Ida Brandt (6 page)

But Madsen, who was going round estimating every single piece, said:

“There were about a hundred and thirty yards at Her Late Ladyship’s funeral…”

At eleven o’ clock, His Lordship went around with a candle to close all the doors. This was the family custom. He was wearing a skull cap – during the day he wore a ginger wig very much like that worn by the farm manager – and tested every lock.

The girls, who had hidden in Miss Adlerberg’s sitting room, sat giggling in the semi-darkness as he went past.

Then Falkenstjerne knocked on the window from out in the garden, and they opened it for him.

“We’ve saved the vine,” he whispered.

Laughing quietly, the girls jumped out one by one, holding on to their skirts.

“And the lamps?” one of them whispered.

They all tiptoed silently along the house until they suddenly flew like the wind across the lawn, for the dogs started to bark.

“That’s Hektor,” whispered Miss Adlerberg, grabbing Feddersen by the arm.

“Ssshhh”.

They reached the trees. Miss Rosenfeld went slowly behind all the others.

Five lamps were lit beneath the beeches. They sat down at the table and started to make festoons. Miss Falkenberg sat on the stile looking out into the night that lay over the meadows like a great dark cover.

“Emmy,” called someone quite quietly. It was Falkenberg.

“Yes.”

And the two of them, standing close to each other, looked out into the darkness.

When morning came, Falkenstjerne and the gardener hung the festoons on the front of the house; they were both whistling. Old Brandt, who had raised the flag, was busy with the pennants. But he was off colour and went around coughing.

He stood for a time looking down towards Brædstrup, where the flags were being raised in front of the farms; the morning breeze was fresh as it caught the red banners.

“It’s so beautiful,” he said. “And then the stacks – aye, this is a lovely place.”

He made off towards the bailiff’s wing; he wanted to have something warm. But when he arrived there, he said:

“I think I’ll lie down a bit.” He was shivering and could scarcely stand on his legs.

“Yes, Brandt,” said his wife, who was bathing Ida in a zinc bath. “But you
must
get up to present the candlesticks.”

“Yes, Mariane,” said Brandt, half asleep.

The carriages were already starting to drive in through the entrance, and Sofie ran back and forth to announce who they were. Mrs Brandt was in her underclothes, doing her hair, and the whole bedroom was awash with her white petticoats. She got her skirt on and her bodice buttoned while Brandt lay half asleep in bed, waking up and then dozing off again.

They could hear more and more carriages arriving and large numbers of footsteps on the gravel path.

“Here comes the band from Horsens,” shouted Sofie, running out to the fence in her stocking feet.

“And Brandt does nothing but lie there,” said Mrs Brandt as she put on her lace sleeves and best bonnet in the garden room.

The band sounded loud and high spirited, and there was the sound of many voices.

“Well, Brandt, here come the veterans,” said Mrs Brandt; she had his clothes over her arm and spoke all the time as though to shake him out of his lethargy.

“Where’s the child?” was all Brandt said.

Ida, who had been crying because her curlers were too tight, came in wearing a white dress.

“Now not too close to the bed,” said Mrs Brandt as she smoothed Ida’s skirt. But her father took hold of the tip of her belt and held it in his hands.

“Aye, I suppose I ought to get up,” he said, smiling at her all the time – but oh such a weak smile.

They continued to hear steps and instruments and a voice giving orders: that was Madsen. Then came the band again. It seemed to Brandt that they were so strangely far away.

“Here comes His Lordship,” shouted Sofie; she opened the door wide with her cotton apron in her hand, for it had come undone in her fright.

“Now we’ve got the County Council, Brandt,” said his wife, who had gone on walking to and fro more and more ponderously. She put the clothes down on a chair.

“Yes, Mariane,” said Brandt, sitting up in bed. But Mrs Brandt had run out to receive the guests: this was where they were to congregate.

“Ida, Ida,” she shouted.

Ida, who was still standing a little way from the bed, said as though to wake him up:

“Daddy, you must get up now.”

“Yes, dear. I’m coming.”

He heard His Lordship’s voice in the garden room, and he got up to sit on the edge of the bed. He had such a pain in his side.

Then the door opened. It was the forester in full dress.

