Читать книгу The Reluctant Governess - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 6

IT was late in the afternoon as the train left Hoffenstein and the thickly falling snow obliterated vision so that there was little beyond the misted windows of the small carriage to warrant any enthusiasm. The track wound continuously upwards, the lines of the pass sometimes disappearing beneath the white carpet of flakes until the heat of the iron wheels burnt their way through. And yet the steady rhythm of the wheels was soothing, and the softly falling flakes provided an adequate shield against what was beyond this journey. High above, the glaciers thrust their relentless peaks to the sky, looking down with what seemed icy disdain on the intruding pitiful vulnerability of the railway.

Victoria flicked through the pages of the glossy magazine on her lap and then, with determination, rubbed away the mist on the glass and peered out with concentrated effort, but there was little to be seen. She sighed, and thrust the magazine to one side, exchanging a smile with a rather harassed-looking elderly woman who had joined the train at Hoffenstein and who appeared to have been shopping from the enormous basket she supported on her lap. But as Victoria did not speak fluent German and the woman was obviously an Austrian she did not like to attempt any conversation even though she would have been glad of the chance to ask how much further Reichstein was.

Trying to quell the nervous tension that had gripped her since she left London the day before, Victoria tried to relax. But it was impossible to relax when every time she closed her eyes her mind ran wildly in all directions trying to find acceptable reasons for what she was doing. But acceptable to whom? she asked herself. Herself or Meredith? But why should she consider Meredith when he had shown so little consideration for her? And yet his image persisted in intruding, causing that nervous fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. She bit her lip. Had her actions been premature? Maybe if her godmother had not obtained this position for her they would have been able to work something out. Other people did.

Then she chided herself. Aunt Laurie had been only thinking of saving her unhappiness when she had made these arrangements, and the resentment Victoria was now harbouring was ungrateful, to say the least. It was no use, Meredith was married, and he had concealed that fact from her. She would not continue to go about with him in the face of this new knowledge. He must have known that when he concealed his marriage from her.

She sighed. He was bound to look for her when he discovered she had left London. Even now, he was probably using his power and influence to find where she had gone. And when he did find her he would come looking for her because he thought she was unable to resist him. That thought calmed her. She was not that involved. Their relationship had been enjoyable while it lasted, exciting at times, and he had indulged her extravagantly, but she had never been his plaything, and for that now she was thankful. Maybe that was why he had found her so absorbing. Until meeting her he had found little difficulty in devastating his conquests.

Victoria transferred her attention to the window again. Surely they must be nearing Reichstein. Of course, the train was running late with this terrible weather, but even so …

With a characteristic shrug, she gathered her belongings together and thrust the magazines she had bought for the journey into her bag. She might as well be prepared for arrival when it did come. Then she stood up and pulled on her sheepskin coat over the dark blue slack suit she was wearing. A glance into the compartment mirror assured her that her sleek chestnut hair was in order and although her lips were devoid of make-up she didn’t consider it necessary to appear glamorous when her occupation was to be that of governess to the daughter of the house. Her looks were something she had always taken for granted, for although she was not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, good health and good bone structure accentuated the slightly upward tilt of her eyes and the generous contours of her mouth.

She seated herself again, and drew on her gloves. It would be strange to be working again, she thought. Since her parents had died when she was in her early childhood and she had been brought up by Aunt Laurie there had been no necessity for her to acquire a regular job. Her parents had not been well off; her father had been a schoolteacher and her mother’s parents had disowned her when they discovered her choice of husband. But Aunt Laurie had gone to school with her mother and despite Victoria’s mother’s split with her own family had remained her dearest and closest friend. Of course, Aunt Laurie had done all the right things. Her husband, now dead too, had inherited a title, and Victoria’s status as the adopted niece of Lady Pentower had been a very comfortable one. Of course, she had missed her own parents badly at first, but after a while Aunt Laurie’s indulgence and attention had dissipated her earlier sense of desolation. She had been a bright child and after acquiring the necessary qualifications had attended university and attained a degree in English which she had wanted to use but which Aunt Laurie had merely scoffed at.

