Читать книгу The Reluctant Governess - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

VICTORIA rolled over restlessly, gathering the bedclothes closer about her as her movements caused a slight chill to invade the warmth beneath. She was dreaming and the dream was frightening in its clarity. She was running down a steep, snow-covered slope, pursued by hounds whose bared teeth and slavering jowls were inches behind her. They made awful sounds of heavy breathing, panting in her ears until she ran so fast that she felt her lungs would burst. And then she lost her footing and tumbled headlong down the slope, slipping and sliding, and grappling for something to save herself from certain death. Panic penetrated her being, biting particles of snow blinded her, and she tossed about frenziedly, seeking escape from the disaster ahead of her, and then an explosion somewhere outside her realm of fantasy aroused her to a real awareness of her surroundings.

With a gasp, she sat up abruptly in the bed, pressing a hand to her throat to still her racing pulse, and remained absolutely still for a moment, recovering from the shock of her awakening. As full consciousness invaded her mind, she realised that the room was no longer dark as it had been the night before. Light was penetrating the heavy velvet curtains, the brilliant sun-on-snow light that was eloquent of the mountains.

A shiver engulfed her and swiftly she reached for the quilted housecoat she had laid on the end of the bed the night before. Thrusting her arms into it, she saw that her fire was dead, the ashes not even glowing in the hearth, and the room was as chill as a refrigerator. With hasty movements, she fastened the housecoat and slid out of bed, brushing her hair out of her eyes with an unsteady hand. She was still very much aware of the nightmare world of the dream and the remembrance of the explosion which had woken her seemed altogether more substantial than all the rest.

Shivering once more, she pushed aside the velvet curtains and looked out. Last night the landscape had been a white wilderness, but this morning the brilliance of the panorama hurt her eyes. Her window overlooked the rear of the castle, and towering above were the high reaches of the mountains. Closer at hand the pines were loaded with snow beyond a walled garden in which some attempt at cultivation had obviously been achieved. Away to the right the surging waters of the stream could be glimpsed, and she wondered with incredulity how it remained unfrozen in such low temperatures. The surroundings of the valley might account for some shelter, but even so it was very cold.

As normality asserted itself, Victoria turned and lifted her watch from the table by the bed. It was only a little after eight, but she decided she would be well advised to put on her clothes and go and find some heating. She was pulling on thick trousers when a sound at her bedroom door brought her swinging round to face it, grabbing her sweater to hide her chest. The door creaked, halted, creaked again, and finally gave inwards to allow a small face to appear round it.

Victoria heaved a shaky sigh of relief, and swiftly donned her sweater as the girl, for this must be Sophie, came reluctantly into the room. She had the feeling that Sophie had expected her to still be asleep and had not expected to be seen.

‘Guten Morgen, Sophie,’ she said, with a smile, congratulating herself on remembering the simple words, but the girl merely regarded her silently, neither answering her nor attempting to offer any words herself.

As this was Victoria’s first glimpse of her charge she decided to give her a few minutes to get used to her and began to make her bed. The previous evening had been disappointing in the respect that she had seen neither the Baron nor his daughter after her arrival, and when she had ventured down to the kitchen after unpacking her case she had found herself expected to eat at the scrubbed kitchen table with Gustav, Maria’s husband. It had all been part of the strange, unreal quality of the schloss, but this morning she refused to be downhearted. After all, the food though plain had been excellent, and she was little more than a servant when all was said and done. Even so, it was patently obvious that the schloss was no luxury country home and apart from Gustav and Maria there were no other servants. Victoria had plagued her brain with questions long after she had retired and had come to the conclusion that either the Baron was eccentric, or he really was as poor as he had maintained. Of course, if she had had any sense at all she would have suspected something was wrong. Three governesses in as many months, her godmother had said. And that poor creature, the Baroness Theresa; she would hardly live that hand-to-mouth existence if her relatives were rich landowners. Victoria smiled to herself as she spread the coverlet evenly across the width of the bed. Aunt Laurie had had no idea what she was letting her goddaughter in for. She would never have countenanced the idea had she suspected the Baron’s circumstances. And yet, for all that, Victoria found the prospect of her task challenging, and it would do her no harm to have to rough it for a while. She looked across at Sophie’s solemn little face. Well, she thought with insight, it was certainly to be no sinecure.