“What the devil, Brandt,” he said; but he suddenly came to a halt. “What’s wrong? You look awful.”

“No,” said Brandt. ”I’m not well.”

“I can see that all right. And your wife said it was only the usual thing.”

Brandt sat there for a moment.

“No,” he said and his head sank on his chest. “I can’t go over there.”

The forester went out and fetched the doctor, who came in wearing tails and adorned with his decorations. “What’s wrong, old friend. Are you going to stay in bed on this happy day?” he said. But he suddenly became serious when he saw Brandt. “Lift him up,” he said to the forester and hurried to listen to Brandt’s chest and back.

The music had stopped outside, and Madsen’s voice could be heard through the noise.

“Now Madsen’s there with the flag,” said Brandt with a smile.

The doctor continued to listen to Brandt’s back while the forester stood at the foot of the bed, leaning forward as though he, too, wanted to listen. “I need someone to go to Brædstrup,” was all the doctor said, and he went out.

He sat down to write a prescription in the sitting room, surrounded by all the guests, while Mrs Brandt stood beside him and the members of the County Council were all talking in loud voices about the day and about the speakers and the festivities.

“If Brandt has anything wrong with him it is always bad,” said Mrs Brandt.

The doctor made no reply; from the bed, where he seemed to have settled down a little after seeing the doctor, Brandt said:

“And how are things going to be arranged this evening?” He was thinking about the fireworks.

They heard the members of the County Council go out through the garden. They had suddenly fallen quite silent.

“There’s no need for anyone to bother about me,” said Brandt. “I’m feeling better now.”

“All right,” said the forester.

He went into the sitting room, where his wife still sat on a chair.

“Let’s go then,” he said quietly. “We mustn’t frighten His Lordship.”

They went out together with the doctor, and their footsteps could be heard dying away in the corridor until all was quite quiet. Mrs Brandt went around tidying up in the sick man’s room, dressed in black, her full silk dress rustling.

“But one must never give up,” she said, tidying his pillows.

She stood by the bed for a moment and then in the same voice said:

“Now the pharmacist is going to present the candlesticks.”

The sick man only shook his head – perhaps it was a fly – and said:

“Aren’t you going to take the flowers over…?”

“We’ll have to, of course,” said his wife.

But out in the sitting room Ida started to cry because her father was not going to come.

“Come, come,” said Mrs Brandt, wiping her face; but the child continued to cry a little as they went through the garden.

Then it fell completely silent while Sofie sat knitting behind the door, and all that was to be heard was the buzzing of flies and the ticking of the grandfather clock, which suddenly sounded tough and hard.

The sick man lay there, moving about in the bed. Having a temperature made one so restless.

Now he could hear His Lordship’s voice – Sofie ran in stocking feet across to the fence – and he raised his head a little as though he was listening. Now he was welcoming His Excellency.

But Brandt could not hear anything, and there were so many images in his mind, coming and going, from all his days and from the time when he came here and Her Ladyship was still alive and from the time when Ida was a baby.

How fragile she was then and red and tiny…And she had known him before she knew her mother.

Brandt suddenly took hold of the rope hanging there for the purpose and pulled himself up; now they were shouting three cheers for His Lordship.

Then he fell back and dozed a little.

When he opened his eyes, Miss Rosenfeld was sitting by his bed with Ida on her lap. Ida was scared and held her tight.

“We just wanted to come across and see how you are, Mr Brandt,” said Miss Rosenfeld.

“Aye, Miss Rosenfeld,” he said, not taking his eyes off Ida, “this is where I am.”

“Yes.”

The sick man continued to smile and moved his burning hands over to where Ida sat.

“But won’t she be creasing her dress?” he said, shutting his eyes.

They heard the clock strike, slowly, as though not in a hurry, and Miss Rosenfeld gently took Ida’s hand out of that of the sick man. They tiptoed out, Ida holding on to Miss Rosenfeld’s dress, and they sat down on the sofa. There was nothing to be heard. Only the solid ticking of the clock.

“Miss Rosenfeld,” whispered Ida, “Is father going to die?”

“Oh dear, child, my dear child,” said Miss Rosenfeld. She stroked Ida’s hair; the child had started to weep, without a sound.

