The Reluctant Governess. Anne Mather
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from earlier this morning.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘could I have heard an explosion this morning? I—I believe something like that woke me.’
Maria’s eyes flickered. ‘An explosion, fräulein?’
‘Yes.’ Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘Like a shot, for example.’
Maria looked relieved suddenly. ‘Oh, perhaps,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Gustav was out early with his rifle.’
Victoria digested this, but Maria turned away, apparently willing to let the conversation end there. Victoria ate two rolls, felt pleasantly full, and accepted a second cup of coffee. She was in the process of drinking the second cup when the heavy door at the far side of the kitchen opened and her employer came in.
This morning he was dressed in thigh-length boots, and a thick fur-lined overcoat. A fur hat resided on his head, but he drew this off as he came in and threw it to one side as he unbuttoned his coat, and unzipped his boots. Victoria gave him a fleeting glance, and then returned her attention to her coffee, unwilling to appear too inquisitive as he divested himself of his outer garments. Maria welcomed him eagerly, offering him coffee, and he patted her shoulder warmly, and said: ‘Ja, good and strong, Maria!’ before transferring his attention to Victoria.
‘Good morning, Miss Monroe,’ he nodded, running a hand through the thickness of his fair hair. ‘I trust you have spent a good night.’
Victoria found herself colouring under his brilliant blue gaze like a schoolgirl, and was angry with herself for doing so. In consequence, her tones were sharp, as she replied: ‘Thank you, yes, Herr Baron.’
The Baron’s brows drew together slightly, and he studied her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: ‘It will be necessary for us to talk this morning, Miss Monroe. I suggest you wait a moment while I have my coffee, and then we will go to my study.’
Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘As you say, Herr Baron,’ she answered swiftly.
The Baron gave her another studied look before turning back to Maria and taking the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. Warming his hands round its width, he came back to the fire, standing, one foot raised to rest on the settle at one side of the fire, as he stared into the flames. In black vorlagers and a black sweater he was an infinitely disturbing figure, and Victoria couldn’t help wondering where his wife might be. Had Sophie been more forthcoming she might have asked her about her mother, but the child had not been helpful in any way. It was possible, of course, that Sophie missed her mother and that that was why she behaved so badly. But would any woman be able to stand the isolation here all winter long? Had the Baroness merely gone to where there were lights and people and simple luxuries like central heating, for example?
Victoria ventured another look at her employer. He might not be an easy man to live with; there was a touch of ruthlessness about him as well as that sardonic cynicism, and yet she was aware also of a gentleness that showed whenever he spoke of his daughter. He turned suddenly and found her eyes upon him and she quickly looked away, but not before she had encountered the disturbing penetration of those naked blue eyes.
He finished his coffee and put the cup on the bench beside a deep sink, then turned to Victoria. ‘Are you ready, Miss Monroe?’ he asked briefly, and Victoria got obediently to her feet.
At that moment the kitchen door opened again, this time from the hall which led to Victoria’s room, and Sophie came in almost jauntily. Victoria had been wondering where the child was, and now she thought there was about Sophie an air of satisfaction that had not been there before.
‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, when she saw her father, and rushing across to him she wrapped her arms round his hips extravagantly. ‘Wohin gehen Sie?’
‘English, Sophie,’ said her father gently, disentangling himself from her clinging arms. ‘I am going to my study. Miss Monroe and I need to discuss your tuition.’
Sophie turned in her father’s arms and wrinkled her nose at Victoria, but as only Victoria saw her the Baron did not remonstrate with her. ‘I don’t want to do lessons, Papa! I want to come out with you. Can I, Papa? Can I?’
The Baron held her at arm’s length, looking at her teasingly. ‘Would you have it said that Sophie von Reichstein was unintelligent, uneducated, illiterate, Sophie?’ he chided her gently. ‘Don’t you want me to be proud of you?’
Sophie pouted. ‘Of course I do, Papa. But you can teach me all I need to know.’
The Baron shook his head, straightening. ‘No, Sophie.’
Sophie’s face crumpled. ‘Why?’
‘I do not have the time, Sophie.’ The Baron sighed. ‘Miss Monroe will be an admirable teacher, I am sure. Try to be good, to learn! It is no use railing against the inevitable.’
Sophie sniffed, and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t care about me!’ she accused him.
Victoria felt uncomfortable and glanced across at Maria. The old woman was looking anxious and Victoria had the feeling that this was a scene she had seen many times before.
The Baron frowned at his daughter. ‘That is not true, Sophie, and you know it. I simply cannot devote myself solely to your education. There is much to do about the schloss as you know. It is impossible for me to be your tutor. Besides, it is better that you have the services of a—qualified teacher—--’ He cast a bleak glance in Victoria’s direction, and she felt sure he had hesitated there deliberately. He had intended to remind her that she was not experienced.
Sophie rubbed her eyes with both hands. ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you any more.’
The Baron regarded her for a long moment, then he turned and with a gesture indicated that Victoria should precede him out of the room. Victoria did so, unhappily aware of Sophie’s eyes on her back as they left.
In the hall, the Baron went ahead, leading the way to the enormous banqueting hall which they had first entered on their arrival. Here there was another huge fire and Victoria reflected that at least there was no shortage of wood to stoke the flames. Only one of the wolfhounds lay before the blaze and at a command from the Baron he did not trouble them as they crossed the hall to another heavy door leading into the east wing of the schloss. Victoria had wondered if the east wing were used at all, but apparently it was and this was where the Baron’s apartments were situated. Here the floors were just as bare, but when the Baron halted before an arched doorway and opened the door into a comparatively small room, Victoria saw that at least here there were some signs of comfort.
The room was lined with books so that it was more like a library than a study, but an enormous desk, littered with papers dominated the central area, and before and behind this desk were two comfortable armchairs of buttoned green leather. The floor was strewn with rugs, and again a comfortable blaze burned in the hearth. Victoria wondered however such a place could be heated without the presence of the pine forests. To imagine such hearths filled with fuel of a harder quality was to imagine untold riches.
The Baron closed the door behind them and indicated that Victoria should take the chair nearest the fire. Then he himself perched on the corner of his desk and reaching into a carved wooden box he produced a thick cigar which he proceeded to trim and light before speaking.
The windows of the study overlooked the side of the schloss and from her seat Victoria could see the tumbling waters of the stream and the frosted panorama of trees and hillside. It was a very attractive room and Victoria began to relax in the warmth and comfort of her soft chair.
When his cigar was lit to his satisfaction, the Baron gave her a thoughtful stare. ‘You are surprised, Miss Monroe,’ he remarked, half mockingly. ‘Did you imagine we had only wooden chairs to sit upon and stark walls to stare at?’
Victoria felt annoyed. ‘If I did, it was only what you expected me to think,’ she replied carefully. ‘Or should I say, that was what you wanted me to think?’