Eline Vere Read online

  ‘Thank you, Otto, no more for me,’ Frédérique said at table. ‘I can never eat before going to a ball, you know what I’m like.’

  ‘Still as nervous as ever?’ asked Otto. ‘I thought it was only before a girl first comes out in society that she can’t eat. You poor girl!’

  ‘Freddie, what have you been doing to your dress? I do hope you haven’t ruined it,’ said Madame van Erlevoort anxiously.

  ‘No, Mama dear, I took Mathilda’s advice in the end and left everything as it was. Ooh, I can’t wait to show you,’ she went on, turning to Otto. ‘I’ll be all ethereal in my blue tulle – you know, as if I’m floating. Ah, here come the Philistines!’

  She was referring to the Van Rijssel foursome, who were charging into the dining room with little Nico in front, blowing his ear-splitting toy trumpet. They had come to eat their orange with wine and sugar in the dining room; Madame van Erlevoort placed Nico beside her and prepared his dessert with care, after which the flaxen-haired rascal gobbled the sliced fruit while the juice trickled down his chin, pausing now and then to blow his trumpet.

  Tina, Jo and Etienne hotly disputed the next portion, getting their forks entangled in the process, while Freddie told Otto about the people they would likely encounter at the Eekhofs.

  ‘Well, the Hijdrechts will be there, and so will Eline Vere, as well as the Van Larens, and Françoise Oudendijk. Don’t you think Françoise is prettier than Marguerite van Laren? Tell me, Otto, which of them will you be courting? Oh, Nico! My poor ears! Nico!’

  Tooterootoo, tooterootoo, sounded the trumpet.

  ‘Nico, you’re driving me demented with that din. Put that thing down this instant and eat properly. Look what you’ve done to your jerkin!’ scolded Mathilda.

  ‘Oh, he just likes his music – don’t you, poppet?’ gushed Madame van Erlevoort, and she put her arm around the child just as he aimed his trumpet at her ear and gave a loud blast in a shocking show of disrespect.

  …

  Afterwards, Freddie and Etienne played with the children while their grandmother retired to her boudoir and Otto smoked his cigar in the company of Mathilda, who had taken up her embroidery. The table was cleared by Rika, the maid, much hampered by Nico, whom she feared would upset her tray stacked with plates and glasses. The clock struck eight at last and Miss Frantzen came to fetch the children.

  ‘Ciel de mon âme!’ exclaimed Frédérique from the depths of the sofa, where she was half smothered by Tina, Jo and Madeleine, and she extricated herself from their tentacular embraces. ‘I must get upstairs; Mathilda, will you come and help?’

  ‘Very well,’ responded Mathilda, rising. ‘As for you, children, you must be off, it’s bedtime!’

  ‘No, I won’t go to bed, first I want to see Aunt Freddie looking all pretty!’ Tina bleated. ‘And I want to help, too.’

  ‘Aunt Freddie doesn’t need your help; anyway, she always looks pretty,’ said Mathilda. ‘Be off with you now, and go with Miss Frantzen like good children.’

  Freddie rushed away, and as Madame van Erlevoort was resting Mathilda was able for once to impose her will. She shooed her foursome up the stairs, pausing on each tread to stop Nico from hopping down again and Madeleine from playing with Hector.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Freddie!’ called Mathilda, ‘just as soon as the children are upstairs!’

  Freddie shouted from her room that she was waiting, and began to brush her long, wavy hair, Cleopatra’s cascading tresses … Mathilda was to do her hair; she was so clever at it. Then she laid out her accessories: fan, gloves, pocket handkerchief, and slipped on her dancing shoes of pale-blue satin. A nervous blush coloured her milk-white complexion as she beheld herself in the cheval-glass, curving her lips into a smile to make the dimples appear in her cheeks. Not too bad, she thought, not too bad.

  Half an hour later Mathilda appeared, accompanied by Martha, the upstairs maid who did duty as a chambermaid, and Frédérique sat down at her dressing table in her chemise and her blue dancing slippers.

  ‘Just as simple and pretty as last time, please, Tilly!’ said Frédérique, with Martha standing at the ready with combs, curling tongs and hairpins. ‘Oh, how chilly it is in here! Martha, put something on my shoulders, will you?’

  Martha draped a brightly coloured shawl about her shoulders, and before long Mathilda’s deft fingers had completed her hairdo.

