That evening Fraulein and I had just come out of the theatre when I caught sight of Papa coming straight towards us on the crowded pavement of the Maximilianstrasse. A very pretty brunette, dressed in the height of fashion, hung on his arm. I slowed down and called ‘Papa’, but he merely raised his hat and walked on, while his companion continued to smile and chatter to him. I stopped, bewildered, ‘He didn’t introduce us!’
Fraulein seized my elbow in a painful grip and marched me on. ‘You should not have spoken, Grafin Helena – he did not wish to acknowledge his daughter in such circumstances. Come, we will be late.’
Papa made no reference to our brief encounter on the Maximilianstrasse until we were on the train to London. Then, tugging at his moustache and looking out of the window, he muttered, ‘The other evening in Munich, when you so unfortunately ran into me with – ah – a companion. You ah – won’t mention it – will you?’
I stared down at my gloves. ‘Certainly not, Papa.’
He gave a gusty sigh of relief. ‘Knew I could rely on you, old girl. Maud’d give me a nasty couple of hours if she found out – women don’t understand that sort of thing, y’see.’ He picked up his paper.
In London I begged Guy to take me to The Marriage of Figaro at His Majesty’s Theatre; I wore black silk gloves and a black sash on my white frock – we were in mourning for the King. I gazed around me, awestruck at the massed ranks of the stalls and circle: every woman’s evening dress was black tonight. But as soon as Mozart’s perfect overture began, my surroundings vanished, for this was the opera of my aria. I followed each note intently.
After a fortnight we travelled back to Cheshire. It was strange to be at Hatton without Miss Ling; she had written to tell me her mother was now bedridden, so she must go home to nurse her. I had promised to go and visit her in her West London suburb when I came home, but whenever I had asked there had been no maid available to take me – and then I forgot.
In Cheshire the peaches were ripe, so I asked the head gardener to arrange for a hamper to be packed, and sent a note with it. Miss Ling’s reply, grateful and resigned, made me feel very guilty. There had been changes at Hatton: electricity had been installed while I had been away; a smelly generator throbbed in its house behind the stables. A gleaming Delaunay-Belleville stood in the coach house; Jenkins said it was ‘agin nature’, and was at daggers drawn with the new chauffeur.
Sir Ernest came for a weekend, and sought me out to talk of Munich. ‘Darling Elsa – she was in the full bloom of her beauty, and I was just a young student – but she was so kind and generous to me.’ He smiled, a small secret smile. Then he heaved his huge bulk out of the chair and sauntered over to my mother.
The week before I was to be sent back, Conan came to stay. I was nervous and edgy and snapped at the twins as we waited on the platform at Hareford. But when Conan jumped down from the train and strolled across to greet us, he was as casual as if there had been no maze and no exile. On the way back in the dog cart he laughed with my brothers and tugged at my plaits as he teased me.
And yet there was a difference. My brothers were still boys; Conan was a man now. He spent a lot of time with Edie Cornell, who openly admitted she had only married her elderly husband because her dressmaker was dunning her. Edie was playing tennis one afternoon, dabbing ineffectually at easy shots with fluttering movements. I was sitting next to Conan beside the court, and slowly I realized that the exaggeratedly raised eyebrows and pretty, silly gestures were aimed in our direction. I glanced round at my cousin, expecting to see derision on his face, but instead it bore a look of smug satisfaction - and with a sudden shiver I remembered Sir Ernest’s expression as he had stepped cautiously out of my mother’s bedroom at dawn.
I stood up quickly and went over to Robbie. After a moment I asked, elaborately casual, ‘Does Conan still keep the two of you up until all hours with his wild stories?’
I watched the pink flush reach the tip of my brother’s ears before he muttered, without looking at me, ‘Oh, we’re generally asleep early these days. How about a game of croquet, Hellie?’
I picked up the mallet and swung it with a vicious lunge at the ball.
That evening after I had gone to bed I thought of my tall fair cavalry officer. He would be strong and noble and faithful – and I would love him all the days of my life.
