don’t do. I’m free, free to do as I please.’

‘No you are not. You are here, in my house, and you must conduct yourself accordingly. And if you cannot, then it is up to me to try to do something about it.’

Betsy had left the door open when she came in, and their shouting reverberated through the whole house, almost drowning out the rattling of the shutters in the storm. Henk appeared in the doorway, but was unable to make himself heard over the din.

‘You have nothing to say about how I should or should not behave!’ shrieked Eline. ‘I’m free, I tell you! I don’t need your house, and I swear to you that I shan’t stay here for another second! I swear it! You can stuff your precious house!’ She hardly knew what she was saying, having worked herself up into a paroxysm of fury, nor was she conscious of what she was doing when she snatched up her cloak off the floor and flung it about her shoulders. She made a dash for the door, but Henk stood in her path.

‘Eline!’ he began gravely.

‘Let me go, let me go!’ she raged like a wounded tigress, pushing him away with such force that he staggered back. He tried to stop her again, but she was already out of the door, flying down the stairs.

‘Eline! For God’s sake, Eline! You don’t know what you’re doing!’ he called, in hot pursuit. She was deaf to his cries, for there was only one thought in her mind: to flee from this house where she was not wanted, and she was blind to Gerard and the maids staring at her in blank amazement as she rushed through the vestibule, threw open the glass-panelled inner door and swiftly drew the bolt of the street door. A blast of wind caused the inner door to slam shut, and at her back she heard the shattered glass fall to the floor.

. .

Then the front door, too, slammed behind her, and she found herself in the street, in the driving rain with the gale blowing open her cloak and spitting at her face and neck. It was impossible for her to battle against that raging force, so she gave up and allowed herself to be propelled by the storm lashing her back like a gigantic vampire with broad, razor-sharp claws. She saw no one in the street, and as she ran ahead all alone in the doom-laden night, in the unrelenting, splashing downpour, buffeted by the gusting wind, she was seized with panic. She felt as if she had been wrenched from her familiar existence and hurled into a nightmare of disaster and despair; the rain was beating down on her bare head and she felt terror at the darkness enfolding her with calamity. The wind almost tore her cloak from her shoulders, numbing her with cold in her fluttering black tulle. Her dainty patent leather shoes went wading and splashing through puddles and mud, her dishevelled hair clung in dripping strands to her cheeks, and under her flapping cloak she felt an icy moisture gliding down her neck and shoulders. She no longer knew where she was, but hurried on regardless, shuddering with fright at each broken twig that came skittering her way, at each menacing rumble of loose roof tiles. And she saw no one, not a soul.

She was slow in coming back to reality: she had fled from her brother-in-law’s house! She wanted to stand still for a moment to reflect on this, but the blustering storm drove her forward as though she were one of the autumn leaves flying past her head. And she let herself be blown along, trying to gather her thoughts as she went. Despite the direness of her self-inflicted plight, she felt no remorse, but rather, to her astonishment, a flickering of pride at her own temerity. Never had she imagined herself capable of taking flight like this, in the middle of the night, without even knowing where she was going! Heartened by this surprise, she forced herself to apply her mind to the urgent matter at hand: she could not wander about aimlessly all night, she had to think of somewhere to go.

