The Wild Girl (23 page)

‘My brother is banker to the little King, you know,’ Bettina went on, in the same laughing fashion, making no effort at all to lower her voice. ‘She thinks it her duty to be as French as she possibly can. Hence the hideous dress. She’s far too old to wear white.’

Her sister-in-law cast her a look of fury.

‘But come, join us. Wilhelm was just telling us about poor Augusta. He saw her, in Allendorf, you know. Apparently, she’s as mad as ever.’

Wilhelm cast her a look of laughing reproof. ‘Bettina, I never said so. She was just … very dramatic. She wept and swooned when Clemens tried to leave her, and said she was sure they would never see each other again. Clemens had to run and jump the fence, for fear she would pursue him, wailing.’

Everyone laughed – even Frau Wild, who did not know who they were talking about.

Dortchen whispered to her quickly, ‘Augusta is married to Bettina’s brother Clemens, Mother. She is rather prone to melodramatics. Lotte thinks it won’t be long before they’re divorced.’

‘Shocking,’ Frau Wild said in a faint voice.

‘You know Clemens wrote to me to join him in Allendorf, so I could meet the Mannels, the family with whom Augusta is staying?’ Wilhelm
said to Bettina, his eyes bright with fervour. ‘He thought Friederike, the daughter there, could give me some stories for our collection. She was a very pleasant girl.’

‘Friederike gave us quite a few songs for
The Boy’s Wonder Horn
,’ Herr von Arnim interjected. ‘A most respectable family. Her father’s a pastor, you know. They take in guests to try and raise a little money for her brothers’ education. It’s not a good time to be in the Church.’

‘No, not at all,’ Frau Wild said politely. ‘Very sad.’

‘I think she can help us,’ Wilhelm said eagerly. ‘She’s promised to ask around and transcribe any old stories she can find.’

‘That’s wonderful news,’ Bettina said warmly. ‘Come on, admit it, you made her fall in love with you, Wilhelm.’

He flushed. ‘Not at all. She’s engaged to be married. I simply told her we’re trying to save something of the true German folk spirit, and she was enthused with the importance of the task.’

‘I’m sure she must be half in love with you,’ Bettina teased. She looked towards Lotte and Dortchen for support, and his sister joined in teasing him. Dortchen stood stiffly by her mother’s side, trying to keep her face from betraying her. She was sure everyone must guess the hot tumult of jealousy, anguish and despair that gripped her at the thought of this ‘very pleasant girl’, Friederike.

‘Did you hear that Herr van Beethoven has been offered a post here in Cassel by the King?’ Lotte said to Bettina.

‘He won’t take it,’ Bettina said with authority. ‘Beethoven despises Napoléon for making himself emperor.’

‘Shh, Bettina,’ Herr von Arnim said. ‘Have some discretion.’

Bettina just dimpled at him. ‘Do you not know Herr van Beethoven dedicated his
Eroica
symphony to Napoléon, but then when he heard the news that Napoléon had crowned himself, he crossed out the name with such vigour that he tore a hole in the sheet of music?’

‘How can you know such a thing?’ Lotte demanded.

‘Oh, I know,’ Bettina answered with utter certainty.

Dortchen and Lotte could only gaze back at her, convinced.

‘I must tell you the funniest story about Herr van Beethoven,’ Bettina went on. ‘Did you know his younger brother was an apothecary?’

‘Like my father,’ Dortchen said in surprise.

Bettina paid her no mind. ‘Well, his brother made a fortune selling drugs to the army and bought himself an estate. He wrote to tell his brother and signed himself most pretentiously “Johann van Beethoven, owner of land”. Herr van Beethoven responded by signing “Ludwig van Beethoven, owner of brains”.’

Everybody laughed.

A man in an ornately frogged coat and a white wig came out and began to ring a large brass bell. The crowd began to surge to their seats. ‘Jakob,’ Wilhelm called. His brother had been standing at the rail, his hands tucked under his coat-tails, observing the crowd. He turned at Wilhelm’s voice and came towards them, a frown on his face.

‘The King is here. That must mean news from Spain.’ Jakob had a few quick words with one of the King’s aides, then returned to their side, saying in a low voice, ‘Napoléon has taken back Madrid. They say the Spanish rebellion has failed.’

