Eline Vere (54 page)

Madame van Erlevoort had dozed off in the stillness that prevailed now that the children were in bed. Frédérique, too, left the room, just as Etienne came running down the stairs.

‘Where are you off to?' he asked.

‘I said I would help Mathilda with her packing,' she replied.

‘Oh, but it's me you should be helping!' he exclaimed. ‘Mathilda already has the nursemaid to help her, and I can't find the patience to fold up all my clothes properly.'

‘Have you rented a room then? Here or in Leiden?'

‘To tell you the truth, I haven't rented a room. I am going to De Horze with the rest of you. I shall be able to study for my finals there, in peace and quiet. It's no use being in Leiden during the holidays anyway, and if I stay here I shan't get anything done. And I must, you see,' he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I can't very well hang around here, can I? What with Mama saying we can't make ends meet and Theodore telling us we ought to economise.'

She looked at him fixedly as he stood before her in doubtful expectation.

‘All right then,' she said. ‘I'll give you a hand.'

‘Come and take a look in my room then, will you?' he asked brightly, relieved at her amenable tone.

They went upstairs to his room. His suitcase was wide open, as was the wardrobe.

‘I'll throw all the stuff I want to take on my bed, shall I, then you can put it in the suitcase.'

‘Very well.'

‘And you're not angry with me any more, on account of that loan?' he said in the wheedling voice of a spoilt child.

‘No, but you must pay Paul back when you see him tonight. I can help you out if you like, because I've got some extra money.'

‘You don't have anything against Paul, do you?'

‘Oh no, not at all!' she said. ‘Still, it's better not to be in debt.'

‘But Freddie! He's my best friend! I'm not afraid of owing him a little money.'

‘Indeed. He's very kind, but the sensible thing to do is to pay him back, don't you agree?'

He agreed. Yet again she felt annoyed with herself. There she was, meddling in other people's affairs again! They would both start hating her if she wasn't careful. But Etienne did not hate her at all, on the contrary, he adored her for doing his packing for him.

‘There: shirts, collars, socks. Well, you can find the rest for yourself. I'll go and look for Paul – at least, if you will advance me the money.'

She was prepared for this, and reached into her pocket to hand him the required sum.

‘Thank you. We are leaving early in the morning, I gather. Oh yes, would you tell Willem to wake me up in good time? Bye for now.'

He made to leave, but she took his head in her hands and kissed him.

‘I'm really glad you're coming to De Horze with us. Mama will be thrilled. And so will Theodore, especially when he hears of your studious intentions,' she concluded sweetly.

He was delighted that they had made up, and a moment later she heard him whistling as he ran down the stairs.

. . .

The following evening Theodore van Erlevoort and Klaas the coachman drove to the railway station at Elzen to collect the party of visitors, and at about nine o'clock the old covered wagon rumbled up the oak-lined drive to De Horze. Marianne, who had returned from her final term at boarding school, came running to meet them, with Edmée and the two Van Stralenburg toddlers close at her heels. The little ones frolicked like young puppies, trying to keep up with the wagon amid shrieks of ‘Hello, Gran! Hello, Aunt Tilly! Hello, Aunt Freddie! Hello, Uncle Etienne!' in complete disregard of Marianne's frantic efforts to restrain them.

Between the pillars of the veranda stood Truus beside Suzanne and her husband, Arnold van Stralenburg. After a grand, rattling sweep around the pond, the wagon drew up by the entrance to disgorge its passengers on all sides. For a few moments pandemonium reigned in the mêlée of happy reunion, with the children hugging and kissing everyone in sight and Theodore's large hunting hounds barking and bumping the littlest ones off their feet.

Madame van Erlevoort was the last to alight, and was promptly stormed by her high-spirited grandchildren, who squeezed past the long legs of their uncle from Zwolle to fling their short arms about her.

Truus, Mathilda and Suzanne allowed the children to play for a while, but before long Miss Frantzen and the two other nursemaids came to fetch them. They were served sandwiches and then unceremoniously bundled off to bed. Mathilda went after them to make sure they were all well settled.

They had not seen each other all winter, and the air was filled with questions to catch up on everybody's news. Madame van Erlevoort glanced around, as though missing someone.

