The Wild Girl

  CLAMOUR OF BELLS

  March 1811

  On 20th March 1811, Napoléon Bonaparte’s son was born in Paris. As soon as the news reached Cassel, a clamour of bells rang all through the town, continuing on and on all afternoon.

  ‘I wish they would shut up,’ Mia said crossly. ‘It’s giving me such a headache.’

  ‘The Ogre will never be defeated now, will he?’ Dortchen said. ‘It’s a dynasty. Napoléon and his descendants will rule us forever.’

  Both girls were leaning on pitchforks in the herb garden, their hands muddy, their aprons smeared with dirt. A barrow of compost steamed nearby. With Rudolf gone to Berlin, the hard work of digging and cleaning out the sty and the stables was now done by his sisters, on top of all the extra work in the house and stillroom.

  ‘I suppose we must just get used to it,’ Mia said. ‘After all, it’s been five years now.’

  ‘I’ll never get used to it,’ Dortchen said. ‘Never.’

  ‘We should be practising our French,’ Mia said. ‘I heard they plan to outlaw German altogether. Besides, Father needs us in the shop. He’s too old a dog to learn new tricks.’

  Dortchen said nothing. She was being stupid with her French on purpose, so her father would not call her to help him in the shop. That only made him angry and impatient with her, though, and he humiliated her by calling her in anyway and watching as she did her best to stutter through.

  That night there was a ball at Napoléonshöhe. Many girls from the town were invited. If Rudolf had been home, he would have got tickets for his sisters. But Rudolf was not home. Lotte, who had just turned eighteen, was to go with her brother and the Hassenpflug family. Dortchen tried not to mind. It was her eighteenth birthday in three days, and while all the girls of the town dressed in their best and waltzed the night away, she had to stay at home, peeling turnips and feeding the pig.

  Frau Wild was unwell again and kept to her bed, and so Herr Wild supped with his three youngest daughters, who sat in a row at the long, dark table, their heads bowed over their meagre meal.

  ‘Soon you’ll be sitting at the head of your own table,’ he said to Röse, who bent her face closer to her plate to hide the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ he cried. ‘You’d think you would be glad at the prospect of marrying a well-established gentleman with his own business. But no, all I get is this weeping and whining. And I thought you the good, obedient child.’

  Röse got up and ran from the room. Herr Wild turned his frown on his other daughters and poured himself another deep glass of quince brandy. By the time Mia and Dortchen were permitted to rise and clear the table, most of the bottle had gone.

  As Mia and Dortchen washed up in the scullery, the younger sister turned to the elder sister and said, in a low, scared voice, ‘He’s really old, Dortchen. Older even than Father.’

  ‘The man Röse is to marry?’

  ‘Yes. He’s old and fat and he smells of beer. And he didn’t talk to Röse at all. He just asked Father if she was good and obedient, then said it was a shame she was so scrawny.’

  Dortchen wiped the plate again and again, even though it shone with cleanliness.

  ‘If it was me, I’d run away,’ Mia said.

  ‘Where?’ Dortchen said. ‘Where would you go?’

  Mia shrugged and looked miserable.

  ‘Where could you go?’ Dortchen said in a low voice.

  There was nowhere.

  Dortchen and Mia put on their nightgowns and tiptoed through the cold, dark corridors to their rooms, Dortchen carrying Röse’s flannel-wrapped bed-warmer in one hand and her own in the other. Röse was lying face-down and fully dressed on her bed. ‘Get changed and hop into bed,’ Dortchen said, her pity making it hard for her to speak. ‘I’ll warm your bed for you.’

  Röse sat up and drearily began to undress, as Dortchen slid the pan full of hot coals between the icy sheets.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Dortchen said, knowing her words were no comfort.

  Röse shrugged. ‘We must do as Father tells us. Doesn’t the Bible say so?’ She pulled on her nightgown and climbed into bed, huddling into a ball, her back to Dortchen.

  Dortchen stood, wanting to say more, wondering if she should pat her sister’s shoulder or try to embrace her. Röse had never liked being touched, though. After a moment, she went out and climbed the steep steps to her own room.

