The Novel in the Viola (16 page)

Kit clambered to his feet and then pulled me up beside him, so that I staggered and fell into him, laughing. Whenever he was home from Cambridge he’d been giving me early morning English lessons. With all our reading and his tutelage, I was now fluent. I still stumbled over the odd word and when I got excited or upset my sentence structure became a little eccentric, but conversation was effortless. With a pang, I realised that I now dreamt in English, even while dreaming of Vienna. I wasn’t the girl with the python plait who had arrived in Tyneford all those months ago – I was someone new. If history hadn’t forced me across Europe, would I have discovered that I loved the sea and big sky and fields of grass? It must have been hidden inside me like an oak tree in an acorn, or bluebells beneath the soil. Once upon a time, my ancestors had lived in the shtetls and farmed in the east. Perhaps this love of the wild was a folk memory, buried within the heart of every bourgeois city Jew. I tried to imagine Anna striding across the top of the tout, dressed as a picturesque peasant. I suspected that her love of countryside and wild things (‘dirty and foul-smelling things, darling’) was buried rather deeper than mine. Something must have shown on my face.

‘Have you heard from them yet?’ said Kit.

‘No. Still nothing. I don’t understand it.’

‘I thought they were leaving for New York.’

‘They were supposed to. Months ago. But the visa never comes.’

‘It will be all right, Elise,’ he said.

‘Will it?’ I said, thrusting my hands inside the warm wool of my coat. I started to trudge down the hill.

‘I hope you’ve got me a decent birthday present,’ said Kit, hurrying after me.

‘No. I’ve nothing.’

‘Good. Because there’s something I want from you.’

‘Oh?’ I looked at him suspiciously. Kit’s favours inevitably ended up with me being scolded by Mr Wrexham.

‘Don’t look so worried. Meet me, Poppy and Will in the yard after supper.’

‘All right.’

We hastened down the hillside, picking our way along the sloping ridge. The hedgerows had been battered by centuries of ocean gales, and the branches on the hawthorn and blackthorn grew only on one side of each tree, the bare twigs streaming out like a girl’s windswept hair. The bushes were studded with crimson berries, not yet stripped by the greenfinches or pied wagtails flitting across the grey skies. Ropes of black bryony lay tangled between the bushes, while triangles of stinking iris lurked at the bottom of the hedgerows. The damp grass had faded to a dull green, dappled with patches of dark mud.

‘Let’s run,’ said Kit, grabbing my hand.

He tore across the ridgeway, hauling me alongside him, scattering stray sheep out of his way, the bells around their necks chiming in the wind. The bitter air slapped against my cheeks, numbing them, and my lungs burnt with exertion and cold. Kit could run for hours. He was usually so sedentary – he liked nothing more than to nestle in a padded armchair, one leg slung over an armrest, cigarette in one hand and book in the other, chatting idly as I dusted or cleaned out the grate. He could barely stir himself to fetch another glass of sherry or empty his ashtray. But when he decided to run, he would hurl himself across the hills like one of the golden roe deer with the hounds behind, and he’d sprint tirelessly for an hour or more. I’d watched him from the drawing room window, running for the sheer exhilarant pleasure of it, and then he’d return spent, and flop into his usual battered leather armchair in the sitting room, light a cigarette and then not stir again for a day or two.

‘Kit! Slower. I can’t,’ I said, trying to get the words out between gasps.

My skirt was too tight for his bounding strides and unless I stopped to yank it up, I would fall. There was a loud rip, as the seam tore.

‘Kit!’

He took no notice and continued to pull me along beside him as we began the steep descent into the village. A speckled kestrel hovered overhead, wings motionless, as it glided above some invisible prey. The scree path was slippery and I bounced and slid, terrified every moment I would tumble. We reached the bottom and Kit turned to me laughing, but I was furious.

‘Don’t ever . . . do . . . that . . . again,’ I shouted, between gasps. ‘I . . . thought . . . I’d . . . fall.’

‘But you didn’t,’ he said, not riled in the least. ‘And now you won’t be late for Wrexham.’

I clasped Kit’s wrist and turned it over so that I could see his watch. It was not yet seven, and I had time to go and start my daily tasks. The elderly butler had agreed to Kit’s English lessons, as long as they did not interfere with my duties. ‘The girl is a maid, not a houseguest, I don’t care if she was a royal countess in Vienna.’ This was the strongest language Mr Wrexham had ever used with Kit; in his own surly way the old man adored him. Kit took the proviso seriously, and ensured that my lessons took place before the lighting of the household fires. This was all very well in summer, but by the beginning of November it meant that I was up before dawn, and a full hour before May hammered upon my bedroom door.

