Chapter Two

Not to be Disturbed

Meals with the children never seemed to progress beyond the sort of constrained artificiality which marks a meeting between a headmaster and his charges. It had not always been so. Five years ago, mealtimes, indeed any sort of meal – picnics, snacks, even evening cocoa – had been awash with chatter and laughter. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the table, Georg could hear the echo of Agathe's tinkling laugh on these occasions, how it used to float above the other voices in its musicality. The contrast with the strained silence which now enveloped the dining room could not have been greater.

'Father?'

He turned to his eldest child, her nervous tones hurting him more than he cared to admit.

'Yes, Liesl?' He tried to answer approachably, but the iron enveloping his heart had somehow crept into his voice.

'Is- is our new governess arriving today?'

'As a matter of fact yes, Liesl, she is.' The thought of the young postulant made him frown. If anything, she seemed even less unqualified to look after his children than those other incompetent disasters. Well, maybe not Fraulein Helga…

'When exactly is she coming, father?' asked Brigitta, with a defiant look towards Friedrich who had been motioning her to remain quiet, fearing the effect of too many questions.

'Since you ask, she should arrive sometime in the afternoon,' said Georg crisply, setting down his napkin. 'Needless to say, I expect you all to be on your best behaviour.' He stared sternly at his children, despite the pang he felt on noticing Gretl's trembling lip.

'Yes father,' they chorused, staring down at their plates.

'Very well then.' Georg rose. 'I expect you will all have a productive day in the schoolroom. Remember to breathe deeply during your walk about the grounds. Liesl, I am placing you in command.'

'Yes, father.'

With a curt nod, Georg turned to leave the room.

'But, father!' Louisa's voice rang out. He turned around in surprise; since Agathe's death, his second daughter had maintained an attitude of sullen silence at mealtimes. Nevertheless, shouting was not to be tolerated.

'Yes, Louisa?' he answered icily. 'Am I to understand the cause of this shrill outburst?'

'Surely you remember…,' Louisa stared at him, her eyes shining with tears. 'Today…today is yours and Mother's…'

The words cut him to the quick. Louisa must have been looking at the family album again, the date of the wedding embossed in gold beneath the smiling photograph of himself and Agathe. May 16th, 1918.

'I assure you, Louisa,' – and there was no mistaking the ice in his voice – ' that I am perfectly aware of that fact.'

Closing his hands into tight fists at his sides, he walked stiffly out of the room, just as his own eyes began to shine like his daughter's.

Maria gasped as she entered the gilded ballroom, he hands involuntarily touching her cheeks. She could imagine the Hapsburgs of her history lessons in a room such as this, Franz Joseph and his lovely wife Sisi. The carved gold, the paintings, the light from the lake dancing on the ceiling…this was a room made for nobility, for ladies with fans and men in uniform.

She turned around in awe. Despite the tinge of guilt for intruding without permission, Maria could not resist bowing to the nobility who sparkled so brightly in her mind's eye. A deep courtier's bow, a silly flutter of the hand –that was what the aristocracy would expect, after all…

Suddenly, the door opened, slamming loudly against the wall. Maria flew up from her bow, her heart beating wildly, blood pounding about her ears. A sharp pair of eyes scanned her before the figure turned sideways, waiting impatiently for her exit. The Captain.

The light from the hall outlined his upright profile in the gloom of the ballroom. Maria could not help recalling the Reverend Mother's words: a fine man. She smoothed down her burlap jacket nervously, meeting his eyes as she scuttled past him through the doorway.

'In the future you will kindly remember there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed.' The speed of his request was such that a less articulate speaker would surely have stuttered.

'Yes Captain.' She studied him closely, eager to add another face to her limited gallery of experience. 'Sir.' She added to be proper.

'And why do you stare at me in that way?' he inquired coldly.

'Well, you don't look at all like a sea captain sir,' she answered breathlessly, the relief that he was not the fierce bearded skipper of her imagination coming through.

He briefly raised his eyebrows with a calm sort of irony. 'You don't look at all like a governess.' Maria sensed that in mirroring her words it was almost as if he enjoyed bantering. Unsure of how to respond, she raised her eyebrows.

'Turn around please.'

'What?' She did as she was bid, mystified by this strange request.