  ‘There!’ she said, adjusting the curly fringe on her brow. ‘Simple, neat, and it won’t sag, either. Happy now?’

  Frédérique studied her reflection and touched her fingertips to the sides of her hair.

  ‘Yes, very,’ she said. ‘And now … now for my floaty tulle.’

  The shawl was flung aside and rapidly retrieved by Martha, who bustled about tidying the garments that lay scattered about the room. Mathilda lifted up the cloud of delicate azure and let it sink, light as a sigh, over Freddie’s head.

  ‘It’s like being a fairy, or a water nymph!’ said Freddie with raised arms, while Tilly and Martha went down on their knees to fluff out the billowing skirt. La, la, la, hummed Freddie, tapping her feet.

  ‘Do keep still, Freddie. Martha, hand me a pin; that bow has come undone.’

  ‘How do I look, Martha?’

  ‘Ooh, lovely, Miss!’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit bare at the side now, Tilly?’

  ‘Not at all, it’s all ribbons and bows anyway. What more do you want? You’re all aflutter. Oh for goodness sake, Freddie, do try and keep still.’

  The door began to creak, as an unseen hand gently pushed it ajar.

  ‘What is it this time?’ exclaimed Mathilda crossly when she saw Ernestine in the doorway, shivering and wraithlike in her white nightdress.

  ‘Please, Mama,’ she said timidly yet with an undercurrent of mischief. ‘I only meant to …’

  ‘Ernestine! You’ll catch your death of cold out there in your nightdress! How disobedient you are!’

  ‘Quick, Tina, hop into my bed, you’ll be nice and warm there; mind my bodice, though!’ cried Freddie, adding in a whisper: ‘Oh, Tilly, never mind.’

  Tina had already clambered into Freddie’s bed and proceeded to nestle down like a dove among the blankets, happily reaching out her little fingers to touch the blue satin of Frédérique’s bodice, which was still lying on the pillows.

  Mathilda sighed and shrugged, resigned as ever, but moved the garment out of harm’s way. With a rustle of moiré skirts, Madame van Erlevoort was the next to appear in the doorway.

  ‘Doesn’t Mama look lovely!’ cried Frédérique. ‘You’ll see, Tilly, I’ll be the last to be ready! Oh, do hurry up!’

  Mathilda laced up the back of the blue-satin bodice while Madame van Erlevoort looked on, smiling proudly at her diaphanous water nymph. Then came a light, scuffling sound from the landing, and looking round she spied Johan and Madeleine, both shivering in their nightwear.

  ‘This is the limit! You’re driving me to despair!’ Mathilda burst out; she left Frédérique standing with her bodice half-laced and flew to the door. ‘How could you be so naughty? You’re making Mama very sad. You’ll be ill tomorrow, all of you. Go upstairs at once, this minute!’

  Her voice was so sharp that the youngsters almost began to cry, but Madame van Erlevoort came to their rescue.

  ‘Oh, Mathilda, do let them stay just a little while!’

  ‘Get into my bed, then, quick!’ said Frédérique between shrieks of laughter. ‘But don’t you dare touch my tulle!’ she added, recoiling from the outstretched paws of the two little vandals intent on clutching the filmy fabric and pulling the ribbons.

  Mathilda could see that, under the circumstances, the best place for the youngsters was in Freddie’s bed; for the umpteenth time she gave up with a sigh, and resumed lacing Freddie’s bodice, making the satin creak as it tightened. Johan and Madeleine snuggled down under the quilted blanket beside Ernestine, and all three, starry-eyed, gazed up at the blue fairy.

  ‘Aren’t you going to p
ut any more clothes on, Auntie?’ Johan wanted to know. ‘Or are you staying half-naked?’

  ‘Silly boy!’ scoffed Ernestine, giving him such a hard push that he tumbled over Madeleine, who began to scream as Frédérique’s bed became a heaving, tumultuous mass of woollen blankets, blond curls, pillows and rosy limbs.

  Madame van Erlevoort and Frédérique laughed so much they almost cried, much to the annoyance of Mathilda, who was having great difficulty tying the laces properly, and Madame called out to Otto and Etienne, who were already in their overcoats descending the stairs, to come and witness the spectacle.

  ‘Come into bed with us, Uncle Etienne, over here!’ shouted Johan, but Etienne declined the honour, saying he was dressed to go out, not to go to bed.

