Too young! Beside Aunt Caroline I felt old in experience. If she but knew! I thought. If I said to her: But I have been a wife and mother, what would she make of my implausible tale? One thing I was sure of: She must never get a chance to make anything of it.
And that started the yearning again. Indeed everything seemed to lead back to it.
When Aunt Matilda ceremoniously brought Mr. Clees into the house, Aunt Caroline merely sniffed and satisfied herself with contemptuous looks, but I had noticed the hot color in her cheeks and the way the veins knotted at her temples.
I said that we ought to drink to the health and happiness of the affianced couple and without Aunt Caroline’s permission I took out a bottle of her best elderberry wine and served it.
It was rather pleasant to see Aunt Matilda looking ten years younger and I wondered, with a return of my old frivolity, whether she would have fallen in love with Albert Clees if he had not been deprived of a kidney. Amelia was pleased too. She whispered to me that she had seen it coming for a long time and that it was the best thing that could happen to her father.
The wedding was to be soon, for as Matilda said, there was no sense in waiting. Mr. Clees gallantly added that he had waited long enough, which made Aunt Matilda blush prettily.
When the Cleeses had left Aunt Caroline let forth a burst of scorn and abuse.
“Some people thought they were seventeen instead of forty-seven.”
“Forty-five,” said Aunt Matilda.
“And what’s the difference?”
“Two years,” said Aunt Matilda spiritedly.
“Making fools of themselves! I suppose there’ll be a white wedding with bridesmaids in wreaths of rosebuds.”
“No, Albert thinks a quiet wedding would be best.”
“He’s got sense enough to realize you don’t want to make fools of yourself parading in white then.”
“Albert has a lot of sense, more than some I could name.”
And so it went on.
Aunt Matilda, who had become “Matty” named thus by her devoted Albert, was excited about her wedding dress. “Soft brown velvet,” she said. “Jenny Withers will make it. Albert will come with me to choose the material. And a brown hat with pink roses.”
“Pink roses at your time of life!” snapped Aunt Caroline. “If you marry that man you’ll sup sorrow with a long spoon.”
But in spite of her we grew quite gay over the wedding.
Amelia would come in and we would huddle together looking at patterns for the wedding dress and for Amelia’s gray silk which was being made for the occasion. Amelia was to be matron of honor.
We would all be laughing together when we would hear Aunt Caroline’s stick outside the door (she had walked with a stick since her stroke for one leg was useless). Then she would come in and say nothing but sit regarding us all with contempt.
But she could not spoil Matilda’s happiness, although on the wedding day she refused to attend the ceremony. “You can all go and make fools of yourselves if you want to,” she said. “I shan’t.”
So Aunt Matilda was married and the wedding breakfast was held in the rooms over the shop with just a few guests. Aunt Caroline stayed at home muttering and grumbling about mutton dressed up as lamb and people in their second childhood.
Two days after the wedding she had another stroke which rendered her almost incapable of moving at all. She did, however, retain her speech which was more venomous than ever.
There followed a very melancholy period which seemed to be devoted to the nursing of Aunt Caroline. Aunt Matilda helped, but her first duty was to Albert now and she was a happy wife determined to do her duty.
Often when I was preparing a meal for Aunt Caroline, I would dream of a life I had once visualized during three blissful days. I thought of living in a Schloss perched high on a hill, as so many of them I had seen had been; I thought of a gracious life with a husband whom I adored and who adored me; I thought too of children—my little daughter and a son. There would be a son. And often this seemed more real to me than the kitchen with its rows of bottles neatly labeled by Aunt Caroline and now often put back in the wrong place, until milk boiled over or something caught in the oven to bring me back to reality.
During this period there was great rejoicing in the Greville family because Anthony became vicar—not of our church but of another on the outskirts of the town. Mrs. Greville was delighted with her clever son. I knew that she had already seen him in his gaiters presiding over his bishopric.
I had taken to going to church every Sunday with the Grevilles to hear Anthony take the service, and I felt more contented than I had believed possible. The fact that I did not hear from Ilse added to the sense of unreality and I began to feel that I had strayed into a strange world where events which would seem inconceivable in a logical world had happened. But at night I dreamed my dreams.
On Sundays after evensong I would go to the Grevilles’ home for Sunday supper while Aunt Matilda or Amelia kept an eye on Aunt Caroline, who was more and more needing constant attention, and it was on one of the summer Sundays when supper had been cleared away that Anthony asked me to go for a walk with him. It was a lovely evening and we strolled out to the fields beyond the city and Anthony talked as he loved to do about the glories of Oxford. He loved to discover the history of the place and like my father he knew how all the colleges had been founded. On this particular Sunday he was telling me about the legend of St. Frideswyde, which he said was something more than a legend. Frideswyde had actually lived and in the year 727 founded a nunnery. When the King of Leicester fell madly in love with her and tried to abduct her he was struck blind. She lived so piously that when she died a shrine was dedicated to her. About this shrine first a hamlet grew up, then a village and so began the ancient town of Oxford. There the owners of cattle drove them across the ford where the Thames and Cherwell met and thus the spot derived its name of Oxford.
