The Wild Girl (60 page)

‘How are you, Dortchen?’ he asked one day, as he came to sit beside her. The children were playing blind man’s bluff on the lawn, their laughter filling the air.

‘Busy as a mouse in childbirth,’ she answered.

He laughed. ‘I always wish I had quill and ink when I’m with you, Dortchen. The things you say. I always want to put them in a story.’

She smiled. ‘I’m sorry. It comes from spending so much time with Old Marie. She was full of old country sayings and superstitions.’

‘How is Old Marie?’

‘She’s living with Mia now, in Ziegenhain. I saw her when I was there last year.’ Dortchen’s face clouded. She had not wanted to see the old housekeeper, who knew too much. It had been an ordeal for Dortchen to subject herself to Old Marie’s scrutiny, still trying to pretend that all was well.

‘What else did Old Marie used to say?’

‘When she tucked us up at night, she’d say, “Sweet dreams for sour pickles.”’ Dortchen paused for a moment, feeling sad, then went on. ‘And when somebody was a bit odd, she’d say, “He’s got a mill turning in his head.” She used to say that about you and Jakob all the time.’

Wilhelm laughed ruefully. ‘What about you? Did you think I had a mill turning in my head?’

‘Of course,’ she teased.

‘Well, you need to tell Old Marie that this poor old mill-head has just been awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Marburg.’

‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ Her hands flew out towards him, then clasped each other and returned to her lap. ‘Well, congratulations, Herr Doctor Grimm.’

‘Thank you. I must admit, it’s pleasing. We may not have made a lot of money with our fairy tale collection, but we’ve certainly earned ourselves a reputation of sorts. Jakob is quite delighted, for all that he pretends he doesn’t care.’

‘I’m glad,’ she answered.

He rose and bowed to her. ‘I must get back and write down those
sayings of yours before I forget them. Goodbye, Dortchen.’ He used the formal form of farewell, and she repeated it in her own goodbye.

Dortchen watched his tall, slim figure walk away from her with a strange tight feeling about her heart. She was the one who had told Wilhelm that it was too late for them, and that they must put away any hopes of being together. She was the one who had pushed him away when he tried to help her, and held him at arm’s length when he tried to come closer.

Yet a part of her was still filled with longing. It was hard to see Wilhelm and not want to brush that errant lock of hair away from his eyes, or rest her head against his shoulder. Seeing him brought such a turmoil of desire, grief, hurt and yearning that Dortchen often thought it was easier not to see him at all.

She told herself that she did not want him, or anyone else, to touch her. Love hurt. Love harmed.

One day Herr Schmerfeld asked her, in his tactful way, ‘I see Herr Grimm has been here again?’

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said anxiously. ‘We grew up next door to each other, you know. We are very old friends. He likes to talk to me about his work.’

‘Is that all, do you think?’ he asked after a moment.

She understood his meaning. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said firmly.

‘I’m glad,’ he answered.

This distressed and worried her. Dortchen was careful to keep a polite distance from Herr Schmerfeld after that, only talking to him about the children and commonplaces. She took books up to her room to read, rather than sitting by the fire in the library. Herr Schmerfeld understood her reticence and was polite in return, though once or twice she noticed him watching her with sadness in his eyes.

In May, on her twenty-seventh birthday, Herr Schmerfeld said to her, ‘Dortchen, your time of mourning is long over and yet you are still wearing your blacks. I was thinking you might like to choose some of Gretchen’s dresses as your own. It is time I gave away all her things, and I’d like you to have first choice.’

Dortchen shook her head emphatically. She could not live in her sister’s house, caring for her sister’s children, and wear her sister’s clothes. It would not be seemly. Besides, all Gretchen’s gowns were so indecorous.

‘I cannot make you change your mind?’

Dortchen shook her head again.

Herr Schmerfeld sighed. ‘Would you let me buy you some new clothes, then? I don’t like to see you going about in that shabby old gown. It reflects badly on me. People will think I use you harshly.’

