for
long.'
'Were you there?'
'No.'
She looked away.
'I had been sent to the Imperial headquarters to inform them
of what the Erzberg troops were doing,' he said. 'I did not return
to the camp until that evening, carrying news of the armistice.
When I heard he had been wounded, I went straight to the surgeons'
tents. But he was already . . .'
He broke off. She had put her hand to her mouth in a sudden
gesture. Her lips had formed a silent 'Oh!' Her pale skin now
seemed white in the gathering evening.
Heavens! Was she about to faint?
'Was it really that close?' she asked, in a voice that almost
cracked. 'He need only have lived one more day?'
'I fear that is true.'
'So – it was needless, then! It should not have happened!'
It should not have happened. That was true, of course. That
was the devil of it. Wéry spread his hands, helplessly.
'Our attack, or theirs?' he said. 'We all knew the negotiations
had started. But nothing might have come of it. And one side
cannot stop fighting if the other does not.'
She was not satisfied. Of course she was not . . .
But once again they were interrupted. Once again he must
climb to his feet. Standing in the doorway was a lady in middle
age, with close brown hair and a dress rather duller and less
elaborate than the girl at Wéry's side. She did not seem to be a
servant – there was no air of officiousness or function about her
– but there was a diffidence in the way she held herself which
said that she was not a full member of the family either.
'Anna!' exclaimed the girl.
'Forgive me, my dear. She is asking for you again.'
'Oh – dear Virgin!' Maria groaned.
But in a moment she gripped the arms of her chair. 'Yes, of
course,' she said. 'I will come. Anna, this is Captain Wéry. You
remember, in Alba's letters. . . Captain, let me introduce to
you Madame Anna Poppenstahl, who has been a lifelong friend
and companion to my mother, and even more than that to my
brothers and me.'
Anna Poppenstahl, thought Wéry, bowing over the woman's
hand. So this shy, plain creature was the beloved Anna, Albrecht's
governess.
And this was the woman who, all unknowing, had been the
link of fate that had brought him to Erzberg: to Albrecht, to his
commission, to his place in the struggle against France. 'My cousin
was his governess,' Maximilian had said in the dusk of the ramparts
of Mainz. 'She still lives in their house!
She still did.
'Madame,' he said. 'It is a sad day, and nothing will change that.
Nevertheless, I am glad to have met you. I made the acquaintance
of your cousins, the Jürichs, in Mainz some years ago. I owe them
a debt of gratitude to this day.'
Madame Poppenstahl's face was drawn, and her fingers
worked together as she stood before them. She bobbed at his
words, but did not answer him.
'Maria,' she said anxiously. 'Please.'
'Yes, yes. At once. Perhaps you would be so good as to remain
with Captain Wéry until . . .'
Wéry read the exchange of glances. The governess was
distracted and unwilling: the shy product of a sheltered life.
Strange captains, even ones who claimed the acquaintance of her
cousins, were more than she knew how to deal with. And the
daughter was also distracted, and yet felt herself to be in sole
charge of the house. She was determined, even now, that their
guest should be shown some courtesy.
Beyond the thick clouds, the sun must be low. It was more
than a league, by narrow and twisting paths, to the nearest
inn in Erzberg territory. His presence here was already an
embarrassment. If he remained another hour, they might
even feel obliged to invite him to stay the night. And what
would Lady Adelsheim sly in the morning, when she discovered
that such an unwelcome visitor had sheltered under her
roof?
He had done enough harm here.
'You are good,' he said bowing. 'But time does not permit me
to stay. If word could be passed to the stables for my horse, I will
make no further demands of you.'
'It is you who are good, Captain,' said the
long.'
'Were you there?'
'No.'
She looked away.
'I had been sent to the Imperial headquarters to inform them
of what the Erzberg troops were doing,' he said. 'I did not return
to the camp until that evening, carrying news of the armistice.
When I heard he had been wounded, I went straight to the surgeons'
tents. But he was already . . .'
He broke off. She had put her hand to her mouth in a sudden
gesture. Her lips had formed a silent 'Oh!' Her pale skin now
seemed white in the gathering evening.
Heavens! Was she about to faint?
'Was it really that close?' she asked, in a voice that almost
cracked. 'He need only have lived one more day?'
'I fear that is true.'
'So – it was needless, then! It should not have happened!'
It should not have happened. That was true, of course. That
was the devil of it. Wéry spread his hands, helplessly.
'Our attack, or theirs?' he said. 'We all knew the negotiations
had started. But nothing might have come of it. And one side
cannot stop fighting if the other does not.'
She was not satisfied. Of course she was not . . .
But once again they were interrupted. Once again he must
climb to his feet. Standing in the doorway was a lady in middle
age, with close brown hair and a dress rather duller and less
elaborate than the girl at Wéry's side. She did not seem to be a
servant – there was no air of officiousness or function about her
– but there was a diffidence in the way she held herself which
said that she was not a full member of the family either.
'Anna!' exclaimed the girl.
'Forgive me, my dear. She is asking for you again.'
'Oh – dear Virgin!' Maria groaned.
But in a moment she gripped the arms of her chair. 'Yes, of
course,' she said. 'I will come. Anna, this is Captain Wéry. You
remember, in Alba's letters. . . Captain, let me introduce to
you Madame Anna Poppenstahl, who has been a lifelong friend
and companion to my mother, and even more than that to my
brothers and me.'
Anna Poppenstahl, thought Wéry, bowing over the woman's
hand. So this shy, plain creature was the beloved Anna, Albrecht's
governess.
And this was the woman who, all unknowing, had been the
link of fate that had brought him to Erzberg: to Albrecht, to his
commission, to his place in the struggle against France. 'My cousin
was his governess,' Maximilian had said in the dusk of the ramparts
of Mainz. 'She still lives in their house!
She still did.
'Madame,' he said. 'It is a sad day, and nothing will change that.
Nevertheless, I am glad to have met you. I made the acquaintance
of your cousins, the Jürichs, in Mainz some years ago. I owe them
a debt of gratitude to this day.'
Madame Poppenstahl's face was drawn, and her fingers
worked together as she stood before them. She bobbed at his
words, but did not answer him.
'Maria,' she said anxiously. 'Please.'
'Yes, yes. At once. Perhaps you would be so good as to remain
with Captain Wéry until . . .'
Wéry read the exchange of glances. The governess was
distracted and unwilling: the shy product of a sheltered life.
Strange captains, even ones who claimed the acquaintance of her
cousins, were more than she knew how to deal with. And the
daughter was also distracted, and yet felt herself to be in sole
charge of the house. She was determined, even now, that their
guest should be shown some courtesy.
Beyond the thick clouds, the sun must be low. It was more
than a league, by narrow and twisting paths, to the nearest
inn in Erzberg territory. His presence here was already an
embarrassment. If he remained another hour, they might
even feel obliged to invite him to stay the night. And what
would Lady Adelsheim sly in the morning, when she discovered
that such an unwelcome visitor had sheltered under her
roof?
He had done enough harm here.
'You are good,' he said bowing. 'But time does not permit me
to stay. If word could be passed to the stables for my horse, I will
make no further demands of you.'
'It is you who are good, Captain,' said the
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