‘Plenty of time for wasting away in schoolrooms,’ she had stated firmly, when Victoria had suggested getting a teaching position. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself, then later, if you really want to teach, you can. You’ve worked hard all through school and now university. Don’t waste all your youth, Victoria!’

So partly to please her godmother and partly because she was young and vivacious Victoria had done as she had suggested and had a good time. Aunt Laurie had an apartment in town as well as a house in the Lake District and she had remained in London all spring and summer so that Victoria could be on hand for every kind of social occasion. In the early autumn they had gone on a cruise to the Greek islands where Victoria had steeped herself in romance and legend and she had come back to London ripe for an affair. Then she had met a young American, Meredith Hammond, and all their problems had begun …

Now Victoria opened her handbag and drew out the envelope containing the letter which had brought her to Austria. She read the letter again, thoughtfully, trying to discover something about its author from the practically illegible print. Its heading was the Schloss von Reichstein, and the signature at the end was Horst von Reichstein. A baron, no less, or so her godmother had informed her, for it was through Lady Pentower’s connections that Victoria had been offered this position. She gave a half-rueful smile, and looked out at her surroundings. She doubted very much whether the Baron von Reichstein found it particularly easy to get staff of any kind, much less a governess, in these days of high wages and shorter hours. And the surroundings, no matter how spectacular, meant little to anyone used to the life and activity of the city.

But at least she had not come here with any illusions about the seclusion. The Schloss von Reichstein was in a remote district of Austria and the most she could hope for in the way of civilisation was the nearby village of Reichstein where the train was due to halt any minute now. She shivered. She was apprehensive and she couldn’t help it. After all, who wouldn’t be? Her godmother’s connections with the von Reichsteins were limited to a childhood friendship with the present baron’s cousin, an elderly baroness of doubtful means, who spent most of her time staying in London and other capital cities, taking advantage of the generosity of her associates. The little she knew was not reassuring. The isolated position of the schloss inhibited communications, and although she was aware that her charge was a girl of some ten years who had recently suffered the rigours of a paralytic disease which had left her incapable of attending her usual boarding school the reports of the child herself were daunting to say the least. She was, apparently, the apple of her father’s eye, incapable of doing wrong, and in the three months since her recovery the Baron had been forced to employ a total of three governesses, which did not augur well for good relations.

An ear-splitting grinding of the wheels of the carriage brought Victoria to the edge of her seat and she looked rather fearfully at her travelling companion. The woman smiled and indicated ahead, saying simply: ‘Reichstein, fräulein!’ in guttural tones.

Victoria heaved a sigh, and nodded her thanks, standing up to remove her suitcase from the rack. Then she looked through the carriage windows expectantly, realising with a sense of dismay that darkness had already fallen while she was wrapped in her uneasy thoughts.

The station, when they reached it, was little more than a shelter, a glimmer of light from an office window indicating the presence of other human beings. Victoria swung open the carriage door as soon as the train ground to a halt, and jumping down turned to lift out her case. Her heavier luggage had gone ahead, although looking about her at the deplorable conditions she doubted very much whether it could have arrived. Still, she thought philosophically, it was no use feeling doubtful now. She was here, and here she must stay, at least until she was dismissed or dismissed herself. If the child was as objectionable as the fact of the departed governesses led one to believe, it might be a short stay.

She crossed the platform, looking about her for some sign of life, but there seemed none, and certainly no one else had alighted from the train at Reichstein this evening. She felt a lingering desire to run back to the warmth and brightness of the railway carriage she had just left, but that would have been silly, as she was well aware. Even so, it did not take long for the cutting wind that blew off the glaciers above to chill her to the bone, and with resignation she made her way to the lighted office. As she drew near, a man in porter’s uniform emerged and brushed past her, obviously intent on seeing the train on its way, and although she tried to speak to him he either did not hear her or chose to ignore her.

