Tempting Fate (22 page)

“I have made a tea for you, Frau Ostneige. You had no meal at noon.” He said this in a manner reminiscent of the tone he had used to admonish her when she was a child, and today she found it oddly comforting.

“That was kind of you, Otto. Come in. I didn’t mean to exclude you.” She was able to smile at him as he came through the door, and her blue eyes were calm. If she had to be a child to have the pleasure of Otto’s presence, then it was a small enough compromise, and a relief from all the responsibilities she had been carrying.

Otto looked once at her, his brows coming together. He had a large tray in his hands and this he set down on the smaller of the two reading tables. “I have tea for you, but no coffee as yet. I have tried to buy some, but there is none to be had. The storekeepers at Rosenheim said that it would be two or three months before they would have coffee again on their shelves. The tea is good, however, from England, the sort your mother liked.” He reached for the porcelain cup and lifted it as he spoke. “One cup with milk and one without. Rudi, you are not looking after yourself, and that is wrong in you. A woman with so much preying on her, she cannot afford to neglect herself as you have done. Here. Drink the tea and have one of these cakes. And do not skip supper this evening. You’re getting thin as a post!”

Gudrun did not bother to deny it; it was true. She crossed the room to the table and accepted the cup and saucer he held out to her. “You are good to me, Otto.”

The old man changed color slightly and made a gruff reply as he pointed to one of the high-backed leather chairs in the room. “You should sit down while you drink this, Rudi. It will do you no good if you stand and worry.”

“Very well.” She took the indicated chair and obediently drank the hot tea. It was stronger than she was used to, but that was an unlooked-for pleasure. The milk in the tea had been scalded, and so the liquid was very hot. She admitted that it did warm her and cheer her as well. “You’re kind to me, Otto.”

“Someone has to look after you, Rudi. Your husband, poor man, is less use than an infant to you, and there’s no one else willing to do their duty by you.” He obviously meant Maximillian, but could not bring himself to criticize the boy who had been his favorite. “Out here in the mountains, you’re at the mercy of all the elements, and no one to talk to. One of these days they may string wires for those telephones and then you will be able to speak with your friends, but that’s a long way off. You don’t need to think of those days, but of right now.” He did not sit in her presence, but the hectoring tone was more familiar than any outward behavior might have been.

Inwardly Gudrun agreed with him, but she was aware that it was not wise to take the part of servants, so she said, “You’re being too pessimistic, Otto. Doubtless once the worst of winter is past, then life here will be more lively. I could not invite my friends here while the building was in ruins, but with the spring, it will be better and then you’ll see how much more pleasant life will be. There are neighbors, too, who will want to exchange visits with us.”

“Don’t get too friendly with Frau Bucher. She’s a harpy and her reputation will not be a credit to you. And the Zweitürmes are old and terribly religious. You do not need such society. It is not fitting for you to associate overmuch with them.”

Gudrun set her cup down sharply, not paying attention to any damage such an impetuous act might do to the porcelain; “But if I am not to see our neighbors, and there is no one who might be satisfactory for a woman in my position to know, what am I to do here? You say that one woman has a less-than-admirable reputation and the old couple on the other side of Hausham—and they are the ones you mean, aren’t they?—are pious and old. There are not many people in this part of the mountains. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to spend my days at Bad Wiessee or Bad Tölz. What am I to do?”

Otto scowled down at his large, rough hands. “It’s something that your brother should attend to. He is the man to guard you, since your husband…”

“Yes, but let us not discuss my husband, if you please. Maxl has his friends and his own interests. He can’t be expected to spend his time worrying about me, as I do not worry about him.” That was not strictly true, for Gudrun was very concerned on her brother’s behalf. She did not like the company he kept, nor the hours. While it was apparent that many of his new friends were important men, few of them were wholly above reproach. One or two had shady reputations that Gudrun had heard whispered about when she was still in München. She longed to confide in someone, but knew from years of instruction that it was not a good policy for a master or mistress to confide in a servant. She had never understood the restriction because it had always seemed to her that servants knew more of what was going on than anyone else in a household. So lost was she in her thoughts that she did not hear the remark that Otto addressed to her.