Suddenly she noticed that she had reached Laan Copes van Cattenburgh. Driven by the wind, she rushed headlong onwards over the slippery, muddy footpath, flinching from the boughs sighing overhead. The tree trunks creaked ominously, and she was terrified that one of them would topple over and crush her to death. She battled on regardless, summoning all her willpower to put some order in her thoughts. Where for the love of God should she go? She felt great staring eyes fixed on her in the darkness. Whom could she turn to? To old Madame van Raat? Oh, she might have been fond of Eline once, but now she was bound to take sides with her son and daughter-in-law! To the Verstraetens, then, who were her brother-in-law’s relatives? She felt herself sinking into a muddy abyss of despair. Otto loomed up in her mind, and she thought how willingly she would have traded the rest of her life just to have him appear at her side at this moment, to be drawn into his embrace, to be borne away to a safe place full of warmth, light and love. His name rose to her lips like a supplication, but her voice was drowned out by the storm. She was barely able to take another step, she was ready to let herself fall into the mud at her feet and lie there, lashed by the wind, until she died! But that would be a cowardly thing to do, while she had found the courage to follow her impulse to leave, and so she forced herself to focus on the question as to whom she could possibly turn to in her distress. Not to Madame van Raat — not to the Verstraetens, either — oh God, where should she go? Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning in that night of torment and dread, it came to her. Jeanne! In her mind’s eye she saw her old school friend’s sitting room in the cramped abode over the greengrocer’s shop. Yes, that’s where she would go! It was a last resort, but she could not think of anything better, and besides, her strength was failing her. So she turned to face the driving wind and, with faltering steps, fought to cross the square at Alexanderveld in the direction of Hugo de Grootstraat, clutching the collar of her cloak tightly about her neck, drenched to the skin and shivering with cold. On the far side of the green she could just see the backs of the houses on Nassauplein. There were still lights in a few windows, but she was too far away to distinguish which ones were Betsy’s — hers no longer — and a pang of longing and regret went through her at the realisation of what she had left behind. With a sinking feeling she calculated how much longer it would take her to reach the Ferelijns’ apartment. She was exhausted, exhausted from the quarrel with Betsy, from the unrelenting, icy rain striking her in the face, from the wind buffeting her from side to side, from her sodden patent leather shoes, heavy with mud and threatening to slip off at each step. She felt she was about to die of misery, desolation, hardship.

But she pushed her way doggedly onwards against the gale until she reached Javastraat, where she turned right towards Laan van Meerdervoort. A gust of wind almost made her lose her footing, and a broken branch came flying through the air, striking her on the shoulder and grazing her cheek, at which she let out a scream. Fear, pain and utter despair took possession of her as she laboured to make her legs go faster. . To the Ferelijns’! To the Ferelijns’! But the raging wind was against her, compelling her to fight every step of the way.

‘Oh God! What have I done?’ she moaned in helpless agony. The streets so familiar by day had been transformed into a diabolical maze of darkness and clamour, in which she felt like a lost soul, ghostlike and God-forsaken, and when she found herself going past old Madame van Raat’s house she had to summon all her fortitude not to ring the bell, by which she would have gained immediate admittance to warmth and light. But no, it was too late in the night, Madame would be asleep by now, and besides, she would not take kindly to Eline’s flight from Nassauplein. And she trudged past the door without stopping, driven onwards by the wind as much as by her newfound passion to reach the Ferelijns, frantically putting one foot in front of the other in her mud-clotted evening shoes. She turned into Van de Spieghelstraat — how much longer would she have to endure this torment? There, at long last, Hugo de Grootstraat!

With the rain stinging her face and the wind tearing harder than ever at her cloak, she found herself — thank Heavens! — standing on their doorstep. The house was in total darkness, but she did not hesitate. This was her only salvation. She seized the bell-pull and rang for all her worth, wildly, passionately, and rang again, and again.

. .

How long it was taking! It seemed like an eternity, but at last she heard someone thumping down the stairs, then the squeak of the bolt being drawn across the door. It opened a crack, and a face appeared.

‘For the love of God!’ she cried, thrusting the door open and rushing inside. ‘It’s me, Eline!’

The door fell to behind her. She stood in the unlit stairwell, face to face with Frans Ferelijn, who cried out her name in disbelief. Jeanne appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a lamp. All Eline could think of at that moment was the promise of light, warmth and comfort, and, mustering the very last of her energy, she ran up the stairs.

‘Jeanne! Jeanne! I beg you, help me! It’s me, Eline! Oh, please help me!

‘Good heavens, Eline!’ gasped Jeanne.

‘Help me, I beg you! I–I have run away! Oh please, help me, or I’ll die!’

She sank down in a wet, crumpled heap at Jeanne’s feet.

‘Eline! Eline!’ cried Jeanne in dismay.

Breaking into violent sobs, Eline remained hunched on the floor, where puddles were forming about the hem of her cloak. Jeanne struggled to lift her to her feet.

‘Oh Eline! What have you done? What’s happened? You’re wet through! And quite frozen! Heavens above!’