  Even with her feet on the hot bed-warmer and the eiderdown wrapped around her, Dortchen could not get warm. She sat up, wrapped her shawl about her and leant her head on her knees. She stared across at the dark windows of the Grimms’ apartment. Would Wilhelm dance? she wondered. Would he dance with Marie Hassenpflug? Was she smiling up at him now, those glossy, dark ringlets hanging across her smooth shoulders? Was she twirling in his arms, his hand on her slim waist? The very thought of it was agony.

  The church bells were striking the half-hour after midnight when lights flowered in the dark Grimm house. Pressing her forehead against the glass, Dortchen could see the revellers going inside, cloaked against the night chill. She heard distant laughter and the sound of the front door shutting. She followed the path of the lantern through the house, as first one window warmed into life and then another. She saw candlelight flicker up in Wilhelm and Jakob’s bedroom, towards the front of the house, and then in Lotte’s window, in the bedroom directly opposite. Dortchen watched, hoping her friend would open the curtain and look out, but the curtains hung motionless. After a few moments, the candle was blown out and darkness closed in again.

  Dortchen slid down, pushing the bed-warmer down so it could warm the arctic regions at the foot of the bed. She began to drift towards sleep. Darkness swallowed her.

  Sometime later – she did not know how long – something startled her. A faint cry, a flicker of light at the edge of her eye, some sixth sense that brought her upright, her pulse jumping.

  In the Grimm house opposite, a light was moving quickly, erratically, from one window to another, as if someone was running with a candle in hand. More windows glared with light. Dortchen thought she could hear shouting, banging, crashing. She sat and watched, tense and anxious, till the sky began to fade to grey and the orange eyes of the windows opposite no longer seemed quite so ominous. Every sinew and nerve in her body wanted to run across the alleyway and see what was wrong, but she did not dare.

  HELTER-SKELTER

  March 1811

  At last Herr Wild had shaved and breakfasted and gone to open the shop. Dortchen at once dropped the plates in the sink and raced across the alley and up the stairs, into the warm disorder of the Grimm family’s kitchen.

  Lotte sat weeping by the fire. She looked up as Dortchen opened the door, then flew across the room and into her arms. ‘How did you know to come when I needed you so badly? Oh, it’s terrible. Ferdinand’s gone mad. We don’t know what to do. Thank God you’re here. We all wanted you. Oh, Dortchen, what can we do?’

  ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Jakob found out that Ferdinand’s been stealing things to sell to get more laudanum – Mother’s pearl ring, Father’s gold cufflinks, a brass candleholder, a little glass vase that Mother always loved …’ Lotte spoke so fast that all her words came out in a tumble.

  ‘What did Jakob do?’ Dortchen asked, her heart sinking.

  ‘He was so furious. He locked Ferdinand in his room yesterday morning. Ferdinand’s been in such a rage, banging on the door, shouting. It was unendurable. So we all went out last night – to the ball, you know. To give Ferdinand time to cool off. It was all quiet when we got home. We thought he must have recovered from his temper tantrum, so we went to bed. But, oh, Dortchen, in the middle of the night he began to scream and scream, like imps were dragging him down into hell. Nothing we could do would calm him. He punched Wilhelm and knocked over his stool and threw his chamber pot at Jakob. The mess!’

  Dortchen tried to think which of her father’s remedies might help such madness and ra
ge. Her father would prescribe laudanum, but Dortchen felt sure in her heart that it was Ferdinand’s craving for the opium tincture that was at the root of his problems. She would have suggested chamomile tea, but she knew he would not drink it.

  ‘He’s been asking for you,’ Lotte said. ‘Dortchen, I … I think he’s in love with you. He keeps yelling out your name, calling you his angel. We found this story …’

  ‘What story?’ Dortchen demanded.

  ‘A story about a girl called Henriette.’

  Her first name. Dortchen stared at Lotte in dismay.

  ‘Dortchen … In the story it says that he loves this Henriette, but she is in love with another and all he can do is shoot his rival, or poison him.’

  Dortchen sank down onto a chair, twisting the corner of her apron. She had a strange sensation, hot and cold at once, her limbs weakening in a rush. Lotte was staring at her but she could only avert her face.

  ‘Ferdinand was beside himself,’ Lotte went on. ‘He leapt on Wilhelm and tried to strangle him. Jakob could barely drag him off.’

