On the Night of the Seventh Moon (37 page)

She bowed to me, but I saw the startled expression in her face and I was aware that she knew me, even as I knew her.

Frau Graben was smiling at us, watching us—as though we were two spiders in a bowl.

Then she said: “And how is the new baby, eh?”

“He's sleeping,” said Gretchen.

“I hear he's going to be the image of his father. So you didn't come out to see the show, Gretchen.”

“I couldn't very well take the children,” said Gretchen, her eyes still on me.

“You could have joined us at the inn window. There was plenty of room. If I'd known I should have brought that cordial. Are you all right? You look a bit . . .”

“I'm all right,” said Gretchen quickly. “And Mrs. . . .”

“Miss Trant,” said Frau Graben.

“Miss Trant.” Her eyes held mine. “You would like some . . . refreshment?”

“We had wine at the inn. I daresay the children would like something.”

“Yes,” said Dagobert, “we would.”

While she brought the refreshment I was thinking: I must speak to her alone.

When she came back, she put a tray on the table and served the wine. Her eyes held mine as she handed me my glass. She was telling me that she recognized me and was refraining from saying so for fear of my embarrassment.

There was some cordial for the children and the inevitable spiced cakes. Dagobert said to the children: “Two bandits tried to kidnap me, but I frightened them away.”

The children listened intently to his imaginary adventures in the forest.

“He wore my magic hat and lost it,” Fritz told.

Then they talked of the magic hat.

Frau Graben sat listening; then she said: “How are your roses coming on, Gretchen?”

“Very well,” replied Gretchen.

“I'll have a look,” said Frau Graben. “No, don't bother to come with me. I know where to find them.”

Gretchen looked at me. She moved through the open door into the kitchen. I followed.

“I knew you at once,” she said in a low voice.

“And I you. But I couldn't believe it. They told me you had died and that your grandmother had taken the little boy . . .”

She shook her head. “It was my baby who died. She was a little girl.”

“Then why . . . ?”

She shook her head.

“I don't understand why Dr. Kleine should have deliberately lied to me.”

She seemed bewildered. “And you?” she said. “What happened?”

“My baby died. A little girl. I saw her in her coffin. A little white face in a white bonnet.”

She nodded. “Mine was like that. I dreamed of her for a long time.”

“And what really happened?”

“My grandmother took me back after all and I came home. Hans
was the greatest friend of my Franz and he escorted me. He said that Franz would have wanted him to take care of me and he had always loved Franz and me too. So we married, and my grandmother was pleased because Hans was in the Duke's Guards and gradually I began to forget that nightmare and be happy again. What did you do?”

“I went back to England.”

“You did not marry again?”

I shook my head.

“It is a pity. When our first baby came I stopped dreaming of that little face in the white bonnet. I told Hans about it and how that day I had wanted to kill myself. And how a strange English girl came to my room and because of her I went on. I never forgot you. And it is strange that we should meet like this.”

“I came back here,” I said, “to teach the children English. Frau Graben visited England. I got to know her and she offered me the post.”

“How strangely life works out,” she said.

“It is all so bewildering.”

She touched my hand gently. “I shall never forget what you did for me. I would have jumped from that window, I know, if you had not come in that day. I don't know what it was about you. I knew that you had suffered some tragedy as great as mine; you did not talk of it. There was something stoical about you. It gave me courage . . . and to you I owe this happy life which is now mine. I have often told Hans of you . . . but have no fear I shall not mention that I have seen you . . . not even to Hans. I think perhaps you would rather not.”

I nodded.

“Then I shall tell no one.”

I said: “I must find out why Dr. Kleine told me you were dead.”

“Perhaps he mistook me for someone else. There were many people at his clinic.”

“I don't think that was so. There could not have been a mistake. He distinctly told me that you were dead and that your grandmother had taken the child. And yet it was the other way round. Why?”

“Is it important?”

“I'm not sure, but I have an idea that it might be . . . very important.”

Frau Graben was standing in the doorway.

“Ah, having a cozy chat. I knew you two would get on. Yes, Gretchen my dear, they're coming on well. But you watch out for the greenfly.”

She was smiling slyly, blandly. I wondered how long she had been standing there.

 

I was impatient for Maximilian to come that I might tell him what I had discovered. This was yet another strange aspect of the mystery which overhung my life.

I waited at the turret window and when I saw him riding up the road I was filled with relief.

He ran up the stairs and I was in his arms. He could not stay, alas; he had ridden over from the ducal
Schloss
in all haste to tell me that he had to set out without delay with some of his ministers for Klarenbock. A tense situation was arising for war with the French seemed inevitable. There were certain clauses in the treaty with Klarenbock which had to be clarified in the event of such a war and it was imperative that he leave.

The thought of his going away terrified me. I suppose I was unduly anxious because once before I had lost him.

He would be back in a few days, he assured me, a week at most, and as soon as he returned he would come to me.

As I watched him ride away a terrible feeling of desolation and insecurity swept over me. It would always be thus, I feared, when he went away—even for such a short time.

It was some while afterwards that I remembered I had not mentioned what I had discovered through Gretchen Franck that day; and to stop myself brooding on Maximilian's departure I wondered whether I might not go to the clinic, see Dr. Kleine and discover whether he could throw any light on what had happened.

The more I thought of the idea, the better it seemed to me. I should
have to tell Frau Graben that I was going but I did not wish to tell her for what reason. She was far too inquisitive and I could not bear her to ask questions.

I said there were some people I had met in the town of Klarengen and that I had often wondered about them.

“Have you written to them?” she asked.

“No, but I should like to go to see them.”