When the bed was made she straightened and came round to the girl. She was small for her age, with hair several shades darker than her father’s, which she wore in two plaits. She was dressed in a thick woollen dress and cardigan, black tights keeping her thin legs warm. She was not unattractive, but the plain clothes gave her a waif-like appearance.

Victoria rubbed her cold hands together, and said: ‘It’s chilly up here, isn’t it? Shall we go down?’ in a brisk voice. She knew the child understood English. Before her illness she had attended a good boarding academy where English was the second language.

Sophie continued to regard her steadily, making no move towards the door. When Victoria was beginning to feel impatient with her, she said, quite clearly: ‘Do you intend to stay here?’

Victoria was taken aback. ‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘Why not?’

Sophie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Did I say you shouldn’t?’ she asked cheekily.

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Don’t you want me to stay?’

Sophie’s eyes flickered. ‘You won’t, anyway,’ she replied depressingly. ‘You’ll be like the others. Your nerves won’t stand it!’

Victoria felt a trace of annoyance. ‘My nerves have never troubled me before,’ she asserted calmly. ‘Now, shall we finish this useless conversation, and go down?’

Sophie ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘If you like.’ But she still made no move to leave. Instead she walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up a flagon of perfume that belonged to Victoria. Without asking permission, she removed the stopper and sniffed it suspiciously. Then, with what Victoria afterwards realised were deliberately fumbling movements, she attempted to press the stopper back in place, allowed the flagon to slide through her fingers and drop to the floor. It did not break, it was plastic, but its contents spilled out over the polished floor.

With an exclamation, Victoria rushed across the room and snatched up the flagon with trembling fingers before all its contents could be lost, and turned to Sophie with angry eyes. It was a favourite perfume of hers and obviously it was impossible to replace here, miles from anywhere.

Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, before Victoria could speak. ‘It—it was an accident!’

Victoria opened her mouth to remonstrate with her, and then suddenly closed it again. Of course, that was what Sophie wanted. She hoped Victoria would lose her temper and get angry. It would prove that she was susceptible and capable of being aroused quite easily. And maybe she wanted to find out just how angry Victoria could become.

So with an immense amount of fortitude, Victoria suppressed her annoyance, replaced the stopper on the flagon, and put it back in its place. Then she turned to the girl. ‘That’s all right,’ she said calmly, more calmly than she felt. ‘Accidents will happen. Do you like perfume, Sophie?’

Sophie screwed up her face. ‘No,’ she said violently. ‘I hate it!’

Victoria inclined her head. ‘Indeed. Well now, shall we go?’

Sophie looked mutinous for a moment, and then she turned and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she turned back. ‘You won’t stay, you know,’ she said derisively. ‘You’ll be too scared!’

Victoria took a step forward. ‘What do you mean, Sophie?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘You’ll find out,’ she retorted, and slammed out of the room.

After she had gone, Victoria found that, she was trembling. Certainly she had never come up against such a strange child before, and while her anger over the perfume remained she began to wonder exactly what motivated Sophie’s deliberate antagonism. With a sigh, she combed her long thick hair into place, secured it with combs, and left the room.

Down the winding staircase she smelt the delicious aroma of baking bread, and when she opened the kitchen door a wave of heat hit her. The kitchen was huge, dominated by the long, scrubbed table and wooden forms round it. Strings of onions hung from the rafters, gleaming pans adorned the shelves, and on the wide fireplace a huge kettle simmered constantly. Maria was busy taking a tray of bread rolls out of the oven beside the fireplace, but she smiled as Victoria entered the room.

‘Guten Morgen, fräulein,’ she said, putting the tray on the scrubbed table. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Victoria relaxed. ‘Danke, yes,’ she nodded. ‘It’s much warmer down here than upstairs.’

Maria folded her arms. ‘It is cold in your room? The fire is gone out?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Do—do I light it?’

Maria shook her head. ‘Gustav will do it later, fräulein.’ She turned away to where a coffee percolator hummed on another stove. ‘You would like some coffee? Or tea?’

‘Coffee would be fine,’ replied Victoria gratefully, seating herself near the roaring fire. ‘Is it always as cold as this?’

Maria spooned sugar into a cup without asking Victoria’s preference, and shrugged, pulling a face. ‘In May the warm days come,’ she said.