She shrugged. A glance at her watch showed her that the train was an hour late in arriving, and surely anyone used to this god-forsaken spot would not expect her to arrive on time. She reached the office and smelt the delicious aroma of percolating coffee together with the scented warmth of burning pine logs in a huge grate. The office was empty, and she sighed, feeling resentful that the porter should have ignored her like that. In his position, she would have been more conscientious about her job. Surely the few passengers he did get were entitled to deferential service!

Beyond the environs of the station yard she could see more lights, probably those of the village. The pass had widened, spilling out to form a plateau from where she was sure the view would be magnificent on a clear day. But right now the snow was persisting, and she was cold and tired and no longer in the best of tempers. Heavens, she thought with a trace of self-pity, she hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place, had she? Had no one a care that she was wet and freezing to death in these temperatures?

Suddenly she heard a strange sound. It was a queer, clanking, grating sound and she couldn’t imagine what it might be. Even so, the sound was drawing nearer, so it might be someone from the schloss. She almost smiled, recalling old horror movies she had seen where such an entrance heralded the arrival of the monster! But her spirits were lifted and when the porter reappeared she handed him her ticket cheerfully. He took it silently, his expression uncompromising, and Victoria wrinkled her nose at him indifferently. Refusing to ask for shelter, she emerged from the station yard to look about her expectantly. The sound was much louder now, echoing in the cold frosty air, and she was unprepared for the flurry of flying snow that swept up into her face as a heavy station wagon drew into the yard along-side her. Blinded by the stinging particles, she stepped back suddenly, tripped over her standing suitcase, and landed in a heap in a thick drift of snow.

Immediately, an angry feeling of resentment welled up inside her again as she struggled to get hastily to her feet. A man leapt out of the station wagon and came swiftly round to her side, but by the time he reached her she was on her feet, a trembling mass of indignation.

‘Your pardon, fräulein,’ he said, in low attractive tones, that were less guttural than others she had heard, ‘but,’ he continued, ‘you would have been well advised to wait in the office!’

Victoria stiffened her shoulders, surveying him angrily in the light from the lantern hung above the station entrance. ‘I was not invited to wait in the office,’ she stated coldly, brushing down her coat and the trousers of her suit. ‘Perhaps you would have been well advised to be here in time to meet me!’ Her dark eyes challenged him. She had no intention of allowing this—this chauffeur to attempt to put her in her place. Even so, her gaze fell before the piercing brilliance of his, and a faint smile touched his lips.

Victoria was infuriated by this response. Maybe it was because she had made such an ungainly entrance which was something she was unused to, while he was calm and assured and utterly unmoved by her impatience. He was attractive too, she acknowledged reluctantly; tall, and broad, and muscular with hair which she had thought at first was white but which she now realised was simply silvery fair. His brows and lashes were dark in comparison and the heavy lines that were etched beside his mouth added age and experience.

Shrugging, he bent and lifted her suitcase, and was about to turn away when she said: ‘Just a moment! What do you think you’re doing?’

The man straightened, his muscles rippling beneath the fur parka he was wearing. His eyes were narrowed now and he frowned.

‘You are Miss Victoria Monroe, are you not?’ he queried softly.

Victoria twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘And if I am?’

‘You are going to the Schloss von Reichstein. I am from there.’

Still Victoria hesitated. She had no doubt that he was indeed from the schloss as he said, but some streak of perversity would not allow her to admit it. Instead, she gave him a disdainful stare, and said: ‘How can I be certain of that?’

Just at that moment the porter appeared from the direction of his office, swinging his lantern, obviously disturbed by the sound of raised voices. He looked up at the man beside Victoria, and touched his cap with deference. ‘Es ist Sie, Herr Baron!’ he nodded politely, his attitude vastly different from the way he had treated Victoria, and while she experienced an awful feeling of dismay at his words, he went on in his own language, gesticulating at the weather as he conversed with her companion. Victoria’s cheeks burned. The Baron indeed! No chauffeur as she had vainly imagined, but her employer himself! Inwardly she was seething. Someone should have warned her that in Austria barons might be found meeting their employees off mountain trains! It simply wasn’t done! Her experience had given her an infinitely different impression of aristocrats. And anyway, if this man was her employer someone had been misled. He was thirty-eight—forty at the most, whereas her godmother had attended school with his cousin who was easily sixty!

