The Reluctant Governess. Anne Mather
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as the girl, for this must be Sophie, came reluctantly into the room. She had the feeling that Sophie had expected her to still be asleep and had not expected to be seen.
‘Guten Morgen, Sophie,’ she said, with a smile, congratulating herself on remembering the simple words, but the girl merely regarded her silently, neither answering her nor attempting to offer any words herself.
As this was Victoria’s first glimpse of her charge she decided to give her a few minutes to get used to her and began to make her bed. The previous evening had been disappointing in the respect that she had seen neither the Baron nor his daughter after her arrival, and when she had ventured down to the kitchen after unpacking her case she had found herself expected to eat at the scrubbed kitchen table with Gustav, Maria’s husband. It had all been part of the strange, unreal quality of the schloss, but this morning she refused to be downhearted. After all, the food though plain had been excellent, and she was little more than a servant when all was said and done. Even so, it was patently obvious that the schloss was no luxury country home and apart from Gustav and Maria there were no other servants. Victoria had plagued her brain with questions long after she had retired and had come to the conclusion that either the Baron was eccentric, or he really was as poor as he had maintained. Of course, if she had had any sense at all she would have suspected something was wrong. Three governesses in as many months, her godmother had said. And that poor creature, the Baroness Theresa; she would hardly live that hand-to-mouth existence if her relatives were rich landowners. Victoria smiled to herself as she spread the coverlet evenly across the width of the bed. Aunt Laurie had had no idea what she was letting her goddaughter in for. She would never have countenanced the idea had she suspected the Baron’s circumstances. And yet, for all that, Victoria found the prospect of her task challenging, and it would do her no harm to have to rough it for a while. She looked across at Sophie’s solemn little face. Well, she thought with insight, it was certainly to be no sinecure.
When the bed was made she straightened and came round to the girl. She was small for her age, with hair several shades darker than her father’s, which she wore in two plaits. She was dressed in a thick woollen dress and cardigan, black tights keeping her thin legs warm. She was not unattractive, but the plain clothes gave her a waif-like appearance.
Victoria rubbed her cold hands together, and said: ‘It’s chilly up here, isn’t it? Shall we go down?’ in a brisk voice. She knew the child understood English. Before her illness she had attended a good boarding academy where English was the second language.
Sophie continued to regard her steadily, making no move towards the door. When Victoria was beginning to feel impatient with her, she said, quite clearly: ‘Do you intend to stay here?’
Victoria was taken aback. ‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘Why not?’
Sophie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Did I say you shouldn’t?’ she asked cheekily.
Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Don’t you want me to stay?’
Sophie’s eyes flickered. ‘You won’t, anyway,’ she replied depressingly. ‘You’ll be like the others. Your nerves won’t stand it!’
Victoria felt a trace of annoyance. ‘My nerves have never troubled me before,’ she asserted calmly. ‘Now, shall we finish this useless conversation, and go down?’
Sophie ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘If you like.’ But she still made no move to leave. Instead she walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up a flagon of perfume that belonged to Victoria. Without asking permission, she removed the stopper and sniffed it suspiciously. Then, with what Victoria afterwards realised were deliberately fumbling movements, she attempted to press the stopper back in place, allowed the flagon to slide through her fingers and drop to the floor. It did not break, it was plastic, but its contents spilled out over the polished floor.
With an exclamation, Victoria rushed across the room and snatched up the flagon with trembling fingers before all its contents could be lost, and turned to Sophie with angry eyes. It was a favourite perfume of hers and obviously it was impossible to replace here, miles from anywhere.
Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, before Victoria could speak. ‘It—it was an accident!’
Victoria opened her mouth to remonstrate with her, and then suddenly closed it again. Of course, that was what Sophie wanted. She hoped Victoria would lose her temper and get angry. It would prove that she was susceptible and capable of being aroused quite easily. And maybe she wanted to find out just how angry Victoria could become.
So with an immense amount of fortitude, Victoria suppressed her annoyance, replaced the stopper on the flagon, and put it back in its place. Then she turned to the girl. ‘That’s all right,’ she said calmly, more calmly than she felt. ‘Accidents will happen. Do you like perfume, Sophie?’
Sophie screwed up her face. ‘No,’ she said violently. ‘I hate it!’
Victoria inclined her head. ‘Indeed. Well now, shall we go?’
Sophie looked mutinous for a moment, and then she turned and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she turned back. ‘You won’t stay, you know,’ she said derisively. ‘You’ll be too scared!’
Victoria took a step forward. ‘What do you mean, Sophie?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘You’ll find out,’ she retorted, and slammed out of the room.
After she had gone, Victoria found that, she was trembling. Certainly she had never come up against such a strange child before, and while her anger over the perfume remained she began to wonder exactly what motivated Sophie’s deliberate antagonism. With a sigh, she combed her long thick hair into place, secured it with combs, and left the room.
Down the winding staircase she smelt the delicious aroma of baking bread, and when she opened the kitchen door a wave of heat hit her. The kitchen was huge, dominated by the long, scrubbed table and wooden forms round it. Strings of onions hung from the rafters, gleaming pans adorned the shelves, and on the wide fireplace a huge kettle simmered constantly. Maria was busy taking a tray of bread rolls out of the oven beside the fireplace, but she smiled as Victoria entered the room.
‘Guten Morgen, fräulein,’ she said, putting the tray on the scrubbed table. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Victoria relaxed. ‘Danke, yes,’ she nodded. ‘It’s much warmer down here than upstairs.’
Maria folded her arms. ‘It is cold in your room? The fire is gone out?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Do—do I light it?’
Maria shook her head. ‘Gustav will do it later, fräulein.’ She turned away to where a coffee percolator hummed on another stove. ‘You would like some coffee? Or tea?’
‘Coffee would be fine,’ replied Victoria gratefully, seating herself near the roaring fire. ‘Is it always as cold as this?’
Maria spooned sugar into a cup without asking Victoria’s preference, and shrugged, pulling a face. ‘In May the warm days come,’ she said.
‘May!’ Victoria shivered. It was still only March. May seemed a very long way away.
‘You will soon get used to it, fräulein,’ asserted Maria, comfortably, handing the girl a cup of strong black coffee. ‘Wrap up warmly and you will find it is invigorating.’
Victoria sipped her coffee with some satisfaction. At least it was good coffee. She was beginning to feel hungry, too, and the sight of those golden brown rolls was very appetising.
Maria put the rolls on to a wire tray, and began to set a place near Victoria. She put out some of the white earthenware plates they had used the night before, together with a dish of yellow butter and a jar of home-made conserve. Then she indicated that Victoria should sit at the table, and Victoria did so with gratitude.
‘The—er—Baron?’ she began, as she buttered a roll and added