‘May!’ Victoria shivered. It was still only March. May seemed a very long way away.

‘You will soon get used to it, fräulein,’ asserted Maria, comfortably, handing the girl a cup of strong black coffee. ‘Wrap up warmly and you will find it is invigorating.’

Victoria sipped her coffee with some satisfaction. At least it was good coffee. She was beginning to feel hungry, too, and the sight of those golden brown rolls was very appetising.

Maria put the rolls on to a wire tray, and began to set a place near Victoria. She put out some of the white earthenware plates they had used the night before, together with a dish of yellow butter and a jar of home-made conserve. Then she indicated that Victoria should sit at the table, and Victoria did so with gratitude.

‘The—er—Baron?’ she began, as she buttered a roll and added some conserve.

Maria frowned. ‘Yes?’ she said uncompromisingly.

Victoria sighed. ‘Does—doesn’t he eat here?’

Maria sniffed. ‘The Herr Baron breakfasted two hours ago, fräulein,’ she retorted, with some disparagement.

‘I see.’ Victoria sank her teeth into the roll and savoured its flavour with real enjoyment. It was strange, you simply didn’t get bread like this in England.

Maria hesitated by the table. ‘Have you seen Sophie yet, fräulein?’

At the mention of the child’s name, some of Victoria’s contentment vanished.

‘Yes, I’ve seen her,’ she replied carefully. ‘She came to my bedroom earlier.’

Maria still hovered beside her. ‘What did she say?’

Victoria frowned. ‘Very little,’ she answered honestly.

Maria twisted her hands together. ‘It is wise not to take too much notice of what she says,’ she said unhappily, ‘Sophie is a strange child. No one can get near to her. She makes up—what you would call—fantasies!’

Victoria looked at Maria curiously, and then the woman’s words found an echo in something she remembered from earlier this morning.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘could I have heard an explosion this morning? I—I believe something like that woke me.’

Maria’s eyes flickered. ‘An explosion, fräulein?’

‘Yes.’ Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘Like a shot, for example.’

Maria looked relieved suddenly. ‘Oh, perhaps,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Gustav was out early with his rifle.’

Victoria digested this, but Maria turned away, apparently willing to let the conversation end there. Victoria ate two rolls, felt pleasantly full, and accepted a second cup of coffee. She was in the process of drinking the second cup when the heavy door at the far side of the kitchen opened and her employer came in.

This morning he was dressed in thigh-length boots, and a thick fur-lined overcoat. A fur hat resided on his head, but he drew this off as he came in and threw it to one side as he unbuttoned his coat, and unzipped his boots. Victoria gave him a fleeting glance, and then returned her attention to her coffee, unwilling to appear too inquisitive as he divested himself of his outer garments. Maria welcomed him eagerly, offering him coffee, and he patted her shoulder warmly, and said: ‘Ja, good and strong, Maria!’ before transferring his attention to Victoria.

‘Good morning, Miss Monroe,’ he nodded, running a hand through the thickness of his fair hair. ‘I trust you have spent a good night.’

Victoria found herself colouring under his brilliant blue gaze like a schoolgirl, and was angry with herself for doing so. In consequence, her tones were sharp, as she replied: ‘Thank you, yes, Herr Baron.’

The Baron’s brows drew together slightly, and he studied her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: ‘It will be necessary for us to talk this morning, Miss Monroe. I suggest you wait a moment while I have my coffee, and then we will go to my study.’

Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘As you say, Herr Baron,’ she answered swiftly.

The Baron gave her another studied look before turning back to Maria and taking the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. Warming his hands round its width, he came back to the fire, standing, one foot raised to rest on the settle at one side of the fire, as he stared into the flames. In black vorlagers and a black sweater he was an infinitely disturbing figure, and Victoria couldn’t help wondering where his wife might be. Had Sophie been more forthcoming she might have asked her about her mother, but the child had not been helpful in any way. It was possible, of course, that Sophie missed her mother and that that was why she behaved so badly. But would any woman be able to stand the isolation here all winter long? Had the Baroness merely gone to where there were lights and people and simple luxuries like central heating, for example?