“There's a train which would get you there in an hour or so. I wouldn't like you to travel alone. My word, if anything was to happen to you I'd have His Highness to answer to, wouldn't I? No, I'm all against your going alone.”

“I could ask Gretchen Franck to go with me.”

“Gretchen Franck! Why her?”

“The outing would do her good. All this talk of war seems to worry her. She's upset thinking of Hans going to the front.”

Frau Graben nodded thoughtfully. “It would do her good. I'm glad you liked her. I'll get her children and bring them back here. I'll look after them while you're away.”

“The baby is young, of course.”

“Do you think I can't handle a young baby?”

 

Gretchen was surprised at first when I suggested the trip, but she quickly agreed to come with me when she heard of Frau Graben's offer to look after the children.

She was puzzled as to why I wanted to go back there, and I couldn't explain to her. I just said I wanted to see my baby's grave and she said that she would like to see hers.

We caught the train at ten o'clock. Prinzstein drove me to the town and we picked up Gretchen there. The train journey was through beautiful mountain country which had I been in a less absorbed mood I could have greatly enjoyed.

We went straight to an inn for a meal. The town was very small and there were only two. The one we chose was practically empty; and
here as in Rochenberg the imminent war was the great topic of conversation.

When we reached the clinic, Gretchen shivered as she looked up at the window and I knew she was thinking of that day when she had planned to throw herself out. There was the spot where I had met the Misses Elkington.

I said: “We are going in to see Dr. Kleine.”

“But why?” asked Gretchen.

“I must see him. I want to ask him where my baby is buried.”

She didn't demur and we mounted the steps to the porch and rang the bell. It was answered by a servant and I asked to see Dr. Kleine.

I was expecting her to say that he was no longer there in which case it seemed that my journey would bring no results, but to my relief we were ushered into a waiting room.

“I want you to wait here, Gretchen,” I said, “while I go in and see Dr. Kleine.”

After ten minutes or so I was taken to the room where Dr. Kleine received his patients. I remembered it so well: here Ilse had brought me when we had first come here.

“Please sit down,” he said benignly.

I sat down. “You don't remember me, Dr. Kleine. I am Helena Trant.”

He was too late to hide the shock I had given him. I had taken him completely by surprise for he had scarcely looked at me as I entered and it was so long ago since he had seen me.

He wrinkled his brows and repeated my name. But somehow I sensed that he remembered me very well.

“Mrs. Helena Trant,” he said.

“Miss . . .” I said.

“Oh. I'm afraid . . .”

“I came here and had a child,” I said.

“Well, Miss Trant, I have so many clients . . . How long ago was this?”

“Nine years.”

He sighed. “It's a very long time ago. And you are again . . .”

“Indeed not.”

“Perhaps there is some other purpose for your visit?”

“Yes. I want to see my child's grave. I would like to see that it is tended.”

“For the first time in . . . nine years did you say?”

“I have fairly recently come back here.”

“I see.”

“Do you remember me now, Dr. Kleine?”

“I believe I do.”

“There was a Miss Swartz in the clinic at the time.”

“Oh yes, I remember now.”

“She died, you told me, and her grandmother adopted her child.”

“Yes, I do remember that. There was quite a fuss about it. The girl was in a sad state.”

“She tried to kill herself,” I said.

“Yes. I remember. It was small wonder that she did not survive her confinement. We were astonished, I remember, that her child lived.”

“But she did survive, Dr. Kleine. It was her child who died.”

“No, I am sure you are wrong.”

“Could you make sure of it?”

“Miss Trant, I should like to know what is your purpose in coming here?”

“I have told you. I want to see my child's grave, and to confirm what happened to Gretchen Swartz. She lived in this neighborhood and . . .”

“You thought you would like to meet her again. But she is dead.”

“Could you look up your records and tell me for certain? I do particularly want to know.”

My heart was beating wildly. I wasn't quite sure why. I felt I had to go carefully, and that if I did I might discover what had happened to Ilse. And if I could find Ilse I should have the key to the mystery which still obscured my past. Of one thing I was certain. Dr. Kleine was not telling the truth. He knew who I was and he was disturbed because I had come back.

“It is very unorthodox to discuss my patients,” he said.

“But if they are dead it does not matter?”

“But since Miss Swartz died how can you possibly see her again? And it is no use going to visit the grandmother. I heard that she died too and the child was adopted by people who went out of the country.”

He was getting more and more involved and worried.

I went on: “If you could assure me that Gretchen Swartz actually died I should be satisfied.”

He sighed and hesitated. Then he went to the bell rope. A nurse appeared. He told her that he wanted a certain ledger.

While we were waiting for it to come he asked me what I had been doing in the last years. I said I had gone home to England; then I had had an opportunity to come out here and teach English.

“And it was then that you decided you would like to visit your child's grave?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Graves such as that of your child which are never attended are naturally hard to find. In the cemetery you will see many small mounds which are almost obliterated by time.”

The ledger was brought in. The date . . . He turned it up. “Ah yes, Gretchen Swartz died in childbirth. The baby was adopted.”

“Your ledger is wrong, Dr. Kleine,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Gretchen Swartz did not die.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I can be very sure. I have met her.”

“You have met her?”

“I have. She is now married to a Sergeant Franck and lives in Rochenberg.”

He swallowed; the silence seemed to go on for several seconds, he stammered: “That's impossible.”

I rose. “No,” I said. “It's true. I do wonder why you have recorded the death of Gretchen Swartz and the adoption of her child. What is your motive?”

“Motive? I don't understand. There may have been some mistake.”

“There
has
been some mistake,” I said. “Excuse me one moment. I have a friend whom I should like you to meet.”