The Reluctant Governess

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.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1f7cdd17-eec5-53ad-9170-d45e77d46ba8)

VICTORIA was shaking so much that she didn’t know how she kept her feet under the wolfhound’s onslaught, and yet there was absolute relief in wrapping her arms round the huge, affectionate animal’s body and burying her face in its neck. She was laughing and crying all at once, and the dog responded by wagging its tail vigorously and uttering little sounds of excitement.

Presently, all fear of the beast banished by this display of friendship, Victoria thrust him away and shook her head weakly, rubbing her forearm across her hot forehead. Now that common sense was reasserting itself she realised that the dog could hardly have locked itself inside that room. Apart from anything else the staircase door was always kept closed, and all at once she recalled the light of satisfaction that had been in Sophie’s eyes when she had joined her father and Victoria in the kitchen. She could have done it; in fact, she was the only person who would have done it, and a feeling of pure rage shook Victoria as she remembered those terrifying moments before she opened the door. She would have liked to have stormed out to the stables, grabbed Sophie, and given her the hiding of her life, but of course she could not do that. She had no authority to hit the child, no matter how provoking she might be. Her only course was to report the matter to the Baron and allow him to deal with his daughter in any way he thought fit.

Pushing open her bedroom door, she went into her room slowly. She couldn’t do that! It simply was not in her nature to tell tales, and besides, very likely that was what Sophie hoped she would do. She could always deny it, and who was to say who the Baron would believe. He might consider she had made the whole thing up in an attempt to put Sophie in the wrong. Stranger things had happened, although somehow she thought the Baron was too shrewd to be taken in like that. Even so, there was no harm done, and how annoying it would be for Sophie if she didn’t mention the episode. Half the fun of creating a situation was its outcome, and she had expected Victoria to be frightened half out of her wits. Victoria frowned. Sophie had shown perception in choosing the wolfhound for the scapegoat. Had she guessed that Victoria had been nervous of them? Suddenly, Victoria recalled the shadow on the gallery the night before when the wolfhounds had frozen her with their growling. Could that have been Sophie? Learning to know the child as she was, she thought it was more than likely.

The dog was seated by the bedroom door now, obviously waiting for her to go downstairs. Victoria smiled. In fact, Sophie had done her a favour. She had rid her of any fear of the animals.

With lightening spirits, Victoria pulled on her long boots over her trousers. Then she put on another sweater before donning her sheepskin coat. She had no fur hat, but a warm scarf would have to do for now.

When she was ready, she came out of the bedroom and began to go down the winding staircase. The wolfhound followed her obsequiously and she smiled to herself. Was she to be provided with a ready-made bodyguard?

The dog followed her to the kitchen and Maria looked at it in surprise. ‘Back, Fritz,’ she said sharply, but Victoria shook her head.

‘Leave him,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s all right if he comes with me, isn’t it?’

Maria raised her eyebrows. ‘Fritz and Helga are the Herr Baron’s dogs,’ she said, reprovingly. ‘It is his permission you need, fräulein!’

‘Ach, the dogs need exercise,’ exclaimed Gustav abruptly. ‘Leave the fräulein alone, Maria. Fritz will come to no harm with her.’

Maria shrugged and turned back to her baking, and deciding there was no point in saying any more, Victoria went across the room and out of the door through which the Baron had entered earlier. Fritz followed her and she closed the door behind them firmly, glad of the dog’s company.

Patting his head, she set off across the yard. They had emerged at the side of the schloss, but a covered way led them through to the inner courtyard where she had seen the stables the previous day. The air was freezing but clear as wine and almost as intoxicating. Picking up a handful of snow, she threw it playfully at Fritz and he barked and fussed about her with all the liberal affection of a puppy. Really, it was remarkable, she thought with some amusement, Fritz seemed to imagine she was his deliverer and his natural loyalties had been temporarily transferred.

The noise of their boisterous game must have penetrated the walls of the stables, for presently a small, fur-clad figure emerged and stood watching them. Victoria straightened from fondling the dog to face her charge, and as she did so she heard Fritz growling low in his throat. She looked down at him in surprise, and saw he was staring malevolently at the child. If anything further was needed to convince Victoria that Sophie was responsible for imprisoning the wolfhound, this was proof indeed. Sophie’s face grew mutinous as they crossed the yard towards her, and as though deciding that the best method of defence was attack, she said sharply:

‘Fritz is only allowed out with my father, fräulein! He will be very angry when he finds out that you have disobeyed his orders!’

Victoria regarded her dispassionately. ‘And what if I tell you I have your father’s permission to bring the dog out here?’ she countered.