Eline Vere (39 page)

Then one day you will meet someone who is worthy of you, and who will love you unconditionally. I am sure of that. Then you will be happy, and you will have forgotten
me. But oh, please don't forget me completely: just forget your love for me, and think of me once in a while
.

That final entreaty reverberated in the depths of her soul.

Think of me, without anger or hate, and feel a little pity for your poor Nily, who
. . .

‘I can't do it, I can't!' she moaned, grasping the tear-smudged sheet of paper with a mind to tearing it up, but instead she took a deep breath and quickly wrote a few closing words. Then she dried her eyes and set about copying out her missive, somewhat calmer now that she no longer needed to think about what to say.

A postage stamp was all she needed after this, and an envelope, upon which she wrote the address:

The Right Honourable Baron
O. van Erlevoort ter Horze,
Lange Voorhout. The Hague
.

She reread her letter a final time. Her anguish flared up again at the cruelty of it, and when she reached the end and had only to slide it into the envelope, she hesitated yet again. Was this really what she wanted? To break with her Otto? No, no, it was not a question of
wanting
anything, it was what she was obliged to do; it was her duty, her moral duty! So she pressed a long kiss on her letter and sealed the envelope.

Oh God, why must she live while such grief existed?

She rose, and stood for a time staring at the envelope as though willing it to vanish, but it remained there, lying squarely on the writing table with Otto's name and address on the cover.

Eline cast a rapid glance in the mirror, and she barely recognised herself in the ghostly apparition confronting her, the pallid, tear-streaked features, the dishevelled mane of hair. Then she gave two firm tugs on the bell-pull, keeping her eyes fixed on the letter.

There was a knock at the door. Gerard entered.

‘What time is it, Gerard?'

She was startled by how dull and hoarse her voice sounded.

‘Almost midnight, Miss.'

‘Is the master still up?'

‘The master is in his study; milady has gone to bed, and so has Mr Vincent.'

‘Can you take this to the post for me?'

‘Yes, Miss.'

‘Can you do it at once?'

‘Certainly, Miss.'

‘Here you are, then. But do it at once, will you? When is the first mail collection tomorrow morning?'

‘Eight o'clock, I believe, Miss.'

‘Here, take it. Off you go now, all right?'

‘At once, Miss.'

Gerard departed with the letter, leaving Eline behind in a daze. She heard Gerard go down the stairs, she heard the thud of the front door being shut. Then all was still in the big house.

She had a sense of cold panic, like icy water trickling down her back.

At this very moment Gerard was making his way down the street, now he was turning the corner, now approaching the letter box on the Nassaulaan . . . She fancied she could hear the letter drop with a dull thud, like the lid on a coffin, and was on the verge of swooning away from the monstrous visions bearing down on her like evil ghosts. And suddenly, as though jolted awake from a nightmare, she realised the finality of what she had done. She felt her entire body begin to tremble, as in a fever. By tomorrow, by tomorrow morning even, Otto would receive the letter . . . her letter!

Oh God, it could not be! It must not be! It was her very happiness that she had just flung away with both hands, and only because she had found the sheer restfulness of it boring! Her life's happiness, irredeemably lost!

She felt the walls and the ceiling closing in on her, crushing her so that she could scarcely breathe. She staggered to the door, then across the landing, and burst into Betsy's bedroom.

‘My God, Oh my God! Betsy!' she gasped, as though a hand were
clamped round her throat.

Betsy was abed in the dusky room, lit only by a weak night light; she started awake in fright, with disordered thoughts of calamities such as fire or murder.

‘Who? What? What's happening? What is it, Eline?'

‘I – oh my God – I–'

‘What on earth is the matter, Eline?'

‘I – I've written to Otto.'

‘What?'

‘I've sent him a letter.'

‘A letter?'

‘I – I've broken it off. I've broken off our engagement. Oh God, oh God!'

Betsy leapt out of bed and stood shivering over Eline, who had collapsed on the floor, hiding her face in her long, tousled hair.

‘What did you say?' she cried in horror.

Eline only sobbed. The doors to Henk's study and Ben's nursery stood open, and Henk, who had been reading, came running.