“Rudi,” the old man said in a disappointed tone.

She looked toward him. “Otto, forgive me. My mind was wandering. It’s this endless snow and being so isolated…” Now she was glad to have the tea to drink because it afforded her a reason for silence. When she had drunk the last of the liquid, she held out the cup and saucer to Otto. “I’ve had the tea with milk; now I must have some plain, or so Mother always told me.”

Otto refilled the cup with the steaming dark tea. “And remember that there are cakes here, and sandwiches.”

“But if I eat those all, I won’t want any supper,” Gudrun protested, although she knew it was useless. Otto was determined that she should eat.

“You’ll find that you do, Fräulein,” he said in precisely the same voice he had used to correct her when she was first learning to ride.

“I am Frau Ostneige, Otto, not a foolish girl still in the schoolroom.” She did not want to be sharp with him, but her patience was all but gone. “I will have to make some arrangements, I see, to be sure that we can entertain properly when spring comes. I’ll remember what you say, but there is little choice here and it may be that we will have to make do with guests that are less than perfect. This is not München and there has been a war, so we cannot have things as they were.” She set the cup and saucer aside and got up, hanging onto her elbows as she walked down the cold library toward the tall ranks of shelves which had not yet been put right.

“I don’t intend criticism,” Otto said, clearly hurt by what Gudrun had said to him.

“No, of course you don’t,” she said, smiling in spite of her irritation. “There are days that are more difficult than others, and I fear this has been one of them.”

“You’re not ill, are you, Rudi?” Otto asked, suddenly alarmed. “If you have caught the influenza, I will go for the physician at once. Arzt Lärm is still practicing in Gmund. He is getting along in years, but he is no doddering idiot. He will have a look at you as soon as I can bring him here…”

“No, no, Otto. I am well enough. I haven’t got the influenza,” Gudrun said, her face slightly flushed. “You have no reason to worry on my behalf. Any woman, living as I do here, would have days when she was not at her best. If it weren’t for the workmen, I fear I would stay in my dressing gown all day. What else is there to do? I can’t work, the roads won’t allow me to have the automobile out, and with fuel in such short supply, it must be saved for important errands, not my amusement. I was wondering earlier how it was that women in isolated castles were able to pass the winters, and I thought that perhaps they all made tapestries or whatever it was they did to stave off the worst of the isolation.” She flung one hand out, then brought it back against her folded arms. “You see, it is not my health that is in danger. If I were ill, this would not annoy me so. I don’t mean to snap at you, Otto, or to speak deprecatingly of Maxl, but there is so little for me to
do!
”

Otto nodded sympathetically. “You always had spirit, Rudi. A fine girl, with a will of your own, that was you. I don’t want you to feel poorly.” He smiled as he offered her the plate with the cakes. “Here, you eat these up and I’ll see what can be done about getting the sleigh out for an hour or so. How would you like that? Just the way it was when you were still in short skirts.”

Gudrun was about to say that it sounded dreadful, but she saw the look in her servant’s eyes, and did not insult him again. “That would be delightful, Otto. I should have thought of it myself.” She wondered if she had warm enough boots for the expedition, and tried to recall where she had said to store the old moth-eaten fur rugs that had been used in the sleigh when she was a child.

“You finish up the cakes and the tea, and I’ll go around to the stables and do something about getting the horses harnessed up. If we take the light sleigh, we’ll only need one horse and that will leave the household better prepared in case they need to take the larger sleigh into Hausham.” Otto had long since decided that he did not entirely trust the elegant Hispaño-Suiza which was parked in an empty stall.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Gudrun said, not concerned much either way. “I will need thirty minutes to get ready.”

“Just be sure you eat those cakes and drink your tea. It’s still snowing out and you’ll be cold if you don’t take care.” With an enthused grin, Otto turned and lumbered out of the library, whistling as he closed the door behind him.