Victoria ventured another look at her employer. He might not be an easy man to live with; there was a touch of ruthlessness about him as well as that sardonic cynicism, and yet she was aware also of a gentleness that showed whenever he spoke of his daughter. He turned suddenly and found her eyes upon him and she quickly looked away, but not before she had encountered the disturbing penetration of those naked blue eyes.

He finished his coffee and put the cup on the bench beside a deep sink, then turned to Victoria. ‘Are you ready, Miss Monroe?’ he asked briefly, and Victoria got obediently to her feet.

At that moment the kitchen door opened again, this time from the hall which led to Victoria’s room, and Sophie came in almost jauntily. Victoria had been wondering where the child was, and now she thought there was about Sophie an air of satisfaction that had not been there before.

‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, when she saw her father, and rushing across to him she wrapped her arms round his hips extravagantly. ‘Wohin gehen Sie?’

‘English, Sophie,’ said her father gently, disentangling himself from her clinging arms. ‘I am going to my study. Miss Monroe and I need to discuss your tuition.’

Sophie turned in her father’s arms and wrinkled her nose at Victoria, but as only Victoria saw her the Baron did not remonstrate with her. ‘I don’t want to do lessons, Papa! I want to come out with you. Can I, Papa? Can I?’

The Baron held her at arm’s length, looking at her teasingly. ‘Would you have it said that Sophie von Reichstein was unintelligent, uneducated, illiterate, Sophie?’ he chided her gently. ‘Don’t you want me to be proud of you?’

Sophie pouted. ‘Of course I do, Papa. But you can teach me all I need to know.’

The Baron shook his head, straightening. ‘No, Sophie.’

Sophie’s face crumpled. ‘Why?’

‘I do not have the time, Sophie.’ The Baron sighed. ‘Miss Monroe will be an admirable teacher, I am sure. Try to be good, to learn! It is no use railing against the inevitable.’

Sophie sniffed, and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t care about me!’ she accused him.

Victoria felt uncomfortable and glanced across at Maria. The old woman was looking anxious and Victoria had the feeling that this was a scene she had seen many times before.

The Baron frowned at his daughter. ‘That is not true, Sophie, and you know it. I simply cannot devote myself solely to your education. There is much to do about the schloss as you know. It is impossible for me to be your tutor. Besides, it is better that you have the services of a—qualified teacher—--’ He cast a bleak glance in Victoria’s direction, and she felt sure he had hesitated there deliberately. He had intended to remind her that she was not experienced.

Sophie rubbed her eyes with both hands. ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you any more.’

The Baron regarded her for a long moment, then he turned and with a gesture indicated that Victoria should precede him out of the room. Victoria did so, unhappily aware of Sophie’s eyes on her back as they left.

In the hall, the Baron went ahead, leading the way to the enormous banqueting hall which they had first entered on their arrival. Here there was another huge fire and Victoria reflected that at least there was no shortage of wood to stoke the flames. Only one of the wolfhounds lay before the blaze and at a command from the Baron he did not trouble them as they crossed the hall to another heavy door leading into the east wing of the schloss. Victoria had wondered if the east wing were used at all, but apparently it was and this was where the Baron’s apartments were situated. Here the floors were just as bare, but when the Baron halted before an arched doorway and opened the door into a comparatively small room, Victoria saw that at least here there were some signs of comfort.

The room was lined with books so that it was more like a library than a study, but an enormous desk, littered with papers dominated the central area, and before and behind this desk were two comfortable armchairs of buttoned green leather. The floor was strewn with rugs, and again a comfortable blaze burned in the hearth. Victoria wondered however such a place could be heated without the presence of the pine forests. To imagine such hearths filled with fuel of a harder quality was to imagine untold riches.

The Baron closed the door behind them and indicated that Victoria should take the chair nearest the fire. Then he himself perched on the corner of his desk and reaching into a carved wooden box he produced a thick cigar which he proceeded to trim and light before speaking.

The windows of the study overlooked the side of the schloss and from her seat Victoria could see the tumbling waters of the stream and the frosted panorama of trees and hillside. It was a very attractive room and Victoria began to relax in the warmth and comfort of her soft chair.

When his cigar was lit to his satisfaction, the Baron gave her a thoughtful stare. ‘You are surprised, Miss Monroe,’ he remarked, half mockingly. ‘Did you imagine we had only wooden chairs to sit upon and stark walls to stare at?’