  ‘You look ravishing, Freddie!’ smiled Otto.

  ‘As if I’m floating on a puff of air, don’t you think? Puff … Tilly, haven’t you finished with those laces yet?’

  ‘How can I if you won’t keep still?’

  Tilly was ready at last, and everyone else was, too. Madame van Erlevoort started down the stairs to the front door, where the carriage was waiting.

  ‘Now, children, don’t all get out of bed, I will not have you running about in the cold!’ cried Mathilda with authority. Meanwhile Frédérique, having charged Otto with her fan and Etienne with one of her gloves, was helped into her cloak by Martha.

  ‘Hurry up, Freddie, Mama’s waiting downstairs,’ said Otto, tapping the fan on the palm of his hand.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’ asked Mathilda.

  ‘I say, Freddie, where’s your other glove, or will you go out wearing only one?’ said Etienne, raising his voice to make himself heard over the pandemonium of the children in bed.

  ‘Oh, how nervous you’re all making me! Look, I’ve got the other glove half on already! Martha, my hanky! Thanks; all ready? Good! Bye-bye my little darlings!’

  ‘Freddie, you’ve forgotten something!’ cried Etienne.

  ‘Oh dear, what now?’

  ‘Your umbrella!’

  ‘Don’t be such a tease! Mama’s waiting for me, and all you can do is tease and make me late! Well, goodbye everyone, bye, Tilly, bye, darlings, yes Otto, I’m coming … Goodbye, Tilly, thanks for your help. Goodbye, Martha.’

  ‘Enjoy yourself, Miss.’

  ‘Have fun, Freddie, bye-bye …’

  Freddie sallied forth, followed by Otto and Etienne. The youngsters promptly leapt out of bed.

  ‘Come here, children, at once!’ cried Mathilda.

  She threw some wraps about their shoulders: a shawl, a comforter and Freddie’s raincoat, which trailed on the floor behind young Ernestine like a train.

  ‘And where is Miss Frantzen? She should never have allowed you to come here!’ she said testily.

  ‘She’s in the nursery with Nico, Mummy, and Nico’s asleep,’ said Ernestine. ‘Please, Mummy, don’t be cross!’

  And she held out her little arms in the flapping raincoat sleeves, wanting to fling them about her mother.

  Mathilda smiled and allowed herself to be hugged.

  ‘Now you must all go to bed!’ she said, mollified.

  ‘Look at the state of Miss Freddie’s bed,’ said Martha, shaking her head. ‘I shall have to make it up all over again, thanks to you naughty children!’

  ‘Nice children!’ countered Madeleine.

  Mathilda took the child in her arms; Ernestine and Johan followed her, tripping over their improvised dressing gowns and chortling with glee that their ruse had worked.

  ‘Shush now, children, or you’ll wake Nico!’

  Miss Frantzen, unaware of the youngsters’ escapade, was quietly knitting with Hector at her feet while Nico lay sleeping in his crib, and was greatly distressed to see the excited cavalcade approaching. The little rogues, sneaking away like that, while she thought they were fast asleep in the next room!

  The threesome were tucked into bed, shivering with cold and excitement, and Miss Frantzen had to caution them several times to stop talking and go to sleep like good children.

  Mathilda gazed into the cot where her little Nico lay snugly under the covers, his eyes tightly shut, his moist lips slightly parted, his flaxen curls straggling over the pillow. How angelic he looked! And the others, too – how delightful they were! A handful of course, and quite out of control, especially with their grandmother and Freddie, and yet they were a blessing! A fourfold blessing!

  She bent over and touched her lips to Nico’s small mouth; she felt his light, sweet breath caressing her cheek, and her tears dropped on his forehead, so white and transparent, so soft … her little angel!

  VI

  From time to time old Madame van Raat would call on her son at Nassauplein for an evening cup of tea; she would arrive in her coupé at seven, and leave again at half-past nine.

  This time Betsy was still upstairs, no doubt with Ben, as Eline assured Madame van Raat, although it was actually Anna, the nursemaid, who put the little boy to bed in the evenings.

  She led the old lady into the anteroom, where a small crystal chandelier spread a soft glow over the violet plush upholstery, its twinkling glass prisms reflected in the round pier glass.

  ‘And Henk?’ asked the old lady.

  ‘Oh, still dozing, I expect!’ laughed Eline. ‘Wait, I’ll go and call him.’

