The Reluctant Governess. Anne Mather

in her? Almost all the men she had known were wealthy, sleek, sophisticated; they drove fast cars, holidayed in the Caribbean or the South Pacific, wore the latest clothes and knew all the best restaurants. The Baron von Reichstein should have been like them, but he was not, and his only concession to the present trends were the long sideburns which grew down to his jawline. His clothes were good, but practical, and there had been reinforcing leather patches on the elbows of his coat. His transport was a mud-splashed station wagon, and he was used to eating wholesome soup out of earthenware dishes at a scrubbed kitchen table. Why then did she notice every minute detail about him from the hard strength of his broad body to the sensual curve of his full lower lip?

      ‘Now to the matter of free time.’ The Baron was speaking again, and Victoria gathered her composure. ‘Naturally, you will be free every day after lessons are over, which should be a couple of hours after lunch. However, I should be grateful if for a further consideration you would consider yourself Sophie’s companion for some part of the day.’

      Victoria coloured. ‘There is no need to make that concession, Herr Baron,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m quite willing to treat Sophie as a friend so long as she is willing. And as to free time, if and when I need any I could always tell you.’

      The Baron frowned. ‘Nevertheless, I feel it is essential that you should not feel continually on duty. Your suggestion is appreciated, but you may find assuming a kind of family situation rather tiring.’

      Victoria got to her feet. She was quite a tall girl, but the Baron was over six feet in height and dwarfed her. ‘Well, we shall see,’ she said, rather awkwardly, and leaving him she walked towards the door. However, as she was about to turn the handle, he said:

      ‘Your hair—is it very long?’

      The question was so unexpected that Victoria leant against the door in astonishment, putting up a tentative hand to the french roll she invariably wore. ‘Why—er—yes,’ she murmured, flushing.

      The Baron turned his back to her, staring into the flames. ‘There are no beauty salons around here, fräulein. You may find it simpler to wear your hair short.’

      Victoria frowned. ‘Is that a request—or a command?’ Her voice was slightly uneven.

      ‘Neither,’ returned the Baron bleakly. ‘It was an observation, that is all, fräulein.’

      Victoria straightened. ‘I am perfectly capable of washing my hair myself, Herr Baron,’ she said sharply. ‘Is that all?’

      ‘That is all, ja!’ His tones were harsh, and with a faint shake of her head, she went out of the door.

      What a strange man he was. What possible importance did her hair have for him?

      With a puzzled lift of her shoulders, she began to walk along the passage towards the great hall. As she entered that huge apartment she saw the wolfhound stare round at her, and for a moment her heart quickened. Then, with determined nonchalance, she crossed the hall, and as she closed the door behind her she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

      She walked to the kitchen, intending to find Sophie at once and speak to her about their arrangements, but only Gustav and Maria were there, Gustav drinking a mug of coffee and smoking his pipe. He was a giant of a man, with thick grey hair, and gnarled brown features. He nodded pleasantly at Victoria, and she returned his smile. Then she said to Maria:

      ‘Where is Sophie? I thought she might be here.’

      Maria sighed. ‘I think she has gone out, fräulein. After you left with her father she put on her long boots and her furs and you may find her in the stables, with Otto und Else.’

      ‘Otto and Else? Who are they?’ asked Victoria in surprise.

      Maria smiled. ‘Horses, fräulein,’ she said gently. ‘There are only two now.’

      ‘Oh!’ Victoria nodded. ‘I see.’ She looked down at her shoeclad feet. ‘Perhaps I should get my boots and go and find her.’

      ‘Ja, fräulein,’ said Gustav, nodding comfortably by the fire. ‘Est ist kalt, aber der Schnee ist schän!’

      Victoria was lost after the bit about it being cold, but she agreed with him and went out of the kitchen again to go up to her room to put on her warm clothes.

      She ran up the staircase, reflecting as she did so how thick the walls of the schloss must be. No sound penetrated up here from down below and she half wished she had brought her transistor radio for company. On her landing she halted breathlessly, looking out for a moment from the circular window that gave a sight of the length of the valley. In summer the pastures would be green and verdant, laced with the tiny alpine flowers that grew in such profusion in the welcome heat of the sun. Maybe there would be cows to graze on the pastures and sheep to climb the slopes of the mountain. Would she still be here then?

      A strange sound coming from one of the other rooms which opened on to the balcony brought her round suddenly and a ripple of apprehension slid along her spine. She had thought herself the only occupant of this small tower and knowing the whereabouts of all the other members of the household made her instantly uneasy. There was no one else in the castle so that any sounds she heard could only be made by mice—or rats! Unless, her pulses slowed a little, unless it was Sophie, trying to frighten her.

      The noise came again, a weird, scratching kind of sound, and a faint panting as though whatever it was that was making the sound was breathing quickly, as she was.

      Victoria’s blood ran cold. She had not been long enough in the schloss to form any real opinions about it, and it was easy to imagine the regiments of ancestors who must have lived and died here in years gone by. Although she had never encountered any ghosts in her short life, she had a healthy respect for the supernatural, and the remoteness of the schloss and this tower in particular was not lost on her.

      Then she chided herself impatiently. It was broad daylight. Spirits simply did not manifest themselves in broad daylight, at least not to her knowledge. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her trousers. She was being altogether too susceptible, allowing her imagination to run away with her. Heavens, all she had to do was run downstairs and get Gustav to come up with her and open the door!

      The sound came yet again, harder this time, as though whatever, or whoever, was making the noise was getting tired of waiting for her to respond to it. It must be Sophie, she thought impatiently. There was no one else. It couldn’t be the Baron, and she had just left Maria and Gustav. That only left one person. And if she did succumb to temptation and go downstairs and fetch Gustav up here there was every chance that the child would escape in her absence and thus make Victoria look a complete idiot when it was discovered that there was nothing and no one in the room. Of course, her imagination persisted, she could go down and bring Gustav up here and find nothing there and yet still find that Sophie was outside as Maria had said. And if that happened, then whatever it was that was behind that door would have every opportunity of returning later, after dark, when the schloss was as silent as the grave, when no one would be about to assist her.

      Victoria trembled, her palms moist again. It was no use. Whatever it was, she must discover it for herself or she would have no peace afterwards.

      On slightly uncertain legs, she crossed the landing to the door and put her ear against the panels, listening intently. Immediately there was a loud sniffing and a scuffling behind the door and a long-drawn-out wail. Horrified, Victoria took a step backwards and bent forward to turn the handle and thrust the door inwards. She didn’t know what awful fate she expected to befall her, for a brief heart-stopping moment she was without hope, and then she was limp and clinging to the doorpost as a huge furry body flung itself joyously upon her, licking her face with an enormous pink tongue.