Victoria felt annoyed. ‘If I did, it was only what you expected me to think,’ she replied carefully. ‘Or should I say, that was what you wanted me to think?’

‘Touché!’ he murmured, with a slight smile. ‘Perhaps I have been a little hard on you. But then it is always better to believe the worst to begin with. If I had misled you in an entirely different direction, you would have been horrified afterwards, do you not agree?’

Victoria’s mouth lifted slightly. ‘So you let me believe you were a barbarian, Herr Baron?’ she countered.

‘Oh, not that, surely,’ he protested. ‘However, it must be obvious to you even now that what we have to offer here is not what you are used to.’

Victoria frowned. ‘You don’t know what I am used to, Herr Baron.’

‘No?’ he shrugged. ‘I have not spent all my life here, at Reichstein, fräulein. I can recognise cashmere when I see it, in your sweater, for example. And your trousers are not made of inferior yarns.’

‘You can’t judge a person by their clothes!’

‘No, I accept that. That is why I am willing to give you a trial. Nevertheless, I venture to say that your predecessors were perhaps a little more prepared than you are for the task ahead.’

Victoria felt affronted. ‘How can you say that,’ she exclaimed unthinkingly, ‘when neither of them succeeded in their efforts?’

The Baron raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You see, fräulein,’ he said, ‘you begin to prove my point already!’

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Why? Because I am without deference?’ she asked stormily.

The Baron’s eyes darkened. ‘We will leave the matter of my position alone, fräulein,’ he stated harshly, and for a moment Victoria felt completely deflated.

‘As you wish,’ she murmured uncomfortably, and he slid off the desk and walked behind it, lifting a letter which Victoria immediately recognised as being written in her godmother’s flowing hand.

‘Why did you wish to leave London, fräulein?’ he asked suddenly, startling her.

Victoria linked her fingers together in her lap. ‘Is that of any consequence, Herr Baron?’ she asked politely.

The Baron flicked the letter with his thumb. ‘I think so. After all, if your reasons for coming to Reichstein are to escape from something—unpleasant, perhaps, I should be aware of its nature.’

‘Why?’ Victoria looked up at him.

‘If the impossible happens and you are accepted here I should not like to think you would leave us again if whatever it is you are running away from resolves itself.’

Victoria controlled her temper. ‘How do you know I am running away from anything?’ she protested.

‘Your godmother’s letter is vague, and yet one gets the impression that what is implied is worth more than what is actually said. However, as you seem loath to commit yourself, I must assume it is a personal matter and trust that it is nothing which might reflect unhappily upon us.’

Victoria’s nails bit into the palms of her hands, but she said nothing. Let him think what he liked. It was of no matter. Time would prove that she was as equal to the task as her predecessors, and if she had anything to do with it he would have nothing to complain about. Even so, it was startling to realise that already her life in London was receding in significance and her presence here at Reichstein was the reality. Whether it was because it was all so vastly different from what she had imagined she did not know, but certainly her anxiety at parting so abruptly from Meredith had become of less importance than succeeding at this task. Of course, she had deliberately refused to think about him last night or maybe she would have felt those awful pangs of conscience, but even so, it was reassuring to know that her heart was by no means as bruised as she had believed it to be. The memory of Meredith’s betrayal was still painful, but now that her pride was in no danger of being destroyed here, miles away from anyone who had known about their association, she could face the future less emotionally. In that, at least, her godmother had been right. She had said that Victoria had been hurt more by the knowledge that she would look a fool than by real heartbreak.

Now the Baron came to lean against the mantel, looking down at her intently. ‘About Sophie,’ he began. ‘I should warn you, she is not an easy child to get along with.’ He spread a hand expressively. ‘As no doubt you are aware after that small fracas earlier.’

‘Yes.’ Victoria continued to study her fingernails, unable to confront that piercing gaze.

‘No doubt you consider my attitude sadly lacking in dicipline, fräulein?’

Victoria sighed. How was she supposed to answer that? ‘I—I think Sophie is a lonely child,’ she ventured, uncomfortably.

‘How very diplomatic,’ he commented dryly. ‘No, my dear Miss Monroe, it is not just loneliness! When Sophie was ill she was given every attention. Her slightest wish was my command. She is very dear to me. Naturally I spoilt her, and now this is the result.’