As though allowing her time to recover her dignity the Baron continued to discourse with the station porter, and only when Victoria began to move her feet rather restlessly did he turn to her and say: ‘Perhaps you would get in the car, fräulein. Now that my—er—credentials have been shall we say vouched for?’

Victoria made no reply. She was half afraid even now that her unruly tongue might run away with her, and she was beginning to blame him for the position she was in. He should have introduced himself in the first place instead of allowing her to assume he was some kind of employee himself. And yet, she had to admit, their meeting had not been entirely conventional, and she had flared at him for being the cause of her accident. The Baron put her case in the back of the vehicle, and came round to climb in beside her, bidding the porter ‘Guten Abend.’ As well as the thick parka he was wearing thick trousers made of some kind of skin and knee-length leather boots. Only his head was bare and obviously he didn’t appear to feel the cold as she did. However, he handed her a rug from the back of the car to put over her knees, for which she was grateful. She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her sheepskin coat and was glad of its warmth and weight.

The station wagon moved away and again she heard that grating sound. She glanced swiftly at him, wondering whether the vehicle was in need of repair, and as though gauging her thoughts he said: ‘Chains, fräulein! I am afraid our roads are impassable without them at this time of year.’

Victoria nodded, said: ‘Oh!’ and then turned her attention to her surroundings. The snow partially illuminated the village as they drove along the main street. The chalets with their sloping roofs and smoking chimneys gave an impression of warmth and comfort that was far removed from the misted windows of the train. They seemed to rise in tiers up the sloping pastures of the mountain, and the realisation that people lived and worked here was warming. A feeling of exhilaration replaced her earlier resentment and she felt she had been unnecessarily ungracious.

As though attempting to reconcile her behaviour, she ventured: ‘I—I really ought to apologise, Herr Baron. I was completely unaware of your identity, of course.’ A smile tugged at the corners of the mouth.

The Baron von Reichstein looked in her direction for an intent moment, then returning his attention to his driving, he said:

‘Do I understand that that is how you treat people who are not your employers, fräulein?’ in infuriatingly sardonic tones.

Victoria’s colour returned heatedly. ‘Of course not. I’m not a shrew!’

The Baron shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Nevertheless, you are quick-tempered, fräulein. I somehow do not see you and Sophie becoming the best of friends.’

Victoria controlled her indignation. ‘Sophie?’ she queried, pleasantly. ‘That is your daughter?’

‘Correct.’

Victoria digested this. So this man was the Baron von Reichstein. Certainly he was much younger than Aunt Laurie had suspected or she would not have been so eager to pack her goddaughter off to his isolated schloss in the dead of winter.

In an effort to begin some sort of conversation, Victoria tied a scarf over her hair, put up her coat collar, and said: ‘Is it far to your—er—house?’

The Baron hesitated. ‘Not too far,’ he said at last. ‘However, pehaps I should warn you, it is not a house. It is a schloss, a castle, in fact!’ He glanced her way. ‘Are you a sturdy female, Miss Monroe? The Schloss von Reichstein is no place for greenhouse plants.’

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Only for hardy annuals, perhaps?’ she muttered, almost under her breath, but he heard her, and a faint smile touched his lips.

‘Indeed, Miss Monroe. We are all hardy who live in these mountains.’