He was so enthusiastic when he talked he grew quite animated which he was not in the normal way, and I was taken by surprise when he said suddenly:
“Helena, will you marry me?”
I was shocked into silence. If I had ever doubted it I knew in that moment that I considered myself to be a married woman. It was so long since I had seen Ilse’s kind face. It was so long since I had heard from her, that her image had faded and with it my fears that she, Ernst and Dr. Carlsberg must have been right. The further I grew away from that time the more vivid seemed my adventure in the forest and the less plausible their account of my lost days.
But marry! I was already married.
“Helena, is the idea so repulsive to you?”
“Oh no,” I said. “No, no. It was just that I hadn’t thought.”
I stopped. How foolish this must seem. Of course it had been obvious for some time what Anthony’s intentions were. The attitude of Mr. and Mrs. Greville had made it clear. I realized with dismay that they were expecting us to come back from our walk engaged.
I said quickly: “Of course, Anthony, I’m fond of you.” Yes, I was fond of him. I liked Anthony Greville as much as anyone in Oxford. I found his conversation interesting, I enjoyed his company. I should be very lonely if he went out of my life. But I wanted to go on as we were. It was his friendship I wanted. There was only one man whom I could consider as my husband and I believed he was that in spite of efforts to convince me that I loved a phantom.
“It’s just that I hadn’t thought of marriage,” I finished lamely.
“I should have led up to this, I suppose,” he said ruefully. “I know my parents expect it. They are so fond of you and so am I.”
I said: “It would be very suitable of course but . . .”
“Oh, Helena,” he said, “get used to the idea. Think about it.”
“There is Aunt Caroline,” I said. “I couldn’t leave her. She needs someone to look after her all the time.”
“We could bring her to the vicarage. My mother would help to look after her.”<
br />
“I couldn’t impose Aunt Caroline on you. She would disrupt the household.”
I was talking round the matter, anything but to tell the truth. I was really agitated because talking of marriage had brought back so vividly that room in the hunting lodge, the priest with the book and the ring, and Maximilian standing beside me impatiently waiting for the time when we would be alone.
I forced myself to think of Anthony. He would be kind to me; we could have a pleasant life together. I could be of use to him in his work; perhaps we should have children. I felt the pain surging within me as I thought of that little face framed in the white bonnet. How could I possibly marry without telling what had happened to me—now six years ago.
I said quickly: “I should have to have time to think . . .”
He took my hand and pressed it firmly. “But of course,” he said.
We were thoughtful as we went back to the house. I could not tear my mind away from the past. I kept seeing Maximilian with the eager passion in his eyes. I had had no doubts then; I would have made no excuses; I would have swept them all away. And my child . . . I could not bear it. I must control my feelings.
When we arrived back at the house I noticed at once the expectancy in Mrs. Greville’s face. She was disappointed.
Anthony had now moved into the new vicarage, a charming Queen Anne residence with spacious, gracious lawns at both front and back. There was a south wall at the back—older than the house. It had been there since Tudor days. Peaches could be grown on it. There were apple and pear trees in the garden and a sundial inscribed with an old adage “I count only the sunny hours.” “They,” said Anthony, “were the only ones which should be counted.” His parents had moved in with him.
“To make sure of his comforts,” Mrs. Greville explained to me. “Of course when Anthony marries we’ll be ready to take a back seat.”
She spoke significantly. I knew she thought that although I was hesitant I should eventually marry Anthony. After all, what life was there for me otherwise? It wasn’t right, said Mrs. Greville, for young women to be cooped up looking after old ones. She implied that Aunt Caroline would be no less miserable installed in a room in the vicarage where she would help to look after her.
They were so good, so kind, and I loved them all dearly. Why did I hesitate? The answer was because I was clinging to a dream.
Either in reality or my dreams I had known the perfect union and I hungered for it. I knew that Anthony was a good man; it seemed very likely that Maximilian was not quite that, but one does not always love people for their virtues.
One day when we were in the walled garden, and I was alone with Anthony, I blurted out: “Anthony, I want to be absolutely truthful with you. I’ve had a child.”
He was startled and incredulous.
“You remember I was away for almost a year. It’s the strangest story and the strangest part of it is that I don’t know whether or not it’s true.”
I told him what had happened beginning with my adventure in the mist and the strong feelings that had been aroused in me that night. I wanted to keep nothing back. And then I went on to my adventure on the Night of the Seventh Moon.
“Everything was normal until then—and the rest . . . Anthony, I am not sure.”
He listened intently. “It seems incredible,” he said. “I should like to meet your cousin.”
“She was so good to me. She felt responsible. She couldn’t do enough. She looked after me during those months . . . Then she ceased to write.”
“Some people are bad correspondents.”
“But I should have thought she would have sent an address. Anthony, what do you think happened?”
“I know,” he said, “that doctors are making rapid advances in this field and that experiments have been made. It must have been that this Dr. Carlsberg used such an experiment on you, with what results we have seen.”
“Is it possible to forget six whole days of your life?”