Gudrun stared at the closed door. How had she let herself get into this situation? All she wanted to do was sit in the library and watch the snowfall. But she could not offer Otto a reasonable excuse for changing her mind now. She tugged at the old-fashioned princess-cut jacket she wore, trying to smile. Who knows? she told herself. There might be someone out in this snowing afternoon who would offer her relief from her isolation and boredom. Putting her cup and saucer aside, she left the library to go to her rooms and change.

Her sleighing costume had been made before the Great War, a delicious tiered, fur-trimmed series of tunics and skirts that was both warm and flattering. A high-standing collar of Norwegian blue fox framed her face, setting off her eyes and changing the pallor of her face from exhaustion to elfin piquancy. In her ice-blue clothes, with her blue fox hat and white kid gloves and boots, she was like the Snow Princess in fairy tales. As she stepped outside, the wind kissed icy roses into her cheeks: as Otto drove the old sleigh around the end of the Schloss from the stables, he was struck with a sudden bittersweet memory of the beauty Gudrun had had as a child, which was fading steadily now.

“You bundle up well,” Otto ordered her, determined to keep his feelings to himself. Had he been her father and not her servant, he could not have been fonder of her. “Make sure that you don’t get chilled.” He himself was engulfed in a fleece-lined coat that gave him the profile of a genial bear. When he had watched her take her place in the sleigh and draw the fur rugs around her, he turned back. “Up, Hässlich,” he called to the big Holstein between the shafts. Obediently the gelding started off through the snow, the runners hissing as the sleigh moved faster.

In Hausham, Gudrun instructed Otto to pull up at the mercer’s shop, and on impulse went in to look at the disappointing store of fabrics offered.

“Frau Ostneige, if I had known that you were in need of material, I would have sent to the shops in München or Wien so that you have an appropriate selection,” the clerk told her, his face contorting with worry. “Here, it is not sensible to keep too many fine fabrics, and with the war and all…”

Gudrun smiled as she interrupted the clerk’s protracted apology. “You are not to blame for the situation. I’m amazed that you’ve been able to keep so much stock on hand.” She dared not tell him that she had come into the shop merely as a diversion, and so she pointed to some heavy muslin. “You doubtless know that Wolkighügel was broken into last spring, and we have a great many repairs to do. If you’d send up that bolt of muslin, it would be a great help. Later, when our repairs are more advanced, I’ll place an order for fine fabrics, but at the moment there would be nothing we could do with them, in any case.”

The clerk beamed with relief. “I will tell Herr Bisschen you called, Frau Ostneige. He will be sure that you get your muslin tomorrow morning.” He could not admit that his employer was at the tavern, drunk on schnapps.

“That will be fine.” By that time, she was confident she would have thought of a use for the muslin.

The clerk bowed his head. “It is an honor to have your custom, Gnädige Frau.”

“Thank you.” She hastened back to the sleigh, delighted to be out of the shop, away from the oppressive civility of the clerk.

“Otto, I don’t want to go home quite yet. Can you drive me up toward Schliersee? Is the road open?”

Otto shrugged. “Part of the way. If the road becomes too difficult, we will turn back.” He was pleased to have this extra time away from the Schloss. It reminded him of the old days, and was more his idea of how the hochgebornen should live. He turned past the church and started down the narrow road that followed the rails away to the southeast. The snow had stopped and the hillsides were still, wrapped in that deep tranquility of winter. Even the wind was muted; the snow muffled the horse’s hoofbeats.

Gudrun sat back in the sleigh, her hands sunk in the old muff Otto had found for her. It was dark and did not match the rest of her outfit, but it did not matter. There was no one to see her, and of late that was starting to bother her. She leaned back on the old musty squabs and let the cold air brush her face. She was sorry now that she had done nothing for the holidays. The year seemed to begin so bleakly without the celebrations she had come to love. Still, Walther had warned her that Jürgen would not be able to support any excitement. At the time a simple exchange of gifts and a tot of cognac seemed to be the most practical approach, but now Gudrun knew that she had missed the music and presents and company that had long been part of her Christmas and New Year. Now they were well into January and there was a long, empty year stretching ahead of her. “Otto,” she said rather dreamily, “I think I would like to start a garden when the snow is gone. A large one.”