‘Ah, no,’ Bettina cried. ‘Those poor people! The Ogre will crush them like a flea.’

‘Keep your voice down, you fool,’ Jakob said. ‘You may dress and act as you please, but do not bring danger down upon my family. We may not like what has happened to our country but we still must live here.’

Bettina pushed out her lip sulkily but said no more.

Dortchen stood back, watching wide-eyed as the young king made his way up the stairs to his box, dressed in white satin, medals glittering on his chest. He was laughing and waving to the crowd, who all bowed low or curtsied. Then he saw Bettina in her Spanish gown. His eyebrows shot up. He raised his quizzing-glass and swept her from the crest of her mantilla to the hem of her red velvet gown. Undaunted, Bettina dropped him a curtsey, smiling. He laughed and went on.

Dortchen wished she had Bettina’s bravado.

UPRISING

April 1809

‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’ Wilhelm stood very straight in the doorway, holding his hat in both hands. His face and body were in shadow, as the square outside was bright with spring sunshine.

‘Why? Where are you going?’ Dortchen cried.

‘I’m going to Halle. There’s a doctor there who may be able to help me.’

‘You’re still not well?’ she asked. ‘The yarrow has not helped?’

‘It’s been a hard winter,’ he said. ‘I cough all the time. Sometimes I find it so hard to breathe.’

‘What does the doctor say?’

‘He’s tried different remedies. The mercury fumes did not help at all – in fact, I’m sure they made me feel worse. But it’s my heart he’s most concerned about.’

Dortchen pressed her hand to her own heart, which had accelerated as if in sympathy. ‘It is still giving you trouble?’

‘It’s like being stabbed with a red-hot arrow,’ Wilhelm said. ‘A few days ago my heart beat so fast and so erratically for so long – a good twenty hours – that I was sure I was going to die. Oh, Dortchen, I cannot tell you how sick and anxious it makes me feel. What if I was to die? I’ve done nothing I want to do in this world. I’ve not written a word worth reading, or made anything. I’ve never even …’ Abruptly he stopped.

‘What?’ Dortchen asked.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Does the doctor think you might die?’

‘He shakes his head and pulls his beard and tells me to try sleeping sitting up – which is awful, if you’ve never tried it. Now he says it’s beyond his ken and I must go to this heart specialist in Halle. It’s going to cost a great deal of money, which of course we don’t have.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She wanted to reach out a hand to him but did not dare. They were standing right outside the shop window. ‘I hope the doctor can help you.’

His mouth twisted. ‘So do I.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘I don’t know. Not for a while.’

Maybe not forever
, her aching heart cried.

‘Good luck, and God bless,’ she said.

‘Yes. Thank you.’ He raised his hat to her, then turned and walked slowly away. She stood and watched him till he had climbed into the travelling carriage and the coachman had urged the horses into motion. By the time the coach had turned the corner towards the bridge, she could see nothing through the blur of her tears. She turned, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

Her father stood in the doorway of his shop. ‘He’s not for you, Dortchen,’ he said harshly. ‘He’s poor and improvident and, by the look of him, not long for this world. It’s foolish to set your heart on him.’

‘I know,’ Dortchen said.

A few days later, war broke out again.

The entire front page of the newspaper was blackened out by the censors, so the townsfolk of Cassel had to rely on gossip and rumour. Dortchen, accompanying Old Marie to market, heard the same snippets over and over again.

‘Have you heard? Austria has invaded Bavaria,’ the grocer said, pouring lentils into his scales.

‘The French are in utter disarray. They say soldiers are deserting by the thousands,’ the fishmonger said, wrapping a spotted river trout in old newspaper.

‘Balderdash! It’s a trick,’ the chandler said, tying up a dozen squat tallow candles in twine. ‘You know the Emperor, he always likes to pretend he’s weaker than he really is so as to take his enemies by surprise. Mark my words, he’ll come down on the Austrians like a lightning bolt.’

‘I heard he’s galloping from Paris to take command. Three horses have died underneath him already,’ the ribbon-seller whispered, receiving a small coin for a length of dark-blue satin.

