Eline Vere (32 page)

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Is she your governess?' asked Eline.

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

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

He smiled and took her hand.

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

‘What do you mean?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Theodore! Etienne!' called Frédérique.

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

‘Theodore! Etienne!'

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

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

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

‘No punch for you then?' he asked.

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

‘No I'm not,' growled Etienne.

‘So what's wrong?' asked Otto.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Etienne sighed.

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

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

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

Etienne put out his hand.

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

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

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

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

Madame van Erlevoort shook her head in dismay.

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

Truus stood up and peered at the sky.

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

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

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

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