Gone
There was a quiet knock at the door. The housekeeper entered the book-lined study as usual at this time of day; she paused, straightened her pinafore and looked around the room until her eyes rested on the figure writing at his desk.
"How goes the clearing up?", he asked without looking up.
"Almost done, Sir", she replied. "Franz has cleared away the last of the glasses, the orchestra left behind some music and someone else dropped a gold bracelet." She paused, pursing her lips whilst waiting for a reaction, but getting none asked a little petulantly, "Has anyone enquired about it?"
"Not so far", came the reply, as he continued writing. Then, dipping his pen in the inkwell, he added, "I'll let you know if anyone does."
"Very good, Sir." There was a pause. " I came to say Cook will be preparing Fillet of Sole Meuniere followed by lemon souffle for lunch. Also, Franz asked what you would like from the cellar, Sir?" The Captain looked up from his desk and thought for a moment.
"Hmm, do we have any more of that white Bordeaux we had last week? That would go well."
Frau Schmidt pondered. "There may be some left, Sir; Franz will take a look." She paused. "May I ask, will the children be taking lunch with you today?"
"Yes."
"Seven children" said the housekeeper, nodding, working out the numbers in her head. "…And four adults?"
"Er…no, three." There was silence. She raised an eyebrow.
"Herr Detweiler off to find the perfect choir again?", she asked, managing half a smile.
"No, he will be lunching with us." The Captain finished writing and reached out for the pen top on his desk.
"Er…the Baroness isn't indisposed after the party, I hope?", she asked tactfully." Perhaps she would like a little headache remedy in her room to cure… an indiscretion?"
"No, the Baroness is fine and will be dining with us," replied the Captain. He looked up, checking her expression. " It's, er…Fraulein Maria who, I suspect, will not be lunching with us today." He clicked the top onto his pen.
"Oh, dear…is she unwell?"
"No, I don't believe so," he said a little briskly, got up smartly and began shuffling his papers. Then, with his back to her, he took a book down from a shelf and continued: "The children went looking for her this morning, and were unable to find her."
"Oh, dear - where can she be?", the housekeeper asked." Do you know, she missed dinner last night too: Franz said he laid an extra place for her at the party at Herr Detweiler's request, but she never came down from her room." The woman warmed to the conversation, and added confidentially, "He thinks she thought better of it – but I think either she didn't want to play to Mr Max's pandering or felt frightened of all those grand ladies and gentlemen that were here last night." She paused, put her fingers together, and glanced at her employer. "Hmm, I'm not surprised, she probably felt right out of her depth." There was no response from the Captain, slowly leafing through the pages of the book. Frau Schmidt put her head on one side." You have tried her room, I suppose?"
"Yes", he said, turning towards her at last, his face serious. "I went and knocked on her door, but there was no answer. And, when I looked into the room, there was nothing left - she arrived with so little, it was as though she had never been there."
"Did she not say anything at all to you? ",she asked incredulously.
He looked away a little too quickly, sighed and shook his head: "Not a word."
"That's a great shame", said Frau Schmidt, pausing a moment and reflecting on the young governess. "I'd grown very fond of the girl, I have to admit", she said, watching his expression carefully, but receiving no response. She sighed deeply and patted her pinafore pockets. "Then it's ten for lunch, Sir", she said, and left quietly, shutting the door behind her.
Almost.
A moment later, she reversed back a little and peered around the door.
"Captain?" He looked up, startled. "There's a letter out there which I assumed had been left by a guest last night. You don't think…" She trailed off as he brushed past, watched him as he strode into the hall and spied the envelope propped up on the table. Picking it up, he returned towards her, studying it carefully; she remembered the fluent, neat lettering she had seen on it, addressed to the Captain.
"It's her writing", he murmured as he came back through the door. Slitting the envelope open, he took out the letter and unfolded it carefully. Frau Schmidt watched him as he read it intently; watched his eyes travelling over the lines, his expression altering so subtly, his demeanour sinking with each passing paragraph. Then finally, he folded the paper and replaced it in the envelope, holding it between his fingers as his hand fell to his side.
"She's gone."
The housekeeper gazed at the black hair, those familiar features and their forlorn look; the deep dark river she knew so well had hit uncharted rapids- she could tell its waters were lurching, submerged, this way and that.