She was filled with dismay at that, and said that he might buy her some cheap material so she could make some new gowns.

‘I would like to make you an allowance, too,’ he said. ‘So you can buy books, if you want, or new ribbons.’

She started to protest but he said firmly, ‘No, Dortchen, this is something I must do if you are to stay under my roof. It is only right.’

Dortchen reluctantly agreed. She was surprised at how much pleasure she took in shopping for cloth, and looking through fashion plates with Ottilie and Sophie, deciding what dresses to make.

Another year passed quietly.

WRITTEN IN THE STARS

August 1820

The summer was damp and rainy, but one evening the sky cleared. Dortchen was sewing in the nursery, with Berthe playing at her feet, while the governess taught the older girls their letters.

A maid came for Dortchen. ‘Herr Grimm is here to see you, Fraülein.’

Dortchen went downstairs, smoothing her dress with hands that trembled slightly.

Wilhelm was waiting for her in the hallway. ‘It’s a beautiful evening, and I’ve not left my desk in days. I wondered if you’d like to walk with me?’

She hesitated.

‘I thought we could walk in the park,’ he continued. ‘All the lamps will be lit; it’ll be pretty.’

Dortchen nodded and went to find her pelisse and bonnet. When she came back, she saw that Herr Schmerfeld was talking with Wilhelm in the hall. ‘I’m just going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

He raised his brows. ‘My dear Dortchen, you are free to do as you wish,’ he answered, but Dortchen sensed he was not pleased.

Wilhelm and Dortchen walked in silence, her hand in the crook of his arm. Everything seemed washed clean, the sky a translucent green shell, the half-moon bright over the hills.

‘You must be a great help to Herr Schmerfeld,’ he said at last. ‘It cannot be easy, being a widower with seven young children. All the servants in the world cannot replace a mother. A loving aunt can come close, though.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘I certainly love the children as if they were my own. Especially little Berthe. She was given into my arms as Gretchen died. I …’ She hesitated, then went on in a low voice. ‘I could not help her. Gretchen, I mean. I ran from her. You know. You were there. I feel I must take extra care of her little one, to make it up to her.’

‘You couldn’t have saved her,’ Wilhelm said gently.

‘I know. But I can love her baby that much harder for her.’

‘What about the father?’ Wilhelm said after a moment.

‘Herr Schmerfeld?’

‘I think … I think he has a very high regard for you.’

She was silent.

‘Some people think he should marry you,’ Wilhelm said, not looking at her. ‘It’s not entirely regular, you living in his house and caring for his children, when he’s an unmarried man.’

‘What of the housekeeper and the maids?’ Dortchen said, letting go of his arm. ‘I am not without a chaperone.’

‘Nonetheless.’

Her chest felt tight. She walked on and he followed. A tumult of emotion filled her. She tried to hold it down.

‘I’m afraid he thinks sometimes of marrying me,’ she confessed at last. ‘But he has said nothing.’

‘What would you say, if he did ask you?’

She shook her head dumbly.

He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘What of me? Have you forgotten me?’ He spoke in a light, teasing way but his gaze was intense.

‘No,’ she whispered, looking away.

He took a deep breath, nodded, then let her go.

They had come to the end of the park. She looked up at the starry sky. ‘Look, I can see Cassiopeia.’

‘It’s shaped like a
W
– for “Wild”,’ he said.

‘And “Wilhelm”.’

‘Both our names, written in the stars.’

He had made no attempt to step closer to her but still she drew away. There was a spark between them that made her uneasy. ‘I had better go home,’ she said.

As they turned back, Wilhelm tucked her hand in the crook of his arm again. ‘Your fingers are chilled through.’

‘Herr Schmerfeld calls me “Frog” because I’m as cold,’ she told him.

For some reason, that made him cheerful. ‘Poor man,’ he said.

Dortchen sneaked a look at him and caught his gaze. She blushed and looked away. Unexpectedly, he covered his eyes with his hand and pretended to be blind. ‘I cannot see a thing. I do hope you’re not leading me astray.’