Victoria bit her lip. ‘How old was Sophie when she became ill, Herr Baron?’

‘Eight years of age—a little over eighteen months ago. She was in hospital for many months, and her recovery from the paralysis was nothing short of a miracle.’ He flicked ash into the flames. ‘You can have no conception of the relief her recovery gave to me. For a time it seemed impossible that she would ever be a normal child again.’

Victoria hesitated, but the question had to be asked: ‘And—and your wife, the Baroness—--’

He straightened. ‘We will not discuss Sophie’s mother, Miss Monroe,’ he said harshly. ‘And now—if we can decide upon a syllabus—--’

Victoria coloured and then allowed him to direct their conversation into educational channels, putting forward her opinions only when asked for and receiving his instructions in return. It was his suggestion that they should conduct the lessons here, in his study, where there was a desk and ample reference facilities in the book-lined shelves. He already had textbooks in both German and English from which Victoria was able to gauge Sophie’s ability and the other equipment necessary for providing writing materials and paper was present in the ample drawers of the desk. When he had completed his instructions about Sophie, Victoria rose to her feet, ready to take her leave, but he stayed her with a gesture and she sank back into her chair again.

‘It is necessary now that I outline what free time you have available and how you may spend it,’ he said consideringly. ‘Also, if you would prefer to eat in your room, I can arrange for a tray to be provided.’

‘Oh no. That is—--’ Victoria bit her lip. ‘I don’t mind eating in the kitchen. I—I prefer—--’ She halted. She had been about to say she preferred the company to the isolation, but to do so would be to play right into his hands. However, before she could think of an adequate substitute, he said:

‘I understand, fräulein. Do not imagine I am without feelings. I, too, need the company of—others, sometimes.’

Victoria’s eyes dropped before his, and a disturbing quiver rippled along her spine. Why did this man create this awareness in her? Almost all the men she had known were wealthy, sleek, sophisticated; they drove fast cars, holidayed in the Caribbean or the South Pacific, wore the latest clothes and knew all the best restaurants. The Baron von Reichstein should have been like them, but he was not, and his only concession to the present trends were the long sideburns which grew down to his jawline. His clothes were good, but practical, and there had been reinforcing leather patches on the elbows of his coat. His transport was a mud-splashed station wagon, and he was used to eating wholesome soup out of earthenware dishes at a scrubbed kitchen table. Why then did she notice every minute detail about him from the hard strength of his broad body to the sensual curve of his full lower lip?

‘Now to the matter of free time.’ The Baron was speaking again, and Victoria gathered her composure. ‘Naturally, you will be free every day after lessons are over, which should be a couple of hours after lunch. However, I should be grateful if for a further consideration you would consider yourself Sophie’s companion for some part of the day.’

Victoria coloured. ‘There is no need to make that concession, Herr Baron,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m quite willing to treat Sophie as a friend so long as she is willing. And as to free time, if and when I need any I could always tell you.’

The Baron frowned. ‘Nevertheless, I feel it is essential that you should not feel continually on duty. Your suggestion is appreciated, but you may find assuming a kind of family situation rather tiring.’

Victoria got to her feet. She was quite a tall girl, but the Baron was over six feet in height and dwarfed her. ‘Well, we shall see,’ she said, rather awkwardly, and leaving him she walked towards the door. However, as she was about to turn the handle, he said:

‘Your hair—is it very long?’

The question was so unexpected that Victoria leant against the door in astonishment, putting up a tentative hand to the french roll she invariably wore. ‘Why—er—yes,’ she murmured, flushing.

The Baron turned his back to her, staring into the flames. ‘There are no beauty salons around here, fräulein. You may find it simpler to wear your hair short.’

Victoria frowned. ‘Is that a request—or a command?’ Her voice was slightly uneven.

‘Neither,’ returned the Baron bleakly. ‘It was an observation, that is all, fräulein.’

Victoria straightened. ‘I am perfectly capable of washing my hair myself, Herr Baron,’ she said sharply. ‘Is that all?’

‘That is all, ja!’ His tones were harsh, and with a faint shake of her head, she went out of the door.

What a strange man he was. What possible importance did her hair have for him?