  Dortchen tried to speak but her voice failed her. ‘Is … is he hurt?’ she managed to croak at last.

  ‘Ferdinand or Wilhelm?’ Lotte’s eyes were intent on her face.

  Dortchen felt a betraying flush spread up her chest and face, till it felt as if her cheeks must be scarlet. She would not meet Lotte’s gaze. ‘Both,’ she answered.

  ‘Wilhelm was hurt badly,’ Lotte replied. ‘Half-strangled to death.’

  Dortchen was on her feet, hands pressed against her heart. ‘No! Please, tell me he’s all right.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Lotte crowed, clapping her hands. ‘You love him, don’t you? Oh, Dortchen, wouldn’t it be wonderful? We’d be sisters.’

  ‘How badly is he hurt? Where is he?’ Dortchen demanded.

  ‘He’s fine, apart from a few scrapes and bruises.’ Lotte was smiling in a way that seemed quite heartless to Dortchen. Realising how she had just revealed the most secret part of herself, she sank back into her chair and bent her head down on her arms, so mortified and ashamed that she could not look her friend in the face.

  Lotte came and knelt beside her, trying to prise her fingers away. ‘What’s wrong? Are you crying? Why are you so upset?’

  ‘You mustn’t say anything,’ Dortchen whispered into the darkness of her arms. ‘Please, Lotte.’

  ‘Surely Wilhelm loves you too?’

  Dortchen shook her head violently. ‘He thinks of me as another little sister.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I am almost certain he is in love with Marie Hassenpflug.’

  ‘Marie? You think so? I mean, we have been seeing them, because of the stories … but I’d swear that’s all it is. It’s you he asks about all the time.’

  Dortchen lifted her face. ‘Really?’

  Lotte nodded. Her smile was gone and she had an anxious knot between her brows.

  ‘Dortchen,’ a grave voice came from behind them.

  The two girls whipped round, flushed and startled. Jakob stood in the doorway, dressed only in his shirtsleeves, his jaw dark and rough.

  ‘You’ve heard about Ferdinand?’

  Dortchen nodded.

  ‘He’s been asking for you. Will you come and see if you can calm him? I can do nothing with him – it’s like he’s gone completely mad.’

  Dortchen nodded again and stood up, smoothing down her skirt. She hoped there were no signs of tears on her face. Jakob led her along the corridor, with Lotte following behind, and she looked hesitantly into Ferdinand’s bedroom.

  Ferdinand crouched in the corner between his bed and the clothes chest. His skin was wet with sweat, and his eyes were strangely bright. Every now and again a shudder shook him. Wilhelm sat on the bed, trying to coax him out of the corner. ‘You’ve always hated me,’ Ferdinand said, his voice loud and aggressive. ‘You want me gone.’

  ‘Of course I don’t hate you – how could you say such a thing?’ Wilhelm said in distress. ‘Please, Ferdinand, will you not get back into bed? You need to rest.’

  ‘You think I can rest? My bones are being gnawed away, my blood is in a fever. Why are you so cruel? Why will you not help me?’

  ‘I want to help you, you know that. What can I do?’

  Ferdinand leant forward eagerly. ‘Get me some more laudanum, Willi. Please. I have to have it. I’ll die without it. Can’t you see how much pain I’m in? Please, Willi. Please.’

  Wilhelm shook his head.

  Ferdinand began to rock back and forth, whimpering like a hurt animal. His hands shook, and sharp tremors jerked his limbs. He looked at his brother with hatred. ‘Am I to have nothing? Always, everything was done for you and Jakob, and I was left with nothing. Nothing!’ He struck out at Wilhelm, who tried to seize his hands and calm him. Ferdinand cried out at the contact and shrank away, covering his face with his hands.

  Dortchen stepped into the room, holding her breath. The room stank – the carpet was stained with the spillage from the chamber pot.

  Ferdinand’s head whipped around at the sound of her step, then he was on his feet and rushing towards her. ‘Dortchen! You’ve come. I thought they’d keep you away. Dortchen, you’ve got to help me. They’re trying to kill me. Help me get away from here. You … you can help me. Dortchen, I need … I need more. Please. It’s killing me. Won’t you help me? Please, Dortchen.’

  He shook her roughly. She cried out and tried to get free, but he would not let her go.