‘Where is Hetty? And where are the boys?' she asked eagerly.

‘Still at school, Mama dear; the holidays haven't started yet,' replied Truus, smiling at her mother-in-law's disappointment.

‘Hetty is doing very well in Bonn; she writes long letters home. Cor was in Buenos Aires recently, with his ship.'

‘And Miss Voermans has left, hasn't she?'

‘Yes she has; the dear old soul took her leave with tears in her eyes. But she was no longer needed, and we couldn't afford to keep her on for old time's sake, more's the pity. Theodore is having trouble enough with his tenants as it is.'

Overhearing this, Theodore assured them that he had no reason to complain, especially now that his dear kinfolk had arrived. ‘Why, Freddie! You look remarkably well! Prettier by the year! Look, Truus, what a fine-looking young lady she is! Wouldn't you love to have a sister like that?'

He placed his hands on her waist, displaying her to his wife, who responded with a warm smile.

‘And how is your heart faring? All well I hope?' he whispered in her ear. ‘Anyone making it beat faster yet – pitter-patter, pitter-patter?'

Freddie's laugh was as clear as a bell.

‘Oh no, no one yet! Don't fret, it won't happen for a while.'

‘So you send all your suitors packing, do you?'

‘Oh yes, I keep them at a distance. A long distance!' she chuckled. ‘I haven't found anyone I care for, no one at all.'

‘Ooh, Little Miss Sharp!' he retorted. ‘You'll frighten them all away if you're not careful.'

She laughed more merrily than ever. How lovely she was when she laughed! She reminded him of the goddess Diana, a young, mocking Diana, lithe and strong with her proud head thrown back defiantly as she fixed him with her shining, challenging eyes. Despite her playful manner there was in her beauty a sense of truth and sincerity, a certain dignity telling him that she was not being coquettish, but that she possessed a sense of pride.

‘Ah, so that's how you feel!' he continued. ‘Well, I can't say I'm sorry. It just goes to show that you have a sense of breeding.'

And he looked at her once more, gratified to see in her a true Van Erlevoort.

‘And what do you think of Etienne?' gushed Madame. ‘He has come to study for his exams!'

‘It is indeed a most pleasant surprise!' said Theodore, bowing deeply.

Frédérique began to laugh again.

‘Oh, he's such a card!' she said to Van Stralenburg. ‘Just imagine, Arnold, he very nearly forgot to take his study material! He turned up with a great stack of books at the very last minute, so there was some legal treatise or history book tucked away in almost every one of our suitcases!'

‘You can't expect me to think of everything!' said Etienne defensively.

‘No, of course not! You have so much on your mind already, don't you?' quipped Arnold, narrowing his eyes. ‘All that correspondence to see to, all those conferences and consultations!'

He was in the habit of teasing his young brother-in-law at every opportunity, and Etienne was quick to rise to the bait, which often resulted in volleys of comic repartee followed by mock sparring matches.

‘Now, Arnold, don't you start squabbling with Etienne!' cried Suzanne. ‘Tell them to stop it, Mama, or they'll be at each other's throats again!'

‘Uncle Arnold and Etienne are always at each other's throats!' tittered Marianne.

Arnold, however, declared that the sheer joy of this family reunion had completely undermined his combative spirit, and with a theatrical flourish, he spread his long arms to welcome Etienne. Locked in their embrace, they swayed from side to side a long moment until, without warning and utterly straight-faced, Etienne forcibly pushed Arnold's head down and vaulted over his stooping frame. As though by design, without a word or the slightest hesitation, Arnold proceeded to vault over Etienne and vice versa, in a succession of leapfrogs provoking hilarity all around.

‘When they're not at each other's throats they're just like clowns!' shrieked Marianne. ‘Just like clowns!'

. . .

Frédérique and Marianne, who called each other by their first names despite being aunt and niece, shared a vast, high-ceilinged room, in which stood a monumental, old-fashioned oak bedstead with a dark-brown canopy. The doors were likewise made of oak, as
was the wainscoting; the ceiling was decorated with a large medallion within which disporting nymphs and cupids could still be faintly discerned.