With a puzzled lift of her shoulders, she began to walk along the passage towards the great hall. As she entered that huge apartment she saw the wolfhound stare round at her, and for a moment her heart quickened. Then, with determined nonchalance, she crossed the hall, and as she closed the door behind her she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

She walked to the kitchen, intending to find Sophie at once and speak to her about their arrangements, but only Gustav and Maria were there, Gustav drinking a mug of coffee and smoking his pipe. He was a giant of a man, with thick grey hair, and gnarled brown features. He nodded pleasantly at Victoria, and she returned his smile. Then she said to Maria:

‘Where is Sophie? I thought she might be here.’

Maria sighed. ‘I think she has gone out, fräulein. After you left with her father she put on her long boots and her furs and you may find her in the stables, with Otto und Else.’

‘Otto and Else? Who are they?’ asked Victoria in surprise.

Maria smiled. ‘Horses, fräulein,’ she said gently. ‘There are only two now.’

‘Oh!’ Victoria nodded. ‘I see.’ She looked down at her shoeclad feet. ‘Perhaps I should get my boots and go and find her.’

‘Ja, fräulein,’ said Gustav, nodding comfortably by the fire. ‘Est ist kalt, aber der Schnee ist schän!’

Victoria was lost after the bit about it being cold, but she agreed with him and went out of the kitchen again to go up to her room to put on her warm clothes.

She ran up the staircase, reflecting as she did so how thick the walls of the schloss must be. No sound penetrated up here from down below and she half wished she had brought her transistor radio for company. On her landing she halted breathlessly, looking out for a moment from the circular window that gave a sight of the length of the valley. In summer the pastures would be green and verdant, laced with the tiny alpine flowers that grew in such profusion in the welcome heat of the sun. Maybe there would be cows to graze on the pastures and sheep to climb the slopes of the mountain. Would she still be here then?

A strange sound coming from one of the other rooms which opened on to the balcony brought her round suddenly and a ripple of apprehension slid along her spine. She had thought herself the only occupant of this small tower and knowing the whereabouts of all the other members of the household made her instantly uneasy. There was no one else in the castle so that any sounds she heard could only be made by mice—or rats! Unless, her pulses slowed a little, unless it was Sophie, trying to frighten her.

The noise came again, a weird, scratching kind of sound, and a faint panting as though whatever it was that was making the sound was breathing quickly, as she was.

Victoria’s blood ran cold. She had not been long enough in the schloss to form any real opinions about it, and it was easy to imagine the regiments of ancestors who must have lived and died here in years gone by. Although she had never encountered any ghosts in her short life, she had a healthy respect for the supernatural, and the remoteness of the schloss and this tower in particular was not lost on her.

Then she chided herself impatiently. It was broad daylight. Spirits simply did not manifest themselves in broad daylight, at least not to her knowledge. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her trousers. She was being altogether too susceptible, allowing her imagination to run away with her. Heavens, all she had to do was run downstairs and get Gustav to come up with her and open the door!

The sound came yet again, harder this time, as though whatever, or whoever, was making the noise was getting tired of waiting for her to respond to it. It must be Sophie, she thought impatiently. There was no one else. It couldn’t be the Baron, and she had just left Maria and Gustav. That only left one person. And if she did succumb to temptation and go downstairs and fetch Gustav up here there was every chance that the child would escape in her absence and thus make Victoria look a complete idiot when it was discovered that there was nothing and no one in the room. Of course, her imagination persisted, she could go down and bring Gustav up here and find nothing there and yet still find that Sophie was outside as Maria had said. And if that happened, then whatever it was that was behind that door would have every opportunity of returning later, after dark, when the schloss was as silent as the grave, when no one would be about to assist her.

Victoria trembled, her palms moist again. It was no use. Whatever it was, she must discover it for herself or she would have no peace afterwards.

On slightly uncertain legs, she crossed the landing to the door and put her ear against the panels, listening intently. Immediately there was a loud sniffing and a scuffling behind the door and a long-drawn-out wail. Horrified, Victoria took a step backwards and bent forward to turn the handle and thrust the door inwards. She didn’t know what awful fate she expected to befall her, for a brief heart-stopping moment she was without hope, and then she was limp and clinging to the doorpost as a huge furry body flung itself joyously upon her, licking her face with an enormous pink tongue.