‘Is anything wrong?' he asked anxiously.

‘Shut Ben's door, will you, Henk, or he'll wake up!' said Betsy, her voice shaking.

Henk shut the door.

‘Eline has written to Otto, she's broken it off!' wailed Betsy.

Henk stood where he was, aghast, making no move to raise Eline to her feet. But she lifted her swollen, tear-stained face to him, and wringing her hands in a delirium of anguish, broke out with:

‘Yes, that's what I've done! Oh my God! I have written him a long letter, and oh, it's awful, such an awful thing to have done! But I'm so muddled, I don't know what I'm doing any more, I don't know what I want, or what I don't want, I don't know if I love him or not, or if I love someone else. I don't know anything at all. And I can't even think with all this pounding in my head! I wrote to Otto because I considered it my duty. I would only have made him unhappy. But it's awful . . . maybe I was wrong to do it, maybe I could have loved him after all. I wish to God it was all over, I wish I were dead, because I can't stand it any longer, I just can't stand it . . .'

Her voice trailed off, then she slumped forwards and lay prostrate with her forehead against the carpet, slowly rubbing from side to side.

Betsy glanced at Henk: what would he do? The secret resentment she harboured against her sister melted away, and for a moment she was filled with pity. Henk's mute contemplation of Eline caused her a stab of annoyance – how ineffectual her husband was! She went to light the gas, threw on a peignoir, and upon her return was astonished to see the change in Eline, who was now seated on a chair, quite inert, in an attitude of numb despair, with her hands folded on her knee and red-rimmed eyes staring blankly ahead.

‘Elly! Elly! How could you do such a thing!' said Henk tonelessly, thinking of Otto.

‘Oh, my head is bursting!' she murmured faintly.

‘Are you in pain?' asked Betsy.

‘Oh–' moaned Eline.

Betsy brushed away Eline's tangled hair and dabbed her forehead and temples with a moistened handkerchief.

Henk sat down. He did not know what to do, what to say; in his mind's eye he kept seeing Otto.

‘How could she? How could she?' was his only thought.

‘Feeling better now?' Betsy asked gently.

Eline gave a small, scornful laugh.

‘Better? Hardly. But it's refreshing, that wet hanky.'

‘Shall I get you something to drink?'

‘No, thank you.'

She was no longer sobbing, but the tears continued to flow. Then, with a faraway look in her eyes, she began slowly, almost inaudibly, to speak:

‘Oh, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you want, and then doing something like this without even wanting to . . . poor, poor Otto! And the pain, oh my God! I'm losing my mind!'

‘Henk could go to the Voorhout tomorrow morning early and get the letter back,' interrupted Betsy with a brisk toss of the head. ‘He could ask Willem, for instance, or the maid, and then there would be no need for Otto to read it, and no one would be the wiser. What do you say, Eline?'

Eline stared dully.

‘I don't know, I don't know!' she mumbled, shaking her head.

‘Go on, you can still change your mind!' urged Betsy.

‘No, just leave it . . . what's done is done. It was all ruined anyway. We could never have gone back to the way we were.'

Henk sighed; both he and Betsy appeared to understand the gravity of Eline's statement, and made no further attempt to dissuade her.

‘Why don't I help you get undressed so you can lie down? Would you like me to stay with you tonight?' offered Betsy.

‘Yes, please – well, perhaps not; there's no need.'

‘Come, let me take you to your room then.'

Betsy towed her sister away as if she were a child, and like a child Eline submitted to being undressed, her arms hanging limply by her sides.

‘Oh my poor head!' she moaned as she fell back on her pillows. Betsy tucked in the covers, then took a damp cloth and gently moistened her sister's face once more.

‘There, there. You must try to get some sleep. There's nothing we can do for the moment, but things may turn out all right again, you never can tell. Henk could still go, you know, in the morning.'

Eline shook her head.

‘Shall I stay with you a while?'

Eline's only answer was a blank stare. Betsy drew the red bed curtain some way across and settled herself in a chair.