They heard footsteps on the garden path. It was Mrs Brandt, who entered in front of His Lordship. He was wearing the decorations betokening his knighthood and his cheeks were flushed.

“What’s this I hear?” he said in a rather loud voice. “Have we someone ill here?” And Mrs Brandt, who preceded him to the sickbed, said as though to wake her husband (there seemed to be a trace of anger in her voice throughout that day):

“Brandt, it’s His Lordship.”

Miss Rosenfeld heard His Lordship say, in a festive tone:

“My dear Brandt…” But then he suddenly lowered his voice; he sat down on a chair, moved a little way away from the bed, vaguely troubled as all old people are when confronted with illness:

“But what on earth is wrong? What on earth is wrong?”

“Well…I suppose the pharmacist has presented the candlesticks,” said Brandt, attempting to take hold of his hand.

Ida had tiptoed gently out. Miss Rosenfeld was out among the redcurrant bushes and called softly to her, but there was no reply. Then she found her sitting on a wooden bench just outside the window, huddled up and quiet like a little dog. And Miss Rosenfeld sat down beside her, crouching in almost the same way.

They heard His Lordship return through the garden and Mrs Brandt go into the sickroom. Now she sat down at the foot of the bed, holding her broad cloak out in front of her as though in an attempt to block the way.

There came the sound of gentle footsteps in the living room, and Mrs Brandt rose. It was Mrs Lund, who came on tiptoe, hesitating at every step.

She stopped again and put her hands on Mrs Brandt’s hips.

“Lund and I think it’s so dreadful,” she said.

And when Mrs Brandt said nothing, she went on: “Couldn’t we help with something?”

“No, thank you,” said Mrs Brandt, who was still thinking of Miss Rosenfeld as she had sat over in the sofa before. “I think we can manage it
ourselves
.”

Mrs Lund left in a curiously hasty manner and went along the garden path to find her husband the forester waiting for her.

“Did you see him?” he asked.

“No,” was all she said; it was as though she was shedding silent tears. And (the two of them always understanding each other without uttering a word), Lund said:

“Yes, she’s as stiff-necked as they come.” He felt something like a desire to hit something with his clenched fists.

Mrs Lund had her handkerchief out.

“Oh, Lund,” she said. “I suppose that’s just the way she is.”

Mrs Brandt remained in the sitting room. She then closed all the windows firmly and went inside again – on guard.

Evening had fallen and it was dark in the sickroom, where a small lamp burned and the doctor came and went; there was a striking red glow on the curtains.

“It’s so bright,” said the sick man as he turned his head.

“It’s the torches,” said the doctor.

“Aye, it’s lovely,” said Brandt.

The forester was sitting outside on a bench. He had got himself drunk on the twentieth of August.

“How’s it going?” he said.

“Not very well,” said the doctor.

When they reached the avenue, they met Miss Adlerberg with Mr Feddersen from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

“We are taking a walk,” said Miss Adlerberg – it was rather dark in this avenue – “How is he?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“But it’s very unfortunate,” said Feddersen, “for His Excellency. In some way or other you can sense it everywhere in the house.”

It was quiet in the sickroom, and the only sound to be heard was that of Mrs Brandt’s knitting needles, as regular as the ticking of the clock, and occasionally the music from over where they were dancing.

Then Brandt called out.

“Mariane,” he said, taking her hand:

“It’s a pity for you…”

But it was as though his wife’s hand with her countless rings had weighed his down, and he let go of it as he closed his eyes.

“Sickness will take its course,” said Mrs Brandt as she tidied the sheet; Brandt still lay there clutching it with his thin fingers.

“I’ d like to speak to the lieutenant,” he said.

“Yes, all right,” said his wife, feeling down his legs, which were cold up above the knees. She stood there for a long time, motionlessly looking at the old man whose body was seen to be so thin beneath the blankets, and then she sat down again.

So now she was going to be left on her own.

…The lieutenant was running around down on the lawn; he was busy with the rockets. They were to be set off now after they had finished dancing. The music came to an end and Falkenstjerne shouted up to the bailiff, who was standing at a window: the first rocket went off like a thin red line that divided into two…