He wrinkled his brows and repeated my name. But somehow I sensed that he remembered me very well.
“Mrs. Helena Trant,” he said.
“Miss . . .” I said.
“Oh. I’m afraid . . .”
“I came here and had a child,” I said.
“Well, Miss Trant, I have so many clients . . . How long ago was this?”
“Nine years.”
He sighed. “It’s a very long time ago. And you are again . . .”
“Indeed not.”
“Perhaps there is some other purpose for your visit?”
“Yes. I want to see my child’s grave. I would like to see that it is tended.”
“For the first time in . . . nine years did you say?”
“I have fairly recently come back here.”
“I see.”
“Do you remember me now, Dr. Kleine?”
“I believe I do.”
“There was a Miss Swartz in the clinic at the time.”
“Oh yes, I remember now.”
“She died, you told me, and her grandmother adopted her child.”
“Yes, I do remember that. There was quite a fuss about it. The girl was in a sad state.”
“She tried to kill herself,” I said.
“Yes. I remember. It was small wonder that she did not survive her confinement. We were astonished, I remember, that her child lived.”
“But she did survive, Dr. Kleine. It was her child who died.”
“No, I am sure you are wrong.”
“Could you make sure of it?”
“Miss Trant, I should like to know what is your purpose in coming here?”
“I have told you. I want to see my child’s grave, and to confirm what happened to Gretchen Swartz. She lived in this neighborhood and . . .”
“You thought you would like to meet her again. But she is dead.”
“Could you look up your records and tell me for certain? I do particularly want to know.”
My heart was beating wildly. I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt I had to go carefully, and that if I did I might discover what had happened to Ilse. And if I could find Ilse I should have the key to the mystery which still obscured my past. Of one thing I was certain. Dr. Kleine was not telling the truth. He knew who I was and he was disturbed because I had come back.
“It is very unorthodox to discuss my patients,” he said.
“But if they are dead it does not matter?”
“But since Miss Swartz died how can you possibly see her again? And it is no use going to visit the grandmother. I heard that she died too and the child was adopted by people who went out of the country.”
He was getting more and more involved and worried.
I went on: “If you could assure me that Gretchen Swartz actually died I should be satisfied.”
He sighed and hesitated. Then he went to the bell rope. A nurse appeared. He told her that he wanted a certain ledger.
While we were waiting for it to come he asked me what I had been doing in the last years. I said I had gone home to England; then I had had an opportunity to come out here and teach English.
“And it was then that you decided you would like to visit your child’s grave?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Graves such as that of your child which are never attended are naturally hard to find. In the cemetery you will see many small mounds which are almost obliterated by time.”
The ledger was brought in. The date . . . He turned it up. “Ah yes, Gretchen Swartz died in childbirth. The baby was adopted.”
“Your ledger is wrong, Dr. Kleine,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Gretchen Swartz did not die.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I can be very sure. I have met her.”
“You have met her?”
“I have. She is now married to a Sergeant Franck and lives in Rochenberg.”
He swallowed; the silence seemed to go on for several seconds, he stammered: “That’s impossible.”
I rose. “No,” I said. “It’s true. I do wonder why you have recorded the death of Gretchen Swartz and the adoption of her child. What is your motive?”
“Motive? I don’t understand. There may have been some mistake.”
“There has been some mistake,” I said. “Excuse me one moment. I have a friend whom I should like you to meet.”
Before he could protest I had gone into his waiting room and come back with Gretchen.
“I want you and Dr. Kleine to meet,” I told Gretchen.
He stared at her. “Who . . .” he began. “What . . .”
“This is Frau Franck,” I said. “You remember her as Gretchen Swartz. But you thought—or you told me you thought—she was dead. You see, she is alive.”
“But I don’t understand. You and she . . . here together. You . . . planned this?”
“We both had children in your clinic, Dr. Kleine.”
“Oh yes, yes . . .”
“You told me that Gretchen’s child lived and was adopted.”
“There has clearly been a misunderstanding. You did not tell me that Fräulein Swartz was here.”
“She is Frau Franck now, but you were so certain that she was dead. Your records said so.”
“It is obviously a clerical error. I am glad Fräulein Swartz did not die, but as I say, it is so long ago.”
“How did you come to make such a record?”
He shrugged his shoulders, his composure almost regained. “Mistakes happen, Miss Trant, as you must be aware. I’m afraid I can’t help you further.”
“Perhaps you can,” I said. “I wonder whether you can give me the address of Frau Gleiberg.”
He wrinkled his brows but he did not deceive me. “Wasn’t she your friend?” he asked.
“I have lost touch with her.”
“I too. And now, Miss Trant, you will understand that I am a very busy man. I am sorry that I can be of no help to you.”
He ushered me out of his clinic with alacrity. I was excited because a sudden notion had come to me that just as he had deceived us into thinking that Gretchen’s child had lived, might he not have deceived me into thinking that mine had died?