Victoria sighed. They were leaving the village behind now and the road was beginning to wind through forests of pine trees thickly laden with snow. It was very quiet, very still, and as the snow was no longer driving against the windscreen she could see stars beginning to twinkle in the dark sky over-head. Clouds were rolling back to the west and the chill wind which had gripped her in the station yard became a howling gale out on the bare mountain. The station wagon progressed steadily, grinding over the frozen surface that was lightly powdered with snow. Victoria wondered if sleighs were still used in these remote districts, or were they simply a tourist attraction? Somehow she couldn’t imagine the Baron von Reichstein driving a vehicle that jingled as he went.

When it became necessary to break the uneasy silence which had fallen, she said: ‘How old is your daughter, Herr Baron?’

‘Sophie is nine, almost ten,’ he replied. ‘Are you used to teaching children of that age?’

Victoria considered his question. ‘Well, I haven’t actually done any teaching before,’ she confessed at last. ‘However,’ she added, hastily, ‘I do have the qualifications. I simply haven’t used them before.’

There was another long silence and when she glanced across at him, half afraid of his reactions to this statement, she found he was shaking his head rather resignedly.

‘Is—is something wrong, Herr Baron?’ she asked, only remembering to add his title as an afterthought.

The Baron looked at her. ‘Nothing,’ he said, with emphasis. ‘It simply seems that Sophie is doomed to be educationally sub-normal!’

Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever do you mean? She forgot his title in her indignation.

The Baron lifted his broad shoulders indolently. ‘You are the third governess she has had,’ he explained patiently. ‘The first was a woman of perhaps fifty years. Experienced with children but unable to stand the isolation, or so she said. She left without attaining her first month’s salary.’ He sighed. ‘The second was a girl like yourself. With three years of teaching two older children behind her she should have found Sophie an easy task. But no! Her nerves would not stand it, that was her excuse. She left also.’ He glanced her way sardonically. ‘And now there is you, fräulein. Your first teaching position. You admit that until now you have had no cause to work. From this one gathers you have been living a socially active existence. How do you imagine you will stand up to the rigours of life at Reichstein when two experienced governesses have failed?’

Victoria bit her lip. ‘From what you say, I gather the others left because of the isolation. I’m not afraid of isolation, Herr Baron.’

‘No?’ He looked sceptical. ‘Not even when this is your first teaching post? Do you not perhaps think you will require some kind of light relief after working all day with Sophie? We do not even have television at Reichstein, fräulein.’

Victoria gave him an irritated stare. ‘One would almost imagine you did not want a governess for Sophie,’ she commented, with daring.

The Baron frowned. ‘You do not know me very well yet, fräulein. One should never jump to conclusions.’

Victoria bent her head and said nothing, but the ready indignation was very near the surface when dealing with this man.

Presently they reached the summit of a steep incline and now Victoria could see a valley below them. Moonlight illuminated it eerily while on the far side of the valley, above the surging waters of an icy stream, stood a fairy-tale castle, its turrets silhouetted against the backcloth of dark pines. Victoria gasped, and the Baron’s attention was drawn to her once more.

‘Picturesque, is it not?’ he queried, half mockingly. ‘An enchanter’s castle!’ He put the car into a lower gear and began the steep slope down into the valley. ‘Unfortunately, no one should judge things, any more than people, by their outward appearance.’

Victoria frowned. ‘You are cynical, Herr Baron. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

‘But beauty, real beauty, is not a one-dimensional quality,’ he observed bleakly. ‘Beauty has depth and feeling. That is not in the eye of your beholder. That is inherent in the thing one beholds.’

Victoria tried to understand what he was saying. It was strange to realise how complex their conversation had suddenly become. Somehow there was more to his words than mere cynicism and curiosity gripped her for a moment. But as they reached the valley floor and began to climb the frozen track to the schloss a feeling of awe filled her being. It was incredible to accept that she was here, in Austria, miles from London and everything she had known all her life, and almost ready to begin life again as someone’s employee.

They entered the schloss through a turreted gateway into an inner courtyard lit by lanterns. Obviously in days gone by, this was where the horses were stabled and where the servants had their quarters, but now it looked deserted, the windows blank and shuttered and unlit. Victoria glanced at her companion, but he did not look her way before thrusting open his door and climbing out. He stretched for a moment, and then turned to reach for her case.