‘I am so glad we're sharing a room,' said Marianne as they were getting ready for bed. ‘Oh, I couldn't bear to sleep here alone! I'd be terrified, wouldn't you?'

‘I don't expect so; I'm not that easily frightened,' replied Freddie.

‘I think this room is awfully romantic, everything looks so ancient,' said Marianne. ‘It's easy to imagine yourself living in the Middle Ages, with all this dark panelling on the walls and the coats of arms over the doors.'

Frédérique donned her nightgown and crawled into the four-poster bed.

‘It's big enough to drown in!' she laughed. ‘I've never slept here before.'

Marianne, still dithering about in her bare feet, lifted the window-curtain a moment, letting a shaft of moonlight into the room.

‘Look, Freddie, how eerie! Don't I look like a ghost in this light?'

‘Oh, Marianne, stop fussing, will you? Why don't you come to bed, then we can have a nice gossip.'

Marianne dropped the curtain, undressed hurriedly and nestled herself beside Freddie.

‘Good gracious! This bed is gigantic! Oh, I'd die if I had to sleep in it by myself. Don't you think it's scary? Not even a little?'

‘Of course not. It's your imagination, that's all.'

‘Yes, I'm always imagining things, such as seeing ghosts, or being in a haunted house, or other things like meeting a knight in shining armour. But you're different, all cool and collected, so I don't suppose you dream up all sorts of stories for yourself the way I do.'

‘Stories? No, no. What sort of stories?'

‘Oh, entire novels sometimes. Then I imagine that I am a noble damsel, and that the boys are my grooms and the little ones my pages. And then I fall in love with a knight, who wants me to elope with him because my father's so cruel and bloodthirsty, and won't have him for a son-in-law.'

‘What a flattering portrait of your papa!' giggled Frédérique. ‘And what about your knight – is he dark or fair?'

‘That depends on my mood. I say, Freddie, have you ever been in love?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Truly not? I've fallen in love a dozen times already, but it never lasts very long with me, just three or four weeks at the most. In Bonn, for instance, I had a drawing master whom I adored. And then there was a young man – fair hair and blue eyes, he had – who used to bring me bonbons on the sly.'

An elaborate enumeration of Marianne's beaus followed.

‘But tell me, Marianne, how old are you now? Seventeen? Eighteen?'

‘I'm already eighteen!'

‘Goodness me!' laughed Frédérique. ‘And your head is still full of ghosts and drawing masters! You're as bad as Etienne, he never seems to grow up either.'

Marianne took offence at this and began to shake Freddie, whose laughter only increased.

‘And what about you? You've never even been in love! How grown-up is that?'

‘It's time we went to sleep, Marianne. I wish you sweet dreams of a certain blue-eyed someone, then!' laughed Freddie.

Marianne soon drifted into sleep, with her head touching Freddie's shoulder.

Freddie lay awake for a long time; she had to smile at how childish Marianne seemed, despite being all of eighteen years old! She herself was twenty-three – quite a difference with Marianne there – and all that romantic fantasising about knights in armour and noble damsels was a thing of the past as far as she was concerned. But what kind of thoughts did she have nowadays? She often thought badly of herself, it was true – but who else did she think about? There was one person she thought about rather often, someone she wished were different in some ways, although in which ways she was not sure. So why did she think about him at all, if he was not as she would have liked him to be?

‘It's so peculiar, so very peculiar,' she murmured to herself. ‘Why I keep thinking of him is beyond me. It isn't as if I want to think of him, I just can't get him out of my mind.'

She was tempted to drift off into some pleasant daydream, but checked herself, sensing the stirrings of pride in her heart. She had self-worth, Theodore had said; she had breeding! The person she kept thinking of did not deserve her wholehearted attention. He was – she could see it quite clearly now – unserious, and besides, he was egotistic, the sort of person who made himself popular with everyone.

Theodore's words had struck a chord, for there was in her character a trait that she had barely been conscious of before: a sense of pride, not merely pride in her high birth and her surname, but an innate pride inherited from noble forebears, which resonated in every nerve of her being. Yes indeed, she was proud, but that did not mean to say that she felt satisfied with herself. On the contrary! Oh, on the contrary!