Chapter Two
Back in Munich I began to study my aria. I had already been visiting Signor Urbini for lessons in Italian diction, so now I started to work through Susanna’s song: “Deh! Vieni non tardar”. Word by word and note by note I studied it. The execution of each phrase, the taking of each breath was planned like a military manoeuvre. I lived my aria, I dreamt my aria, and, at last, I sang my aria – and knew that it was good.
After Mozart, Lieder. I began with the “Wiegenlied” of Brahms – the lullaby to the beloved child – and learnt to let the notes float from my lips, delicate and ethereal. I flew on the wings of song with Mendelssohn and I sang of the comfort music brings with Schubert. ‘Now you are ready for “Nachtigall”. You are dreaming, begin like a sigh – the memories surge back – crescendo, warmer, warmer – end with your legato in pianissimo – let your last chord fade away.’
But at “Stifle Tranen” Elsa Gehring was not satisfied. ‘You can sing it, Grafin, but you cannot feel it – you are still a child, so you could not smile if your heart were breaking, you could only weep. We will put it to one side.’ Instead she set me to learn the flowing rhythm of “Die Forelle”, and as I sang the trout flashed in the sparkling water before me, and Frau Gehring was pleased and praised my legato, so that after my lesson I walked through the streets of Munich as though I were ten feet tall.
Next lesson she had “Der Schmied” ready for me. I laughed at the thought of my singing a song of love for a blacksmith, and Elsa Gehring smiled slyly at me. ‘Perhaps this is too difficult for the Grafin to imagine? Her sweetheart a lowly working man hammering at his black furnace?’ But I loved the strong rhythm and the emphatic consonants; I became a peasant girl in my mind and saw the rippling muscles of my work-begrimed lover and felt radiant with pride at his strength. But that night I dreamt of my brave blond cavalry officer.
At the beginning of December, Guy’s letter brought bad news; he had to stay in London all through the Christmas holidays so he could not bring the twins to Munich. I gazed at the words, disbelieving – perhaps I could return to England instead? But no, Guy had already spoken to Mother about sending Fisher to fetch me, but Mother had said it was not worthwhile just for a few weeks – besides she would need her maid over the Christmas season, as she had so many engagements. So that was that.
I had already started my weekly letter to the twins. Now my tears dripped on to the paper and smeared the ink in ugly blotches as I wrote of my misery. The summer was so far away.
I went to my next singing lesson with a very long face. ‘Ach! Poor little Grafin – what sadness we feel when we are young. But take heart, Elsa will teach you to sing yourself through it.’ I gazed dully at her smiling face. ‘You will sing “An die Musik”.’ I sang, and heard the misery in my voice – but in the second verse I pictured happier times, and was comforted by the sweet harmony.
Elsa Gehring smiled. ‘You see, little one? How fortunate we singers are. You must not sit and fruitlessly weep, no, you must turn your sadness into song. It will help you to bear it.’ I understood, but I wept again for my brothers that evening.
Christmas was still more than a week away and I was practising at the piano in my sitting room, when the door burst open and Franzl appeared. ‘Grafin Helena, Grafin Helena – come down to the dining room, quickly, there is a surprise for you.’ His face was round and beaming. He turned and thundered down the stairs and I ran after him, but it was to please Franzl rather than for any hopes on my part – it would just be a package; Franzl adored packages. He flung open the door, I looked in – and there were my brothers.
I flung myself at them, laughing and crying. ‘Eddie, Robbie –
you’ve come, you’ve come!’ I hugged them and kissed them, flying from one to the other like a dervish.
They submitted stoically to my frantic embraces. Eddie said ‘Calm down, old girl,’ but he grinned as he spoke, and they both looked very pleased with themselves.
I asked, ‘But Guy – did Guy get leave after all?’ I looked round, and it was only then that I realized there were two unfamiliar figures at the far end of the room.
But Eddie was explaining, so I turned all my attention on him. ‘You see we decided we didn’t need Guy to bring us – we are fifteen, after all – that’s thirty if you add us together, older than Guy if you look at it the right way.’ Robbie chipped in, ‘When we got your letter – all blotched like that, really Hellie, and you’re supposed to be our big sister! Well, I said…’ Eddie broke in, ‘No, I thought of it first…’
I interrupted quickly, ‘You both said – what?’