She led Eline, who could barely stand, into Frans’ little study, and set down the lamp. Eline collapsed onto a chair, muddy water oozing from her clothes.

‘I’ve run away! I’ve run away from Nassauplein!’ she wailed. ‘I couldn’t bear it any longer — and I came here because. . well, because I had nowhere else to go. Oh, Jeanne, please, you will help me, won’t you?’

Jeanne was overwhelmed with pity.

‘You can tell me about it later, Eline. Come, let’s get you out of those wet clothes, or you’ll catch your death of cold.’

‘Oh yes, please, help me take them off. Here’s my cloak. Oh, and my shoes! What a disgusting state I’m in, all covered in mud! Lord in heaven, I wish I were dead!’

She slumped against the back of her chair, weeping.

‘Frans, just look at her!’ said Jeanne tremulously. ‘I do hope she won’t fall ill — she didn’t even have a hat, and look what she’s wearing, just a flimsy evening dress!’

‘I’ll go down and light the stove, then, while you get her some dry clothes,’ said Frans, in a subdued voice. He too was profoundly moved by the sight of Eline slumped in their armchair, her dripping hair in streaks across her marble-white throat and jaw, her black silk dress clinging wetly to her limp form. He went off, glad for something to do.

Outside, the storm raged unabated.

. .

In the Ferelijns’ sitting room, lying on the couch, which Frans had moved up close to the glowing stove, Eline shivered feverishly under a blanket. Nonetheless, in that room suffused with light and warmth she experienced a grateful sense of well-being, and her relief at having escaped from the diabolical powers of darkness knew no bounds. With a start, she drew herself up.

‘Forgive me!’ she cried hoarsely to Jeanne, who was preparing a hot toddy. ‘Please, please, forgive me for disturbing you in the middle of the night like this! I am so sorry! But where else could I go? There I was, out in the dark street, in the wind and the rain! I can’t bear to think of it! It was terrible, the most terrible night in my life! But you must understand, I simply had to leave. . I couldn’t stay there another minute! Oh, Betsy’s so mean! How I hate her!’

‘There, there, Eline, you must try to get some rest now.’

‘Why did she have to bring Otto into it? She had no right to do that! I hate her! I hate her!’

‘Eline! Eline!’ said Jeanne, clasping her hands beseechingly.

She fell to her knees before the couch. ‘I beg you, Eline, for Heaven’s sake calm yourself! Lie down, now. You really must rest.’

Eline stared a moment, wild-eyed, then wrapped her arm around Jeanne’s neck.

‘You must try and relax, Eline. Lie down and repose yourself, if you can’t sleep.’

A hollow sob rasped in Eline’s throat.

‘You’re an angel!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I shall never forget what you’ve done for me, not as long as I live. You saved my life! Oh, all that horrible mud! You do love me, Jany, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Eline, I love you, but you must take some rest now.’

‘Ah. . rest!’

The word pierced Jeanne’s soul. Eline had uttered it in a voice full of despair, as if to say that there would be no rest for her ever again, but she lay back in the cushions obediently, and drank the hot toddy proffered by Jeanne.

‘Thank you. . thank you,’ she faltered.

Jeanne tucked her up in the blanket and sat down beside her. The window panes rattled in their frames, whipped by the branches outside. The mantel clock struck three.

. .

It had also struck three in the Van Raat residence when Frans Ferelijn pulled up at their front door. The storm was still raging like a wounded monster in the sky over the darkened city. Frans sprang down from the cab and rang the bell. He could see that the light was on in the vestibule.

‘I have no money on me, I’m afraid, so please come to my house in the morning to collect what I owe you!’ he called to the driver.

The door was opened almost immediately by Henk, who appeared to be expecting someone. But on seeing Frans rush inside, he stepped back in wonder.

‘Why, is that you, Ferelijn?’ he exclaimed.

‘Yes, it’s me, don’t be alarmed,’ said Frans. ‘It’s all right, Eline is at our house.’

He stepped forward, crushing the broken glass that lay scattered on the floor.

‘At your house? Oh, thank God for that!’ cried Henk. ‘I was worried sick, I didn’t know what to do. What a relief!’