He could give me no details. He could not tell me where my child was buried.
How I wished Maximilian would come back. There was so much to discuss with him.
A letter came from Anthony.
Things look a little unsettled over there. I don’t like the idea of your being there. The French are very bellicose, and they and the Prussians are such old enemies. If there was trouble—and opinion here seems that there might well be—I shouldn’t like to think of you there. If you send word, I’ll come out and bring you back . . .
It seemed unfair not to tell him that I had found Maximilian. I was so fond of Anthony that I wanted him to stop thinking of me. I hoped that the girl to whom his mother had referred would be all that he needed in a wife and I wholeheartedly wished that he might fall in love with her and forget me.
As soon as I possibly could I should tell him.
Frau Graben came into the schoolroom in a flutter of excitement. I was giving an English lesson and trying to keep my attention on what we were doing. It was not easy. I kept thinking of my visit to Dr. Kleine’s clinic and asking myself what it meant. I was beginning to believe more and more that there was some mystery about my little girl’s death.
Every time I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs in the courtyard I started, desperately hoping it would be Maximilian. I yearned to talk to him, to sift the reason for Dr. Kleine’s strange behavior from all the mass of mystery which surrounded me.
Frau Graben said: “It’s the Duchess. It’s Wilhelmina.”
I heard myself say in a voice which sounded haughty but this of course was due to nervousness: “What does she want?”
“She’s come to see you.”
“To see me!”
“That’s what she say
s. She’s over at the Rittersaal.”
Dagobert said: “Is the Duke with her?”
“No,” answered Frau Graben. “She’s all alone . . . at least she’s alone in the Rittersaal. She has two of her women waiting in the carriage.”
“I’ll go at once to her,” I said. “I can’t imagine why she wants to see me.”
I told the children to go on reading from the book of fairy stories which we were studying.
As the door shut on us Frau Graben looked at me, her eyes dancing with excitement, and lifted her shoulders.
“What does this mean, I wonder,” she whispered.
“She did say she wanted to see me?”
“She certainly did. And there’s a look in her eyes.”
“What sort of look?”
“Reminded me of icebergs,” said Frau Graben. “Not that I’ve seen an iceberg. Cold. Very cold. Shivery cold, I’d say. And I’ve been told that there’s a lot more ice in icebergs than you see on the surface.”
“I wonder if . . .”
“She knows anything? Couldn’t say. News leaks out, particularly bad news and this could be bad news to her. Still you’ll soon know. Just go in and call her Your Grace and show the proper respect. You can’t go wrong then.”
I found that I was trembling. I had seen this woman on one or two occasions, but only from a distance. The fact that she believed herself to be Maximilian’s wife made her alarming, to say the least. I felt that I was wronging her, which was not so. It was neither her fault nor mine that we were in this position.
She was seated at the table when Frau Graben opened the door.
“Here’s Miss Trant, Your Grace,” she said, and I stepped into the room. I was aware that Frau Graben had not shut the door. She would be standing very close, listening. The eavesdropper in this case was rather a comfort.
“You are Miss Trant?” The coldest blue eyes I had ever seen were appraising me. They were expressionless and it was impossible to tell from them what she knew. She was beautiful in a certain style, I noticed with a pang of jealousy. How absurd to feel that! He loved me and he had never loved her. She was beautiful as a statue is beautiful—remote and so cool. Her fair hair was swept up from a pale, rather long face; her nose was aquiline and patrician; her mouth matched her eyes—unsmiling. Her velvet cloak fell back to display the lace ruffles at her wrists and neck. Diamonds sparkled on her fingers and in the lace at her throat. They suited her. I could not imagine her ever glowing with passion; yet aloof as she was there was something deadly about her as there is about a snake.
But I believed she was feeling more interest in me than she would normally have for a teacher of English. She knows, I thought, if not all—something.
“I hear you teach the children English.”
“That is so.”
“And are they good pupils?”
I replied that I was satisfied with them.
She said: “You may be seated.” She pointed to a chair close to hers and added: “There.”
“How long have you been in Klocksburg?” she went on.
I told her.
“Why did you come here?”
“Frau Graben came to England and we met. She thought I would be suitable to teach the children English.”
“Frau Graben! Why should she decide that the children should be taught English?”
“Perhaps she could tell you that.”
The eyebrows were imperceptibly raised. I hoped I did not sound impertinent. I did not mean to be. I was merely horribly nervous because she was in the position which should be mine, because she believed herself to be married to Maximilian and was not. I could not imagine what her reaction would be when she knew the truth. She was proud and haughty and I should think would be very humiliated. The loss of dignity would mean a great deal to her.
“We are living through difficult times, Miss Trant,” she said. “It might be well if you returned to your country.”
I was sure there was an even colder glitter in her eyes.
She knows! I thought. She is telling me to get out. I had the impression that she was offering me escape or the consequences of remaining here.