‘Oh, that we’d come out and see you ourselves. We didn’t tell anybody, of course, just made up our minds and when we got to Paddington we jumped in a cab and said, “Charing Cross”, instead of “Euston” – it was as simple as that.’ They smirked with satisfaction.
I gazed at them adoringly. Then a practical thought intruded. ‘But Robbie, Eddie – you never have any money left by the end of term.’
‘Oh we borrowed some from Staveley here – he’s rolling in it.’ Eddie nodded over his shoulder to a thin, fair boy half-hiding behind him.
I ran forward, hand outstretched, ‘How kind of you – how very very kind!’ He smiled shyly and uttered an inaudible reply.
‘Then Stavey’s Uncle Gerald caught up with us at Dover – well, Stavey was with him, actually – so he treated us the rest of the way.’ I looked round and noticed almost for the first time the tall fair man standing in the shadows by the fireplace. I was overcome with shyness at the thought of my boisterous greetings being witnessed by a grown-up stranger; as he came forward with hand held out I dared not look at him. I touched his fingers briefly and whispered, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Staveley.’
An amused voice said, ‘You’d better introduce me to your sister properly, young Girvans.’ Eddie stepped forward, put his hand to his waist and with an elaborate bow announced: ‘Helena, may I present Captain Lord Gerald Prescott, of the First Life Guards? Lord Gerald, my sister, Lady Helena Girvan.’
At ‘Prescott’ my head had jerked up of its own accord. Now I stared straight into the clear blue eyes of my cavalry officer.
He said pleasantly, ‘I only discovered on the boat that this precious pair were absent without leave; I suppose I should have packed them off back again on the next steamer.’
I gasped, ‘Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t!’
His smile was indulgent. ‘After the welcome you’ve just given them I’m rather glad of that myself! I sent a cable from Ostend, of course, so your parents know where they are. I do hope Lady Pickering won’t miss them too much over the festive season.’
‘She won’t,’ I said firmly.
Eddie added, ‘I daresay she’ll be glad of our room – there’s always a houseful of guests this time of year – we’ve done her a favour, really.’
Robbie sounded more doubtful. ‘But she still won’t like us disobeying her – she’ll be livid.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘Well, we won’t be there to see it, will we? We’re here now, and we’re not going back.’
‘No.’ I clung to his arm; I could not believe they were real: my twins. And my cavalry officer. Suddenly I remembered my manners and felt the blush rise in my throat as I turned and stammered, ‘L – Lord Gerald, perhaps you would care for some coffee and Kuchen?’
He smiled but reached for his hat. ‘No, thanks very much, Lady Helena. Stavey and I are on our way to Carlsbad; my sister-in-law’s spending the winter there. We just dropped off at Munich to deliver these two sinners – and to find out whether you really wanted them.’ Wanted them! Of course I wanted them. He looked down at me. ‘I can see the answer to that in your face – but hadn’t you better check with your landlady – the pension might be full?’
My landlady had obviously been lurking in the hallway; she arrived at once. I said quickly, ‘Please, Frau Reinmar – they can sleep on the floor of my sitting room – we could put down cushions.’ She pursed her lips, so I added anxiously, ‘Or they can have my bed, it’s big enough for two, and I will sleep on the floor. I like to sleep on the floor.’
I heard a laugh from the man behind me. He broke in in slow, pedantic German: Frau Reinmar was reassured. I blushed as money discreetly changed hands – I would have to write and beg Papa to pay our debts – but the matter was soon settled, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Frau Reinmar offered refreshment, but Lord Gerald was determined to leave.
I felt terribly bereft as his tall slim figure strode out of the room. Then Robbie’s voice recalled me to the miracle of the twins’ arrival.
We had a wonderful Christmas. Lord Gerald had left a fistful of notes with Eddie, and Fraulein was gracious in accompanying us to operas and plays; she even sat uncomplainingly beside me in the ornate dining room of the Café Luitpold while my brothers played billiards with Franzl in the next-door room. I sang my new Lieder, but my brothers preferred the songs we had learnt with Miss Ling – Robbie thumped them out on the piano in the salon while the old ladies smiled and clapped their hands. As casually as I could I extracted from my brothers all they knew about “Stavey’s Uncle Gerald”: it was not much, but at least they were sure he was not married. My heart soared.