  ‘No, no, leave him be,’ said Madame van Raat. ‘Let him sleep, poor dear, and stay with me a while for a chat.’

  She sank down on the sofa, smiling at Eline, who settled herself on a pouffe close by.

  Eline took the old lady’s dry, veined hand in hers.

  ‘And how are you, dear lady? Well, I trust? You look remarkably fresh and youthful today – not a line to be seen on your brow, I do declare!’

  Madame van Raat was much taken, as always, with the warmth in Eline’s voice and with her beaming smile, to which she now, with or without intent, imparted a suggestion of naiveté.

  ‘You wicked girl! Making fun of me in my old age! Elly, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ She put her arm around Eline’s shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. ‘And how is Betsy these days, not too tiresome?’ she added in a whisper.

  ‘Ah well, you know, Betsy isn’t so bad, really, just a little – a little quick-tempered in the things she says. All us Veres are quick-tempered, and I am too, although I don’t remember Papa ever getting cross, but then he was a man without equal. Betsy and I get along splendidly; of course we have our little disagreements, but that’s only natural if you spend so much time together. I think it would even happen to you and me if I lived in your house.’

  ‘Well, I would be delighted for you to come and give it a try!’

  ‘Oh no, I’d be far too tiresome in the long run. You think I’m nice because you don’t see a great deal of me, but if you did …!’ she laughed gaily.

  ‘What a bad girl you are, making me out to have be so short-tempered!’

  ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. But truly, Betsy has a kind heart when it comes down to it, and I assure you, she makes Henk a charming wife.’

  ‘Well, if you say so. But I’m not sure who I would have chosen for my boy if it had been up to me … Betsy, or someone else maybe …’

  She laid her hand on the top of Eline’s head and looked at her meaningfully, her eyes bleary and a sad smile about her pinched mouth.

  Eline was slightly unnerved. Madame van Raat’s words had called forth her own old thoughts, long passed and almost forgotten, those moments of sudden longing for Henk’s company, the vague wish to lean on his shoulder and let him take charge. But it was all a long time ago, and those sentiments now seemed to her so distant, so hazy as to be merely shadows of thoughts, ghostly shadows … They seemed rather silly now, even grotesque, and the recollection of them almost made her smile.

  ‘Oh, Madame,’ she murmured, giving a light, pearly laugh, ‘who knows how unhappy he might otherwise have been? Even if Betsy is a little domineering, he’s hardly a
downtrodden husband: her feet are far too tiny!’

  ‘Hush,’ whispered Madame van Raat. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  It was Henk. He drew aside the door curtain and declared that he had no idea it was so late. Eline laughed at him and asked if he had been having sweet dreams.

  ‘You eat too much, that’s what makes you so lazy in the evening. Oh, Madame, you should see how much he eats!’

  ‘There, Mother, now you know. This is the kind of treatment your son gets in his own home, even from his dear sister-in-law – she can be so trying!’

  ‘Oh, stop it, Henk! It’s no use pretending, because your mama won’t believe any ill of me, not even from her beloved Henk! Isn’t that true, Madame? You can’t deny it, can you?’

  Eline opened her almond eyes wide and gazed up at the old lady with an air of childlike innocence. Her entire being radiated such sympathy that Madame van Raat could not resist embracing her.

  ‘You’re a darling!’ she said happily, basking in the warmth of youth’s bright sun shining on her old age.

  …

  When Betsy came downstairs she apologised profusely for taking so long, and suggested her motherin-law might prefer to take tea in the salon rather than remain cooped up in the anteroom.

  ‘Paul said he would drop by later,’ said Madame van Raat as Eline pulled up a marble foot-warmer for her. ‘Then you can sing some duets. What do you say, Elly?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure, dear lady.’

  Madame van Raat brought out her spectacles and her crochet-work while Betsy seated herself by the tea tray laden with polished silver and Japanese porcelain, and prattled away about this and that, including the ball at the Eekhofs, which she had found most enjoyable.

  ‘And you, Elly, did you enjoy yourself?’ asked the old lady.

  ‘Yes indeed, the dancing was lovely, and there was a splendid cotillion, too.’

  ‘And what about you, Henk?’

  ‘Oh, Henk!’

  They all laughed, and Eline exclaimed that he was too stout for dancing, really, although he might still cut an elegant figure doing a minuet – and minuets were coming back into fashion, as dear Madame was bound to have heard.