‘I think we can have no more lessons until after the party,’ I said.

‘Can’t you try and manage? Just get up a little earlier, lazy-bones.’

He gave me a gentle nudge in the ribs.

‘No.’ Contradicting Kit was almost impossible. Especially when denying him something that he wanted. ‘I’m already having to get up at five.’

‘So do I.’

‘Yes. And then you sleep all morning. I have to work.’

‘My poor Cinderella.’

I picked up a burr and lobbed it at him, so that it lodged in his golden hair. He tugged at it for a second, then, realising it was stuck, shrugged and gave up, letting it dangle. Kit was not vain.

‘You have friends arriving this morning.’

The following day was Kit’s twenty-first birthday and his coming of age. Mr Rivers had agreed to a house party at Tyneford, a full three days of celebrations with half the young ladies and gentlemen of Dorset in attendance. Mr Wrexham and Mrs Ellsworth had existed in a state of acute anxiety for several weeks. They tried and failed to hire extra staff; endless plans had been drawn up and distributed by the butler, only to be discarded in disgust a few hours later. Mrs Ellsworth and a girl from the village had spent the best part of a week baking endless cakes and preparing jams and pickles and marinades. For his part, Kit ordered crates of liquor from London, along with stainless steel cocktail shakers, and took time each evening before dinner to teach Henry, Art and Mr Wrexham the art of cocktail making. The butler did not approve. Cocktails were an American abomination, but it was the young master’s coming of age and he must be denied nothing. So, when he was not busy poring over the staff plan, Mr Wrexham could be found studying with excruciating care the technique for the ‘Tom Collins’, the ‘Gin Sling’ and the ‘Harvey Wallbanger’, like a schoolboy swotting over Latin verbs.

The first guests arrived after lunch. I was busy arranging flowers or, more precisely, being told by Mrs Ellsworth that my arranging was hopelessly inadequate, whilst she tugged teasels, ivy and a rosy spray of herb robert into an appealing posy.

‘Did your mother never teach you?’

I shrugged. Anna loved to buy flowers, armfuls of them from the market every week – bouquets of black roses, white lilies or orange blossom, which she spread out across the kitchen table in glorious patterns, cooing over the colours and scents with childish glee, all the while humming Delibes’
Flower Duet
. The practicalities of arranging she left to Hildegard.

‘There. You see?’

Mrs Ellsworth thrust at me a pretty china vase decorated with blue swimming fish, and now filled with the precisely disarranged flowers.

‘Put them upstairs in Lady Diana Hamilton’s room.’

‘Yes, Mrs Ellsworth.’

Taking the vase, I hurried along the corridor and up the back stairs to the blue guest room. For the week I was to act as lady’s maid for the Hamilton sisters. They were titled but not rich, or not sufficiently rich to travel with a maid. Mr Wrexham was quite determined that I must fulfil this role. He claimed that my Viennese past qualified me for the task – ‘you have been to balls and operas or assisted your mother in her preparations I am sure’ – but Henry confided that after a Parisian lady’s maid, an Austrian was considered the most fashionable. Apparently, Mr Wrexham took great pleasure in the fact that Tyneford House was to provide an Austrian lady’s maid for Mr Kit’s privileged guests. I had no idea that my nationality made me so exclusive. I wondered if my appeal would be diminished if they realised Austria no longer classed me as a citizen.

I set the vase down on the dressing table and glanced around the room. The soft blue curtains matched the November sky and through the windows the grey sea glinted and thrashed. I wondered what it would be like to stay here as a guest rather than as staff, to have Kit pull out my chair at dinner and call ‘Wrexham, another soda and lime for the lady.’ When I remembered the Elise in Vienna with her easy life of concerts, scented baths and familial love, I felt that I remembered someone else. Outside there was the sound of tyres on gravel, then a minute later voices in the hall and the flurry of arrival. I slid out of the blue room and watched from the shadows at the top of the staircase. Two girls with cherubim cropped blonde curls prowled the hallway below. I knew they waited for Kit. They wore pale fur coats and Mrs Ellsworth took their gloves, but the taller refused to let the housekeeper help her with her mink.