One morning a letter lay by my plate – with a Carlsbad postmark; I opened it with shaking hands. It was a short note from Lord Gerald himself to say that, if I were agreeable, he and his nephew would wait on me on their way back to England: they would stay overnight in a hotel in Munich and then escort my brothers back home. After endless false starts and torn-up attempts I penned him a reply. His own letter I carefully wrapped up in tissue paper and locked away in my writing case: I would keep it always. I day-dreamed of his clear blue eyes and sleek blond hair. My brothers teased me mercilessly, but I knew they would not betray my secret.
The day Lord Gerald and his nephew were due to arrive I insisted on staying in the salon. The twins wanted to go out and skate on the frozen meadows, but I would not go with them. They took Franzl instead and I sat in the pension, my heart thumping, springing to my feet and rushing to the window every time I thought I heard a cab slowing down outside.
But my brothers were back again before he arrived, and when he did, all my carefully rehearsed phrases flew from my head – I stumbled over a few stupid words about the weather, agonizing over my own dullness until Eddie butted in, ‘Stavey, how about coming skating with us tonight? It’s tremendous fun on the ice in the dark!’
I held my breath until Lord Gerald gave his consent and then, greatly daring, whispered, ‘Perhaps you would care to come too?’ He smiled down at me, and accepted.
I could not eat any dinner that evening; I kept saying silently to myself – ‘I will see him tonight, I will see him tonight.’ Even if I died tomorrow, life would have been worth living.
We swooped and glided over the frozen fields; I laughed with Franzl and the shy-faced Lord Staveley as my brothers cannoned into each other and skidded ridiculously past us, bottoms on the ice, feet in the air. Then Eddie found a chair on runners, carved and painted like Lohengrin’s swan: ‘Come on, Hellie – time to catch the next swan to Maximilian Platz!’ I climbed in and the pair of them pushed off; I jerked and swayed dangerously from side to side.
Lord Gerald came skating over the ice towards us. ‘Your steering’s hopeless – out of the way, you two.’ His strong hands gripped the back of my chariot and we skimmed over the great shining sheet of ice, away from the flares and the bustle and into the starry velvet blackness beyond. Then, without a break in the rhythm, he swung me into a great curving arc, and we sped back. My legs were trembling as he helped me out and set me on my feet. ‘Come along young St
avey – it’s time we were in bed, we’ve got to make an early start tomorrow.’
I sat in the Fiaker in a daze, and nearly forgot to murmur my thanks as we were put down in the Schellingstrasse. My brothers were to meet him at the Central Station in the morning, but I would not see him again.
*
Frau Gehring said I could choose which Lied I would like to study next. I searched the music shops and found the poem of Klaus Groth, which Brahms had set to music: “Dein blaues Auge”. I pored over it, and sang fervently of the blue still eyes into whose depths I gazed. Like the poet I too had been scorched by a pair of burning eyes and as I sang “Es brannt mich ein gluhend Paar”, Conan’s devilish face flashed before me for an instant – but now I would be healed by Lord Gerald’s clear, cool blue ones.
When I had finished, Elsa Gehring laughed. I felt my face fall, but she reached out a quick hand. ‘That was very good, my Grafin, you sang accurately but also with feeling. Why do I laugh? Because I think you are in love, are you not?’ My cheeks glowed. ‘Come, that is good – you will not sing Lieder well until you love. Now I can choose more widely for you.’
So I learnt “Im Friihling”, “Der Nussbaum”, and, finally, she allowed me to begin to study Schumann’s romantic, beautiful “Frauen Liebe und Leben” – the story of a woman’s life and love. I sang of how, since I had first seen him, his vision had blinded me to all else, nothing mattered but his image in my dreams. I sang of how wonderful and brave he was, and yet so gentle and kind. With more difficulty than the poet I accepted that only the best of women would be worthy of him, and I would bless her – but then I rejoiced when he chose me. As I sang
“Du Ring an meinem Finger,
Mein goldenes Ringelein”
I glanced down at my own left hand, then sang fervently of how I would serve him and love him for ever. In my mind the flowers were strewn before his feet, it was our wedding day; and wearing my wreath of myrtle I was going to him – half gladly, half fearfully.