Victoria hesitated only a moment before getting out also and looking about her. She was aware that the Baron was looking at her now, gauging her reactions, and before she could speak, he said harshly:

‘Is something wrong, fräulein? Did my cousin Theresa omit to inform you that her cousin the Baron von Reichstein is almost as impoverished as his poorest tenant?’

At once Victoria was defensive. ‘I can’t believe that a man who can afford a governess for his daughter is a pauper, Herr Baron,’ she countered, quickly.

He smiled. ‘You think not? Very well, fräulein, we shall see. Come! You are cold, I can see it. At least I can promise you a good fire and a hot supper.’

Victoria was impatient of his self-mockery and walked ahead of him when he indicated that she should cross the courtyard to the entrance. As she did so, she looked up at the tall mass of the building. It was not a large castle compared to those she had seen in England, but it was considerably larger than an average-sized dwelling. There were one or two lights in the lower windows, but the greater part of the building was in darkness and chillingly desolate beneath the eaves of snow.

They reached an iron-studded door and the Baron leant past her to thrust it open. For a moment his body was close to hers and she smelt the warm heat of his skin and a faint odour of tobacco, and an awful sense of breathlessness enveloped her. Then he moved back again, and the feeling left her.

They entered into a wide hall, lit by electric candelabra. It was a nice touch, although Victoria was amazed that there should be electricity here, so far from the city. The ceiling was high and shadowy, but an enormous log fire burned in a huge grate and two wolfhounds rose at their entrance to amble across to greet their master. They sniffed Victoria’s clothes suspiciously, and she remained perfectly still, terrified that they might attack her, until the Baron saw her frozen features and adjured the beasts to get back to their position in front of the fire.

‘Are you scared of animals?’ he asked roughly.

Victoria gathered her scattered wits. ‘Of course not, at least not in the normal way. They—they are rather large, aren’t they?’

The Baron gave her an exasperated look and then strode across the polished wooden floor shouting: ‘Maria! Gustav! Ich bin hier!’

Victoria hovered by the doors, unwilling to approach the fire even though she would have appreciated the warmth. She looked about her apprehensively as she waited for some sign that they were not the only inhabitants of this fairy-tale castle, noticing the shields on the walls, the swords and hunting spears, a tapestry of animals and men locked together in a grim battle for survival. It was medieval, she thought in amazement. People actually lived among such things. She turned her attention to the furniture. The only concession to comfort was a high-backed settle by the fire. The long wooden table and chairs were stark and practical. There ought to be reeds on the floor, she thought with an attempt at lightness, not these rugs, although as some were animal skins maybe they were appropriate after all.

The Baron was shedding his heavy parka; flinging it over a chair and excusing himself, he strode through a heavy door to the right of the staircase which wound into the upper regions. As Victoria’s eyes wandered up the staircase she saw that there was a gallery at the top of the first flight, and even as she looked a shadow moved there, in the gloom.

An icy shiver ran up her spine, and she took a step towards the door through which the Baron had passed only to be halted by the raised heads of the two wolfhounds and an unmistakable growling in their throats. Sheer panic struck her and she closed her eyes, striving for control. The night, the weather, her unhappy experience at the station, and now this strange and deserted castle were all combining to create within her a kind of nightmarish horror, and for several moments she felt petrified.

But the moment passed, as all moments eventually do; the dogs were not growling any longer, the fire burned brightly, and there were no shadows when she looked again at the gallery.

With determination, she began to move towards the fire. If she was to have any kind of a life here at all she must get used to these great hulking creatures. She was not naturally afraid of dogs although she had never had anything to do with them before, and who was it who had said that the larger the animal the gentler it was? She swallowed hard. Obviously they must have been talking of domestic animals, for who could consider a rhinoceros a gentle beast? And after all, these were domestic animals, not ravening wolves from the upper slopes of the Rockies. They looked up again at her approach, but at least they did not growl now and she wondered if that was a good sign.