Go home! Leave Maximilian! As if I could! Was he not my husband? But I was sorry for her. I would be sorry for any woman in her position, be she proud princess or humble woodcutter’s daughter.
I knew in that moment that I was going to fight for what was mine. Because my visit to Dr. Kleine was fresh in my memory, I thought of the children I should have, and it must be my son, not hers, who should be his father’s heir. For myself I did not seek great riches. I knew that I should have been happier if my husband had been in a less exalted position; but for my children I would fight as any other mother would.
“I have no wish to return to my country,” I said. “I propose to stay here.”
She bowed her head. What secrets those eyes held. Indeed she was like a snake. Her eyes were steady, her mouth cold; one sensed the poison dart was ready, waiting.
“We could be at war at any moment. The Duke, my husband, is most concerned.”
I felt the color flush my cheeks. I wanted to say: No! My husband. And do you think I do not know of his concern.
This was foolish of course. I was not being reasonable. She had no notion that I was Maximilian’s wife. This cold appraising manner was the one accorded to all those whom she considered far beneath her.
“I should advise all foreigners to go,” she said. “But you do not wish to. You are enthralled by your post.” Her lips curled but there was no smile in her eyes; it was as though she were shrugging her shoulders at my folly, telling me that if I were wise I would go; but if I would not, then stay and take the consequences.
“I prefer to stay. It is good of Your Grace to concern yourself with me.”
That was hypocritical for I knew very well that there was nothing good about her concern. She was not in the least anxious for my welfare. She wanted something.
“Since you will stay,” she said, “I will call upon your help. I wonder whether you will do as I ask.”
I sensed that she was playing with me—tormenting me in some way. I was convinced in that moment that she knew, but in the next I was telling myself that I was fanciful.
“The war is coming,” she went on. “There is no doubt of it. I plan to turn one of the smaller Schlösser into a hospital. We shall need all the helpers we can get. Are you prepared to join us, Miss Trant?”
I was astonished. What an absurd imagination I had! Had she after all merely come to ask my help in a hospital! And here I was imagining that she was planning to murder me!
I was tremendously relieved and I think I showed it.
“I would do anything I could to help,” I said warmly. “I must tell you though that I have had no experience of nursing.”
“Few of us have. We may have to learn. Then, Miss Trant, can we count on your help?”
“If this war should take place then I should be eager to give my services.”
“Thank you, Miss Trant. That is good of you. I have the Schloss in mind. It is called the Landhaus because the Government used to sit there years ago. You have seen it?”
I said I had not.
“It is on the other side of the mountain and easily accessible. I trust that we may not need it, but we have to be prepared.” The cold eyes looked straight into mine. “It’s no use waiting for events to catch us. We must be ready to meet them when they come. You agree, I am sure.”
“Yes, I do.”
She waved her hand rather imperiously to denote that the interview was over. I rose and went to the door.
When I reached it she said: “I shall be calling on your help . . . soon.”
I said I would be ready.
As I went out I almost fell into Frau Graben.
“Come to my sitting room,” she said, “and I’ll give you a cup of tea.”
I followed her there; the kettle was already on the boil.
“There,” said Frau
Graben as she poured out. “What do you make of that?”
There was no need to ask how she knew the gist of the conversation. I knew—and she knew I knew—that she had been listening all the time.
“I suppose it’s wise to be prepared. If there is a war there will be casualties and it is well to have hospitals.”
“I wonder why she came to see you.”
“She will want as many helpers as she can get.”
“I know. I know. But why come to see you? Is her High and Mighty Grace going to interview all those who will be called in to help?”
“Perhaps she thinks as I’m a foreigner my case is different. She warned me I should leave, as you heard.”
Frau Graben narrowed her eyes. “I wonder what she knows. They’ve got spies everywhere. You can depend upon it Maxi’s visits here have been noted. And why should he come here, they’ll be asking themselves and when they ask themselves a question like that they come up with the same answer every time. A woman!”
“She gave no indication that she knew.”
“As if she would! Close, she is. Cold as ice on top. And what’s underneath? I wonder what she’ll do. People! They’re worth watching. If she thinks you’re just another woman she might plague you for a bit, but if she knew you were his true and lawful wife . . .” Frau Graben began to laugh so much I thought she would choke.
“It seems to amuse you,” I said coldly. “Sometimes I think you’re a wicked woman.”
“I have my parts like everyone else. People—you never can be sure, can you?”
How true that was! One could never be sure—only of the one who was closest to you.
Oh, Maximilian, I prayed, come back soon.
The next day a messenger arrived from the Count. He came in a carriage with the arms blazoned on it. They were so like the ducal arms that at first I thought that Maximilian was back. My disappointment was intense.
Frau Graben had, of course, seen the carriage and ascertained the reason for its coming.
“It’s from Fredi,” she told me. “You’re to go to his Schloss. He wants to consult you about the children’s lessons.”
I stared at her in dismay. She nodded grimly.