'Hmm, turn.' Her eyes widened in defensive surprise.

'Hat off'. He motioned with his head.

He sighed. 'It's the dress. You'll have to put on another one before you meet the children.'

'But I don't have another one.' Maria could scarcely keep the anxiety from her voice – surely the dress did not really matter so much? 'When we entered the abbey our worldly goods were given to the poor,' she added by way of explanation, nervously fingering her hat.

'What about this one?'

'Well the poor didn't want this one…'

'Mmm,' he murmured, as much as to say, 'I can see why.'

'Well I would have made myself a new dress but there wasn't time,' Maria explained. 'I can make my own clothes,' she added helpfully.

'Well, I'll see that you get some material. Today if possible.'

There was a slight pause, in which Georg began to pace.

'Now, Fraulein umm, hmm,' he clicked his fingers – 'Maria' she supplied obligingly – 'I don't know how much the Mother Abbess has told you –'

'- Not much,' she interjected.

'You are the twelfth in a long line of governesses who have come to look after my children since their mother died. I trust that you will be an improvement on the last one – she stayed only two hours.'

'What's wrong with the children sir?' Maria frowned. Twelve governesses…that was surely some sort of record.

'Oh, there's nothing wrong with the children, only the governesses.' He paused.

'Oh', she mouthed in mock understanding, though in truth she was still mystified. Did he really say twelve?

'They were completely unable to maintain discipline, without it this house cannot be properly run. You will please remember that Fraulein?' – his words took on a stern military edge, an effect strengthened by his pacing. Maria could now understand the origin of his military decorations – even she knew that such a decisive capacity to give orders was integral to war. But to adopt that manner during peacetime, in his own house…? The whole thing might have been funny if it were not quite so real.

'Yes, sir,' she replied.

'Every morning you will drill the children in their studies, I will not permit them to dream away their summer holidays. Each afternoon they will march about the grounds, breathing deeply. Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions.'

'Excuse me, sir, when to they play?' Maria could not believe that such military discipline formed the boundaries of the children's world.

He continued as if she had not spoken. 'You will see to it that they conduct themselves at all times with the utmost orderliness and decorum. I am placing you in command.'

'Yes, sir,' she replied involuntarily, raising her hand in salute - his military manners prompting in her an equally formal, if slightly teasing, response.

As if to dispel any doubts about the reality of his military system, the Captain blew fiercely on his whistle.

Maria could not prevent her mouth hanging open in disbelief. The man seemed wholly unaware of the unsuitability of summoning his own children in such a way.

The shrillness of the whistle was replaced by a pounding of feet, prompting Maria to shrink back towards the wall. The Reverend Mother had said seven children, but the sound seemed more reminiscent of a herd of wild elephants.

'One, two, three…,' she counted as the children appeared on the balcony and marched downstairs to the whistle's accompaniment. This was utterly absurd…

Utterly absurd, Maria repeated to herself as she splashed water on her face that evening in her room. Yet for all this, she felt could not dislike the Captain.

True, the children were ridiculously treated as naval cadets, but she did not think he did so out of administrative delusion or pettiness. Instinctively, she felt that he was somehow laying on the military effects to insulate himself. He was certainly not cruel – the playful way he had tapped Brigitta on the bottom as she arrived late with her book, the slight smile as he inspected little Marta, the mild look of embarrassment as Gretl stepped forward but forgot to give her name. Why, then, the military routine?

Maria dried her face thoughtfully. Her suitcase was visible through the bathroom door but she did not feel like unpacking. True, the Reverend Mother had sent her here on God's errand. But she had never imagined that His work would be so mystifying.

Georg drummed his fingers on the dining room table for the second time that day. The new Fraulein was obviously taking her time.

He glanced at his children, observing Louisa for slightly longer than the others. Her expression was inscrutable; she had obviously inherited his capacity for building walls. He regretted his icy rejection of her at breakfast: it was just – just too painful to discuss certain memories.

Light footsteps could be heard rushing down the stairs. Fraulein Maria. Georg's face assumed its usual sardonic mask – after all, he did not want to appeal mindful of the pinecone gently resting on the chair opposite. Yet, as the footsteps came closer, for some reason Agathe's words sprang to mind: 'You will open yourself to love again… I want my children to have a mother…I want you to have a wife.'