“I believe it is.”
“And then . . . this horrible thing happened to me . . . and I cannot remember it.”
“It is better that you don’t. It seems that this was necessary to save you pain, humiliation, and perhaps great mental stress which could have been dangerous.”
“I can see that you believe the marriage to have been a myth.”
“If it were not so where is this man? Why did he not come forward? Why did he give a false name, a name that you had seen was one of the Duke’s titles. Besides, why should your cousin lie to you? Why should the doctor do so?”
“Why indeed? Everything points one way. You as a practical man see that.”
“My poor Helena,” he said, “it was a shattering experience. But it is over now. The child died so any complications which might have ensued have been removed.”
I closed my eyes. I could not bear it when anyone talked of my child’s death as this happy release.
“I wanted the child,” I said fiercely. “I would not have cared for these complications.”
“You will have other children, Helena. That is the best way to heal that wound.”
How calm he was, how kind, how unshaken in his love for me.
I knew that I had told him this because the prospect of marriage with him was not an impossibility.
I was so pleased that I had told him. It was a great relief. I began to think how comforting it would be in the future to share my troubles with him.
TWO
The more I thought of marriage with Anthony the more rational it seemed. Anthony’s calm reception of my revelation had shown me what a steadying influence he would have on my life; he was a man in whom I knew I could put my trust. Marriage with him would be like coming into a safe harbor after battling against the storms. On the very next Sunday he preached an eloquent sermon about the need to overcome past misfortunes, never to brood on what could not be altered but to try to profit from experience rather than to regret it. His text came from the story of the houses one of which was built on sand, the other on rock; and the shifting sands of romantic dreams were doomed to destruction while the house which was built on the firm rock of reality would endure.
I was so moved by that sermon that I almost made up my mind to marry him; and yet that very night my dreams were as vivid as ever and I awoke to find myself calling for Maximilian.
I found I could talk of my experience with Anthony more freely than I had ever believed possible. It was a pleasure to bring it out into the open. We discussed it at great length and went over every detail. He missed nothing; but he remained firm to his conclusion that I had been the victim of Dr. Carlsberg’s experiment and he believed that the doctor had been right to make it.
Mrs. Greville was constantly busy helping with the work of the parish.
“My goodness,” she used to say, “a man in Anthony’s position can’t get along without a woman to help him in his parish duties.”
She was just a little impatient with me. She once reminded me that I was no longer a young girl. I was nearly twenty-six. No longer young. People would soon be saying I was on the shelf.
How I should have enjoyed pleasing them! As it was I did everything I could to help Mrs. Greville. I was indefatigable in the organization of the sales of work, and social evenings. I made cups of tea which were distributed at the mothers’ meetings.
“You have a flair for the work,” said Mrs. Greville significantly.
Between my constant visits to the vicarage and the work I did and my occasional spells in the bookshop besides looking after Aunt Caroline, the time flew.
Aunt Caroline grudged every minute I was away from the house.
“Chasing after the vicar,” she used to say. “I don’t know. Some people are man-mad.”
She hated my going out but Aunt Matty insisted. She was very excited about my relationship with Anthony. She was so happy in her marriage that she would have liked to see everyone about her in the same blissful state—Amelia, myself, and even Aunt Caro
line.
She always came to the house while I was away.
“Now you go and enjoy yourself,” she would say.
Then she thought it pleasant for me to be in the bookshop. “Albert says you’re better than anyone in the foreign department and it’s amazing how many foreigners we get in.”
So the time flew past. There was never a moment to spare, and all the time at the back of my mind—and often to the fore of it—was the question: Could I be happy married to Anthony? Could I make him happy? Should I, if I married, cease to be haunted by nostalgic dreams?
I could see a very happy life ahead of me. Anthony’s quiet charm would have been enhanced by a wife who had the enthusiasm I knew I could muster and once my old high spirits returned I would be a useful foil. Oh yes, I would tell myself again and again, it would be ideal.
Aunt Caroline continued to complain: “Gadding about! Running after Anthony Greville. Hoping he’ll marry you, I suppose. Making yourself cheap.” I wanted to shout at her: He has asked me; but I didn’t. And always something held me back from accepting.
I was to have a stall at the sale of work and had been collecting for weeks to fill it. Members of the church sent in their donations. One parcel came containing half a dozen egg cozies from the Misses Edith and Rose Elkington.
I stared at the name for some seconds, and then I was back in the narrow street with the cobbled road, the overhanging signs; I was standing outside Dr. Kleine’s clinic and my body was heavy with my lively unborn child.
Two women had spoken to me on that occasion. Yes, it had been the Misses Elkington. They sold teas and coffees, homemade cakes and homemade knickknacks like tea cozy covers and egg covers.
I shivered and felt vaguely apprehensive.
I was right to feel so. On the first afternoon of the sale of work they were there. Two pairs of bright eyes regarded me. They were like monkeys’ eyes—dark, living, curious.
“Why it’s Miss Helena Trant.”
“Yes,” I said.
“We sent the egg cozies.”
“Thank you. They are very useful.”