‘Oh, no. I’m always so cold and this place is positively glacial. Where on God’s earth is Kit? I mean he drags us down to this forsaken place, the least he can do is be around to greet us,’ she said, in a tone that I am sure she believed was wry and disarming, but to my ear was rude.

The sitting room door opened and Kit wandered out in his socks to be embraced by both girls.

‘So sorry. I was asleep. Was awake at five.’

‘Excitement at our arrival?’

The doll-like girl pawed him, smoothing his ruffled collar.

‘What else, Diana?’ he said, helping her off with her coat. Apparently Diana was no longer concerned about being cold.

‘Diana. Juno. It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

Mr Rivers appeared in the hall, and both girls presented him a cheek; he placed a cool kiss on each. The banter ceased in Mr Rivers’ presence; even Diana and Juno appeared to be in awe of him.

‘Mrs Ellsworth will show you to your rooms, and then perhaps you will join Kit and me for tea?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Rivers,’ said Diana.

He gave her a warm smile. ‘I think you are quite old enough to call me Christopher.’

‘Yes, Christopher,’ she said, in the tone of a child who has discovered that her teacher has a first name.

Suddenly meek, the two girls followed Mrs Ellsworth up the stairs. I shot along the corridor towards the back stairs. I was a split second too slow.

‘Elise!’ called Mrs Ellsworth.

Reluctantly, I turned and walked back.

‘Your ladyships, this is Elise. She will be your maid during your stay.’

The girls looked me up and down. There was a long pause, during which I believe they expected me to curtsy. I did not. Mrs Ellsworth cleared her throat and then opened the door to the blue room.

‘I hope your ladyships will be quite comfortable. Please ring if you need anything.’

Mrs Ellsworth gave a little nod and disappeared. I turned to hurry after her but Juno called out, ‘Elly-ease. Wait a minute. We might need something.’

Repressing a sigh, I followed them into the room.

Diana sat down at the vanity table, gazed into the mirror and rolled her eyes.

‘Lordy! I am such a mess. Can you fix hair – what-was-your-name?’

‘Elise, your ladyship. And I can try if you like.’

I picked up a brush and a couple of pins and reached out for a stray blonde curl. She slapped my hand away.

‘Stop it. You’ll only make it worse.’

I bit my lip with the effort of not answering back.

Juno sank down on the window seat. ‘This weather is awful. Why he’s having the party now, Christ only knows. He could have waited till June or July and some decent chance of sun. This place is absolutely horrid in winter.’

Diana fluffed her curls. ‘The countryside is a hobby, not a place where one actually lives.’

I chewed my tongue. Had I ever been like this? I hoped not, though Hilde would have spanked me if I’d tried. Diana looked at me in the mirror.

‘So Ellis, you are a German Jewess?’

‘Austrian.’

‘Oh yes. Same thing,’ she snapped, impatient.

‘I am from Vienna.’

‘The Viennese are very fashionable.’ She turned to her sister. ‘I heard that Jecca Dunworthy was waited on by a Viennese countess when she stayed with the Pitt-Smyths in Bath.’

I said nothing and picked blonde strands from the hairbrush. Diana reapplied her lipstick.

During dinner, I stood behind Diana, my back flat against the wall. As the elder sister, she received the marks of attention. A girl drafted in from the village loitered behind Juno. She was under strict instructions to say and do nothing except carry dirty crockery. Several young ladies and gentlemen had arrived during the afternoon, and the dining room now echoed with laughter. Mr Rivers sat at the head of the table beside a slight girl in a lavender frock. She was so thin that she reminded me of a leaf curl, hardly there at all. She ate nothing, however much Mr Rivers pressed her, and sipped only white wine. I had never been at a party with so many young people; with the exception of his father, all the diners were friends of Kit and the air crackled with flirtation. Mr Wrexham silently refilled the glasses. It was stifling beside the fire. I had stoked it into a blaze before dinner, and now I could scarcely breathe. I wished I could sit, and felt sweat tickle my forehead. Must not fall. I tried to inhale air through my nose and out through my mouth. The candles flickered against the dark wallpaper and made the family portraits appear oddly lifelike. Their faces dripped like waxworks.

‘Ellis. You.’

Diana snapped her fingers at me and I realised that she was pointing to her napkin, which had fallen on the floor. I stepped forward, willing myself not to faint, and bent to pick it up. My fingers were not working properly and it took me two attempts. I straightened, swaying, and steadied myself on the back of her chair.