Silence prevailed, but for the occasional faint whimper from Eline. The white night lamp on the table shone like a star, casting fitful gleams on the panelled wardrobe, the cheval glass, the flacons and jars ranged on the muslin-frilled dressing table, while dark shadows loomed on all sides of the room. Betsy shivered in her peignoir; she wanted to put some order in her thoughts, but could not, so consternated was she by the broken engagement. The hours crawled by, and down in the kitchen, beneath the bedroom, Betsy heard the clock strike one o'clock, then half-past. At long last the whimpering died away on the other side of the red curtain. Betsy stood up and looked in briefly at Eline, who was lying quite still with her eyes closed, apparently sleeping, and Betsy tiptoed out of the room.

She found Henk still sitting with his head in his hands. Neither of them retired to bed; they sat and talked in whispers, holding their breath now and then as they listened out for any sound coming from Eline's room. Though they both had a sense of foreboding, neither of them ventured to put their vague fears into words.

‘Shh!' hissed Betsy, thinking she heard something. They strained their ears to listen. From Eline's room came the sound of piteous sobbing, the lament of a soul in agony, passionate and loud. Betsy shuddered.

‘I'm so afraid,' she whispered. Henk left the room as quietly as he could and stole across the unlit landing. The servants were all in bed; the house was in darkness. He went into Eline's sitting room, where the gas light was still on, and sank onto a chair. He could hear Eline in the next room, sobbing her heart out. He had never heard her weep like this before, with hoarse, screeching howls of anguish, and with each raucous sob he felt her pain thundering in his skull.

At long last the sobbing gave way to low, intermittent moaning; then that too, ceased. All was quiet. Henk was gripped with fear in the tragic stillness enveloping him, his hair stood on end, and without knowing what he was doing he sprang to his feet. He had to make sure, he had to see her with his own eyes. Yet at the door to Eline's bedroom he hesitated, just a fraction of a second, before pushing it open and stepping inside.

On the rumpled bed, in the ruby glow of the bed curtains, lay Eline, her nightgown twisted about her limbs, her hair a tangled mass. She had thrown off the covers and appeared to be asleep, although her head and hands were twitching; she had dark circles beneath her eyes, and her breathing came with convulsive spasms, much like electric shocks coursing through her slight frame. Henk gazed upon the tormented sleeping figure, his lips quivering with dismay. Very gently he drew up the covers, and in so doing felt how cold she was. He stood there a moment, staring at her tear-stained face, then left abruptly, turning off the gas light in Eline's boudoir as he passed through.

Otto had already gone out when Willem, the manservant, brought the letter into the dining room. Only Frédérique and her mother were present. Mathilda had gone for a walk with the children, and Etienne was still in bed.

‘What's that?' asked Madame van Erlevoort.

Frédérique took the letter.

‘It's for Otto, Mama. You can leave it on the sideboard, Willem – or, no, wait, let me take another look,' she said, inspecting the address. ‘Eline's handwriting, I do believe. Such a thick envelope, too. Strange.'

‘Is it from Eline?' asked Madame.

‘I think so.'

She returned the envelope to Willem, who placed it in a Japanese charger on the sideboard, after which he left. Mother and daughter exchanged looks. Each could sense the disquiet in the other, yet each kept silent. Madame van Erlevoort returned to her housekeeping accounts and Frédérique took up the brightly coloured tapestry she was working on.

Some time went by, and the clock struck ten. Rika, the maid, came in to clear the breakfast table, leaving one setting for Etienne, when the doorbell rang. Madame van Erlevoort barely noticed, for there were tradesmen ringing at the door every morning, but to Frédérique the bell sounded ominous.

Willem came in.

‘Mr van Raat has arrived, and would like to speak to you. What shall I tell him, Ma'am?'

‘Master Paul?' said Frédérique.

‘Beg pardon, Miss, it is Mr van Raat from Nassauplein.'

‘Show him in!'

Madame van Erlevoort, generally so serene, was concerned. Like her daughters, she had noted how dejected and retiring Otto had become lately, and how Eline seemed to avoid visiting their house.

Henk entered. His dull greeting and uncharacteristically worried expression spoke volumes. Madame waved Henk to a chair, eying him with anxious expectation.

‘Why Van Raat! What is it? What brought you here?' she asked hurriedly.