The heat from that cheerful blaze was penetrating and in no time she was loosening her coat and jacket and feeling her fingers tingle with warmth. She was shrugging out of her sheepskin coat when there was a sound behind her, and turning she confronted an elderly woman dressed all in black, her skirts almost reaching her ankles. Her grey hair was secured in a bun, but there were roses in her cheeks and she looked friendly enough.

‘Guten Abend, fräulein,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Come! You would like to see your room, yes?’

Victoria was so relieved that the woman spoke English that she nodded enthusiastically. ‘My—my luggage—--’ she began, but the woman shook her head.

‘Gustav will attend to that, fräulein. Come! All is prepared.’

Victoria collected her coat and bag, cast a thoughtful glance at the wolfhounds, and then followed the older woman. To her surprise they did not climb the staircase from the hall, but went instead through the door the Baron had used earlier which Victoria now found led into a wide passageway. At the end of the passage there were lights and the smell of cooking, and she guessed it was the kitchen area. But a little further along the passage was a door which when Maria, as Victoria supposed the woman to be, opened it revealed a winding staircase.

They followed this spiral staircase up two flights to a narrow landing. There were three doors opening on to the landing and Victoria was tempted to ask who else used this section of the castle but she restrained herself in time. Maria flung open one door and indicated that Victoria should enter. She did so, not without foreboding, for she was not yet rid of that unreal feeling she had experienced, and she had an awful premonition that Maria might thrust her inside and lock the door. But despite her ridiculous fears, nothing unforeseen happened and in fact she found the room quite attractive. In the passageway and coming up the stairs she had not felt the cold, she had been too engrossed with her own imagination, but now she was glad of the glowing logs in the hearth at the far side of the bedroom and moved towards them compulsively, holding out her hands.

‘The bathroom is downstairs,’ remarked Maria, with a trace of reluctance, as though she considered it unnecessary to discuss such matters. ‘There’ll be a meal ready for you in fifteen minutes if you come down to the kitchen, fräulein.’

‘Thank you.’ Victoria managed a smile. ‘Tell me, when will I meet the—er—Baroness and—and Sophie?’

‘You haven’t seen Sophie yet?’ queried Maria, with a shrug. ‘Ach, ach! The child is somewhere about. You will see her in good time.’ She turned to go.

Victoria took a step forward. ‘And—and the Baroness …’ she prompted.

Maria frowned. ‘Baroness von Reichstein isn’t here,’ she muttered, with even more reluctance.

‘Not here?’ Victoria frowned. ‘Then—who is here?’

Maria’s features softened. ‘You are here, fräulein, and I am here, and Gustav is here, and the Herr Baron is here.’

Victoria was aghast. Her godmother would be horrified to discover that apart from Maria there was to be no other woman in the house. Heavens, thought Victoria wryly, she was aghast herself. No wonder the other governesses had found the place isolated. Who would there be to talk to? The Baron? Maria? Or Gustav? Or the child, Sophie? She swallowed hard, and as she did so she realised that since leaving the train at Reichstein she had not once thought of Meredith Hammond!

‘Is that all, fräulein?’ Maria was waiting to go.

‘Oh—oh yes, thank you.’ Victoria nodded, unable to assimilate these new facts immediately. ‘I—I’ll come down when I’m ready.’

‘Jawohl, fräulein!’ Maria smiled and withdrew, and as the door closed Victoria sank down rather weakly on to the bed. As downstairs, the lights were electric, but as she sat there they flickered rather unsteadily for a moment and she shivered again. The journey, her arrival, her surroundings, and most of all the lack of people was unnerving to contemplate, and she had the most ridiculous desire to bury her face on her pillow and cry her eyes out. But that would never do. She was not a defeatist, was she? Surely she was allowing everything to get out of hand. At least the bed felt superbly comfortable and after a night’s sleep surely everything would look brighter …