She could not help but laugh. She had to take his hand to stop him from blundering about. His grip was strong and sure.

‘You had better open your eyes now – we’re almost home.’

His step slowed. He pretended to grope about and found her shoulder and her arm. ‘Don’t let me fall.’

‘Please, open your eyes,’ she begged. ‘People will see.’

‘What does it matter, if I can’t see them?’

‘Here’s Herr Schmerfeld’s house. You have to open your eyes now because I’m going in and you’ll have to find your own way home.’

He did not open his eyes. His hand slid down her arm, then lightly traced the curve of her waist. He leant close to her, breathing in the scent of her skin and her hair. ‘I don’t want to open my eyes,’ he whispered. ‘They say the other senses are heightened when you’re blind.’

Dortchen stood very still. A curious sensation had taken hold of her. On the one hand, she did not like his closeness. It made her feel vulnerable and afraid. On the other hand, his touch was so gentle, and his playfulness had delighted her. It was the first time that anyone had come so close to her in a long time.

His eyes still shut, he pressed his body to hers, bending his head so that
his mouth was only inches from hers. If she had lifted her face, they would be kissing. She dared not. Nothing had changed.

‘I’ve rung the bell now,’ she said, suiting her actions to her words. ‘You can’t stay any longer.’

He let her go, opening his eyes. ‘Dortchen,’ he said, softly, pleadingly.

‘I have to go,’ she said, and was glad when the door to the house opened and she could whisk inside.

In November 1820, Wilhelm was offered a job as tutor to the young prince, the Kurfürst’s eldest grandson. He gave his first lesson on a raw, wild day, and came, windblown, to have tea with Dortchen afterwards.

‘Tell me about the prince.’ Dortchen sat opposite him.

‘He had all kinds of books, still all beautifully wrapped, and not one of them opened. The whole time I taught him he did nothing but play with his hair. One of the courtiers tells me he reads nothing but the genealogical tables. I’m not sure I can teach him much.’

Wilhelm looked unusually elegant that day, with a new cutaway coat of midnight blue over long, narrow trousers of a soft biscuit hue and a blue satin waistcoat. His white cravat was tied in a soft bow.

‘But what an honour. You must be pleased to be so marked with the Kurfürst’s notice.’

‘I’m not so sure. The Kurfürst is old and ill now, and he doesn’t get on with his son, who has a mistress, you know, and a whole brood of illegitimate children. I think being in favour with the princess means being out of favour with the prince. And he will be Kurfürst when his father dies.’

‘Will it be a problem for you?’ Dortchen asked, clasping her hands together.

‘I hope not. But what could I do? I’m glad of the extra money, though I wish it were more.’ He paused for a moment, as if about to add something, then stood up. ‘Why don’t we take a walk? I’m sure you’ve been cooped up all day with the children. Some fresh air would do you some good.’

‘Very well,’ Dortchen said, a warm glow filling her.

It was still rough and wild outside. The wind buffeted Dortchen and made her skirts swing. She had to hold on to her bonnet with one hand. Wilhelm strode along quickly, his hand drawing Dortchen in close to his side to protect her from the wind. A carriage clopped past, sending up a spray of icy water, but Wilhelm swung Dortchen round so she was not splashed. She felt breathless and giddy.

They came to the end of the street and crossed the road so that they could stand on the clifftop, looking out over Aue Island. It lay below them, the golden dome of the orangery the only colour in a world of grey clouds and black trees. Rooks soared high, riding the winds, calling to each other in mournful voices. The wind was so cold that Dortchen felt her toes and fingers go numb. It was as if they were alone at the top of the world.

‘Although I am not sure that I can teach the prince much,’ Wilhelm said, ‘I’m glad to be earning some more money. We are much more comfortable now, with both Jakob and I working at the library, and Ludwig beginning to earn some money with his art.’

‘You’re looking very fine in your new clothes, Herr Doctor,’ she teased.

He coloured. ‘I could not go to the palace to teach the prince in a coat with frayed sleeves, and shoes with holes in them.’