That evening, all the talk was of the war. Only Lisette was quiet and distracted. She did not try to intervene when an argument broke out between Hanne and Rudolf, nor did she try to repress Gretchen, who was upset that the resumption of hostilities meant a ball at the palace had been cancelled.

The next morning, Herr von Eschwege called upon Herr Wild. They were closeted in the parlour for a good twenty minutes, then Herr Wild sent Dortchen running to find Lisette.

Lisette and Gretchen had both been sitting in the drawing room, too tense to sew. At the news Lisette was wanted, Gretchen turned first white, then red.

‘Lisette?’ she demanded. ‘Surely not?’

Lisette blushed and got up, smoothing down her plain grey work dress. ‘I wish I had something prettier to wear,’ she said.

‘Here.’ Dortchen darted forward and seized the old silk shawl from where Gretchen had tossed it on the couch. She arranged it becomingly about Lisette’s shoulders, then her eldest sister went hurrying down to the parlour, pinching her cheeks to bring colour into them.

‘He was
my
beau,’ Gretchen said angrily.

‘Evidently not,’ Dortchen answered.

Herr von Eschwege stayed for supper – the first time in the sisters’ memory that anyone outside their immediate family had eaten under their roof. A tall, straight-backed young man with a monocle and a fine pair
of blonde moustaches, he was most punctilious. He spoke only of the weather and hunting, and was assiduous in passing along the platters of food. Dortchen had almost decided she did not like him when she saw a spark of amusement in his eyes at how stiff and proper Mia was, sitting very straight in her chair and cutting her food into tiny pieces so she did not have to chew too obviously.

The house was thrown into a flurry of sewing, for Lisette had to take with her tablecloths and sheets and pillowcases, and the geese all had to be plucked to make a feather mattress for the couple. Lisette was radiantly happy, singing as she sewed and dancing as she carried a basket of wet washing to the line.

A week later, Herr Schmerfeld came – hat in hand, his cravat very starched – to ask Herr Wild for Gretchen’s hand in marriage. It was to be a double wedding.

Gretchen was very pleased and spoke a great deal of Herr Schmerfeld’s powerful connections in the cabinet and the fine house they were to inhabit in the elegant French quarter of the town. Lisette said very little, though the colour rose in her face every time Herr von Eschwege came to visit.

The night before the wedding, a rowdy party of young men gathered outside the apothecary’s shop, banging pots and pans with metal ladles. Herr Wild stood at the window in his nightgown and nightcap, scowling, but he did not yell at them and shake his fist. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s all over,’ he said.

‘How can you be glad when we’re losing our dear, sweet daughters?’ Frau Wild wept.

‘Less mouths to feed,’ Herr Wild said jokingly. ‘If only we could marry Mia off, I’d be much plumper in the pocket.’

The next morning Dortchen was up early to cut dill from the garden for her mother to put in the daughters’ right shoes, along with a pinch of salt.

It was a long, busy day, cooking and preparing for the wedding feast, and then walking with her family down to the town hall for the ceremony. Gretchen was most indignant that church weddings had been outlawed; Lisette said she didn’t mind where she married her dear Herr von Eschwege.

‘Hadn’t you best start calling him Friedrich?’ Hanne teased, and Lisette blushed and said it sounded so forward.

Afterwards, the house seemed quiet and empty. The depleted family sat down to supper with two chairs empty. Frau Wild kept her crumpled handkerchief by her plate, occasionally dabbing at her nose and eyes.

‘Do stop weeping, Katharina,’ Herr Wild said. ‘They haven’t died.’

‘I’m just going to miss them so,’ Frau Wild wept. ‘What shall I do without my prop?’

‘I shall be your prop, Mother,’ Röse said most earnestly, taking off her spectacles to polish them with her skirt. ‘You know I wish nothing more than to immolate myself upon the altar of daughterly duty.’

Frau Wild sighed. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, in a voice that was scarcely audible.

In the morning, the sisters had to renegotiate the chores. Hanne took on the work in the shop, Mia was deputised to dust and tidy the drawing room every day, Röse very unwillingly agreed to take on the ironing, while Dortchen was to take Lisette’s place in the stillroom.