"I handled it… badly…" he began, turning towards the window. Time passed as Frau Schmidt stood at the door and considered whether she should allow him some solace; but there was too much shared between them that would not tolerate that separation. She decided to edge back into the room to be with him, closing the door behind her. There was something she had to say with all the gentleness she could muster.
"I heard you were dancing alone with her last night on the terrace."
She watched him stiffen imperceptibly.
"It was nothing." The words came out sharply, the letter tapping on his knuckle. She tried again.
"I'm told she was too flustered to finish the dance. Maybe… she found it too much?"
"Who told you?", he demanded, spinning round, eyes flashing.
"Your children told me. This morning at breakfast…or maybe you were too preoccupied to realise they were watching you whilst you were dancing?" This time the Captain's eyes met hers with a steady look, a mutual truce. The two stood there a while, saying nothing; they knew each other so well.
For Frau Schmidt felt for him, felt every word, like a mother feels for her son. Long ago she had known him as a baby, a young nursemaid's charge, the nursery's warmth her domain; wriggling and sprawling, she had cared for him whilst his distant parents absented themselves to loftier callings. And so as the years rolled by and a single life beckoned her, the charge became her child, her plaything, her treasure. And even as the boy became a man, the bond between them was unsullied, for they had no one else to call their own.
Then military service intervened for him, and the spinster who had lost her charge was moved to Housekeeping, having to be content with snatched conversations in draughty corridors on sporadic leave to sustain their relationship. How proud she was of him! How fine he looked in his uniform, how noble his profile had become. How impossible to tell him.
For the young man was already turning heads, and before long came marriage; and with the arrival of his well-connected wife, the house was awash with parties and soirees and shooting weekends, with barely a moment's rest for the household staff. But Frau Schmidt took pleasure in the hubbub and in the succession of children she had to care for; his happiness was her happiness, and she took a mother's pleasure in it.
Too soon, it was septicaemia that ended it all. Widowed, the Captain reverted into a military regimen and despite his legion of children, became quiet, morose and disillusioned as the years elapsed. Then, finally, Maria had arrived to educate the children, a breath of fresh air as she swept through the house, and soon, the housekeeper noticed that, despite the social divide between the two, the very mention of her name would bring a rare lightness to his countenance… or so it was until now.
The housekeeper watched those newly -dejected features with the concern of a mother.
"Georg", she said tenderly," Maria is a wonderful woman to love." There was no response. "You only have to ask your children…" There was a short nod of acknowledgement, before his face crumpled and a hand flew up to his forehead as he turned away to the window again with an anguished cry:
"The baroness and I have been talking about marriage…" She watched his eyes crease against dappled reflections from the lake –or was it tears stinging his eyes? It reminded her of when he was a boy; the same wavering brightness had lit up his face whenever he had knelt on the wide sill, gazing out at boats on the water. She looked at the profile of the boy-now-a-man that she knew so well; she knew everything about him, from the incomplete helix of his ear to the deepest recesses of his mind. And as she looked, the profoundest of maternal feelings welled up inside…should they be suppressed, or given free expression? As she stood there, she knew it was time to draw on her years of experience, and found herself saying the words,
"Gorgi, sometimes you have to follow your instincts." The flicker she saw in his eyes, was it from hearing a long-forgotten nickname, or was it that she had managed to touch that deep chord within him for which she had reached out so far? After some time, still looking out over the water, she saw him tilt his head and say,
"You always gave me the best advice, Johanna." He turned to her and smiled.
Feeling bolstered, she whispered: "Do you know where she might be?" He shook his head doubtfully.
"I have an idea", she said, pressing her hands together as though in prayer. He realised her meaning. "Perhaps this afternoon I might visit the Mother Abbess", she ventured." She is an old friend who I know would enjoy a cup of tea …"
"That sounds like a good idea."
"Well then", she straightened up. "So it's ten for lunch…for now?"
"Yes, he said, a little lightness spreading across his face. "…Just for now…"
And with her customary dutiful nod, the housekeeper left through the door again, this time shutting it properly, leaving the Captain and their conversation to his thoughts.
But anyone standing behind one of the pillars in the hall, if they had been watching her, would have seen her clasp her hands to her face, then hold them up either side of her in delight, as she tripped so lightly across the hall to the kitchen.