‘Do come through, Ferelijn,’ Betsy called from the dining room door. The maids and Gerard, who had crept into the hallway to hear what was going on, were likewise relieved, and withdrew to the kitchen whispering among themselves. Henk ushered Frans into the dining room.

‘There is no cause for alarm, Madame van Raat. Truly, this is the best solution for the moment. Eline was soaked to the skin, but Jeanne has taken good care of her. You can’t imagine what a fright it gave us to hear the doorbell at such a late hour, and then to find her on the doorstep, dripping wet,’ said Frans, his voice trailing off as he stared at Henk.

‘What on earth has happened to you? Your cheek — it’s bleeding!’

‘Oh, nothing serious. When Eline ran out of the house I wanted to go after her, but the wind slammed the vestibule door shut, shattering the glass. Some fragments sprang into my face and eyes, so I couldn’t go in pursuit of her at once, but as soon as I was able, Gerard and I ran out, meaning to drag her home again if necessary. But it was so confoundedly dark — the gas lamps had all gone out in the storm — and she was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know what to do. In the end we went to the police station on Schelpkade, and they sent out a party of nightwatchmen to search for her. She was in a terrible state when she left — I thought she might do herself an injury, and in this infernal weather anything could have happened. My eye is still hurting. I think I’d better see an oculist tomorrow.’

Betsy sighed and fell into a chair. ‘Dreadful! How very upsetting all this is,’ she said. ‘Eline must have taken leave of her senses.’

‘And you’re the one who drove her to it!’ fumed Henk, with his hand to his painful eye.

‘Oh, so now it’s my fault, is it?’

‘Van Raat, there are a few things we ought to discuss,’ interposed Frans. ‘I came here without a moment’s delay, of course, because I thought you would be frantic with worry.’

‘My dear chap, I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Never mind about that. The thing is, Eline has positively declared that she has no intention of going back. Needless to say, an affair such as this is bound to be talked about. People will gossip, which is most disagreeable! Gossip only makes things worse. The servants know what has transpired, I presume?’

Betsy cast Frans an approving look for raising that point.

‘Well, it can’t be helped!’ said Henk impatiently. ‘People always gossip.’

‘That’s true. Still, I think it would be a good idea for you to come round to our house in the morning. See if you can persuade Eline to return home — at least if she’s well enough, because she seemed rather feverish to me when I left. I suggest you let her get some rest now, but come over as soon as you can in the morning.’

‘Very well,’ said Henk, looking dazed.

‘I believe she may have been delirious when I left the house in search of a cab, but she seemed very determined. She gave me her house keys, and kept saying that she would never go back. She also asked me to settle her affairs here,’ he said, looking askance at Betsy, ‘and to arrange for her clothes to be sent on, but I think she said all this in the heat of passion. In any case, I hope we will have come to some amicable arrangement by this time tomorrow.’

‘Look here, Ferelijn,’ said Betsy uneasily, ‘I hope you realise how upsetting this is for me. Goodness knows this is not the first time Eline and I have fallen out, but who could have imagined that she would go and do something so silly? And as you say: it will be the talk of The Hague! So if you can manage to persuade her to change her mind, I’d be eternally grateful. Our house is always open to her. As for her keys, you can leave them here. Yes, I expect it will turn out all right in the end. I’m so glad it was you she went to! But can you imagine — in the middle of the night, in that storm? How could she do it? How on earth could she do it?’

Frans and Henk resumed their conversation, and Henk suggested he stay the night, as Frans had sent away the cab and the storm had not abated. Gerard showed Frans to Henk’s dressing room for a dry set of clothes.

‘Henk, you might ask Ferelijn discreetly how much he paid for that cab,’ Betsy suggested when she was alone with her husband once more. ‘It must have cost him a pretty penny, and it was very kind of him to come at once.’

‘Discreetly, you say — you don’t know the meaning of the word!’ spluttered Henk, and he left the room, shuddering to think of what people were going to say.

. .

Early the next morning Henk drove with Frans Ferelijn to an oculist. There was slight damage to the veins in one eye, and after the removal of a small splinter of glass he felt greatly relieved. His cheek, however, displayed a nasty gash.