  ‘Tell them,’ he demanded. ‘Tell them I need it. I must have it. Get me some. Dortchen, please, can’t you see? It hurts … They’re trying to kill me … Help me.’

  Wilhelm and Jakob both raced forward, gripped their brother and struggled to pull him away, but Ferdinand would not let Dortchen go. His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of her arms, and his eyes stared into hers, wild and strange. She looked at Wilhelm, begging for help.

  ‘Let her go!’ Wilhelm cried, wrenching at Ferdinand’s arm.

  Ferdinand turned and punched Wilhelm hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling. ‘You!’ he screamed. ‘Why must you have everything and me nothing? It’s not fair. She’s mine, I tell you, mine.’ He seized Dortchen in his arms and kissed her, violently and desperately, his hand writhing in her hair.

  She tried to twist herself away but could not. She heard the muslin of her dress rip. She tried to cry out but her voice was stifled by his devouring mouth.

  Vaguely, she was aware that Jakob was shouting at Ferdinand to stop. Hands pulled at Ferdinand but he would not let her go, his rough stubble searing her soft skin, her mouth mashed against his teeth. As she struggled against him, he caught her wrist in his hand, hurting her.

  Finally, Wilhelm managed to hurl him away. Ferdinand fell and Dortchen staggered backward.

  ‘Stop it, stop it!’ Lotte screamed.

  Panting and in tears, Dortchen pulled together her torn dress. The metallic taste of her own blood was in her mouth. She could still feel the hot brand of Ferdinand’s body against her, the feel of his hand at her breast. Blinded by tears, she turned to flee.

  Behind her, Ferdinand cried out. ‘No, Dortchen, don’t go, don’t go! I need you. Can’t you see how much I need you? Help me! …’

  Casting a look back over her shoulder, Dortchen saw Ferdinand on the bed, held down by Wilhelm and Jakob, his dark hair in wild disarray. Wilhelm’s eyes met hers, angry, disgusted, hurt, accusing. Tears spilt down her face. She ran from the room.

  ‘Wait! Dortchen, wait!’ Lotte cried.

  But Dortchen did not stop. She ran down the stairs, out the side door and across the alleyway, barely noticing the blast of frigid air that met her. Helter-skelter, she went through the garden gate, wanting only home, safety, silence, seclusion.

  Instead, she ran headlong into her father, who was waiting for her in the garden, his arms folded. He took note of the torn lace, her disordered hair, her swollen lip and flushed face.

  ‘Wild by name and wild by nature
,’ he said coldly. ‘I always knew it. Into my study, Dortchen. Now!’

  ‘It’s nothing, Father,’ she said, holding her dress together. ‘I slipped, I fell. Nothing’s wrong.’

  He cast her a look of scorn and she felt coldness settle down over her. Numbly, she followed him down the hallway. ‘You do not need to beat me, Father. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.

  ‘Next door. Herr Ferdinand Grimm is unwell. They asked me to look at him.’

  ‘You lie! You were in the arms of your lover. Do you think I don’t know the signs? Who is he? This Herr Ferdinand of yours?’

  Involuntarily, she shuddered. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I … I have no lover.’

  He opened his study door and she hung back, not wanting to go inside. He yanked her in and shut the door behind her. ‘We shall see. Bend over and lift your skirt.’

  She backed against the desk. ‘Father, please – I swear to you, I’ve done nothing wrong. Please—’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know how you deceive me? You are like your whore of a sister, always sneaking out and going behind my back. You think me a fool.’

  ‘No, Father, I swear—’

  He slapped her across her face. ‘Do as I say!’

  When she did not obey, he caught her by the arm and spun her around, forcing her face-down over the desk. He dragged up her skirts. She struggled against him, crying, ‘Father, please, this is unseemly – I am not a child.’

  ‘And no maiden either, I’d wager,’ he answered her, panting with exertion. He twisted her arm up behind her, making her cry out in pain. He yanked down her drawers.

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Be quiet,’ he panted.

  She tensed, expecting the sting of the switch against her bare buttocks. Instead, she felt her father’s thick fingers enter her from behind. She cried out and he jerked her arm back, forcing her to be still as he probed her.

  For a moment, time slowed. She stood still, feeling his fingers thrusting deep, his body forcing her legs further apart.