‘I look as if I’ve been to war!’ he jested grimly when they were back in the cab on their way to Hugo de Grootstraat. ‘And indeed, my dear Frans, at the moment my house does seem like a battlefield! I, for one, have had quite enough of it.’

Ferelijn’s heart went out to Henk, whose kindly, honest face now wore an expression of utter despondency.

Henk was clearly dreading his interview with Eline. In the event, however, he was spared the ordeal. Eline refused categorically to see him, and from the adjoining room he listened anxiously as she remonstrated with Frans. Why had Frans brought Henk to see her, and why had he taken her keys? Was there no one she could trust? Not even Frans?

Eline sounded hoarse and strident, and it seemed to Henk that she must still be delirious. He could hear Jeanne trying to pacify her, although he could not distinguish the words, then Eline sobbing with self-recrimination and remorse.

Presently Frans returned, raising his shoulders apologetically.

‘She won’t see you. You’d better resign yourself to it for the moment, as she seems to be running a high fever. Do you think Reijer might still be at home at this hour? Perhaps you could drive there and ask him to come over.’

‘Very well,’ said Henk forlornly. ‘I’ll do that.’

Eline moaned softly as she lay on the couch, her limbs twitching restlessly under the woollen comforter. Jeanne had told the children to keep out of the way.

‘You’re so good to me, Jany! But, you see, I can’t possibly stay here and put you to so much trouble!’ she said. ‘You haven’t much room to spare; I’d only get in your way. I shall go to a hotel this afternoon.’

Jeanne sat down on the edge of the couch and took Eline’s hands in hers.

‘Eline, please be sensible. Don’t you worry your head about anything like that. You’re ill, you know. You can stay here, honestly. I’m not saying you must go back to Betsy’s house, but I certainly don’t want you going to a hotel.’

‘Yes, but what if I’m ill — not that I think I am, but you seem to think so. If I’m ill I shan’t be able to leave again for some time. And — and — oh, I know it’s just not possible. Dear, dear Jany, please forgive me for saying this, but it would be beyond your means, and—’

Jeanne’s eyes filled with tears.

‘If that’s what’s troubling you, Eline, you can stay with us and pay for your keep. Just don’t mention the word hotel any more, I beg you. I shan’t be embarrassed; indeed you’re welcome to share in the expenses if that makes you feel better. But do please stay.’

Eline gave a start and shook her tousled locks, which Jeanne tried in vain to brush away from her face. Then she flung her arms around Jeanne and clung to her, the better to savour the flood of sympathy.

‘Oh, you’re such an angel!’ she cried. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings in any way, but yes, I should love to stay. May I? You are so kind, so very kind!’

. .

That afternoon Madame van Raat and Madame Verstraeten called at the Ferelijns’, their minds set on persuading Eline to return to Nassauplein. Betsy came too, having been prevailed upon by Jeanne to apologise to her sister. Eline, however, refused flatly to receive them. In the adjoining room the visitors held their breath as they listened to Eline protesting to Jeanne in no uncertain terms that she would not see anyone, whoever they were. Jeanne — yes, she would see Jeanne, but nobody else!

The news soon spread among their friends and acquaintances that Eline had fallen out with the Van Raats, and that she had sought refuge, as it were, with the Ferelijns. The fact that she had dined with the Hovels the previous evening roused considerable curiosity, and young Hijdrecht, who had been present at the dinner, was reported as saying that there had been some disagreement between the sisters. He had been seated beside Eline, and had never been so bored by her company as that evening: she had hardly said a word. The details of the dispute were unclear, only — and of this everyone was certain — Eline had been seen in a cab on that stormy night in the company of a nightwatchman, or of a young man; strange goings-on, to say the least.

Eline had displayed a penchant for eccentricity before, what with her habit of taking solitary walks in the Wood last winter — hardly the thing for a respectable young lady — and then there was that unfortunate business with Van Erlevoort, and now this nocturnal escapade with a young man and a nightwatchman! Such a shame it was, too, for she was such a sweet girl, really, so pretty and so elegant! But then the Veres had always been a trifle eccentric, had they not?

Betsy agonised over all the gossip, which she could sense was spreading apace, and as she scarcely dared show her face in public, she had recourse only to the Verstraetens and Emilie de Woude for company.