The Wild Girl (38 page)

Cassel was on fire.

Her heart thumping, Dortchen shoved her feet into her slippers and dragged her shawl about her. She ran to pound on Old Marie’s door. ‘Fire!’ she cried. ‘Marie, the town’s on fire.’

‘Goodness gracious!’ came the housekeeper’s frightened voice. ‘Have we been attacked?’

Dortchen ran downstairs. Her father was already up, his frockcoat thrown over his striped nightgown, and his feet in slippers. He held a candle in one hand and his pistol in the other. The bells continued to ring the warning. Frau Wild called out plaintively from her bed, ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Oh, my nerves! I’m having a spasm.’

‘What’s happened?’ Mia cried, clutching at Dortchen. ‘Have the Russians attacked?’

‘I don’t know but there’s a fire,’ Dortchen replied. ‘A big one.’

Herr Wild caught up his pistol, stumped down the stairs and flung open the front door. His two youngest daughters ran after him. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted out into the square, where dark figures were hurrying about.

‘The Palais Bellevue is on fire,’ someone shouted back. Dortchen recognised Wilhelm’s voice. He came towards them, carrying a lantern. He had dressed hastily, his coat thrown over his shirt, which was unbuttoned at the throat; a long knitted scarf was knotted loosely about his throat in place of a cravat.

‘The palace is on fire? What is it?’ Herr Wild demanded. ‘An attack? Sabotage?’

‘I don’t know. It’s fierce, though, and spreading fast. My brother Jakob has gone to try to save the books – he’s the librarian there, you know. He sent word that we must be prepared – there are fears the whole town will burn. We’re filling buckets with water.’ Wilhelm nodded at the pump outside the inn.

A crowd of people was milling about the pump; many houses in the Marktgasse, including the Grimms’ apartment, did not have their own water supply.

Wilhelm saw Dortchen and his eyes widened in sudden admiration. She realised she was dressed only in a nightgown and shawl; the heavy mass of her hair was tumbling out of its plait.

Her father saw the look on Wilhelm’s face and pushed her back. ‘Get inside. Mia, you too.’

Just then there was a shout, and two soldiers rushed up, carrying a man on a makeshift litter. Their faces and hands were stained black with soot, and their clothes stank of smoke. ‘You must help us,’ one cried. ‘He’s badly hurt. A flaming beam fell on him.’

‘Who is it? Is it Jakob? The librarian at the palace?’ With terror in his voice, Wilhelm flung himself down on his knees beside the litter and raised his lantern so he could see the injured man’s face. It was not Jakob. The
stranger moaned and turned his blistered face away from the light, lifting hands that looked like black claws.

‘Bring him into the shop,’ Herr Wild commanded.

As the soldiers carried the litter into the hallway, both men had time to notice Dortchen, pressed back against the wall, clutching her shawl close. They flickered warm glances of appreciation over her figure and face.

‘Dortchen, get dressed,’ Herr Wild snapped. He flung open the door to the shop and led the soldiers in. Mia ran after them. As the door swung shut behind her, the hallway was left in darkness, the only light coming from the lantern in Wilhelm’s hand as he crouched outside the shop. ‘Thank God it’s not Jakob,’ he said.

He got up, staggering a little, one hand to his heart. Dortchen rushed to help him. He put one arm about her and she felt the burn of his touch. He felt it too, and flinched away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying not to look at her but unable to look away. His face was all shadows and golden planes.

‘You must get back inside,’ Dortchen said. ‘It’s freezing out here – you’ll get sick.’

‘I must make sure we have some water, in case the fire spreads.’

‘Hurry, then,’ she said. ‘If the queue for the pump is too long, send Lotte to our kitchen – she can fill her bucket there.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

They stood together on the doorstep, staring at each other. The air between them seemed to fizz and spark. Slowly, Wilhelm raised the lantern so he could see her face. Dortchen’s skin heated. ‘I did not know your hair was so long,’ he said.

Gently, he picked up the end of her plait, which formed a tiny curl. Her hair was a thick golden rope between them. He tugged on it ever so lightly, and she took a step towards him. Their eyes were steady on each other’s faces.

An explosion rent the air, and fiery sparks shot up over the rooftops and lit up the square. Dortchen remembered where she was, and how she was dressed, and pulled away. ‘I must go.’

‘Yes,’ he said, like a man awakening from a dream. He drew a deep breath and let the end of Dortchen’s braid go.

Dortchen stepped back inside the house, leaving the door open just a crack. She peeked through. Wilhelm was still standing on the doorstep. Their eyes met, and involuntarily each smiled. With her lips still curved, Dortchen shut the door.

She ran back up to her room, shivering violently from the cold, and hurriedly dressed in her oldest gown.

In the shop, her father was tending the injured soldier’s burns. Dortchen went to help him, silently preparing honey and healing herbs. Mia was rolling bandages swiftly, and Old Marie came in with cups of hot coffee. The two soldiers had gone back to fight the fire, which glared ever brighter through the shop windows.

‘What shall we do if the fire spreads to us?’ Mia cried.

‘Fight to save the house,’ Herr Wild replied, his gaze on the injured man. ‘It is all that I own. Without it, we’re destitute.’

The bells had not ceased their insistent clamour.

‘Fill the buckets,’ Herr Wild said. ‘And get all our spare blankets and dampen them down. Dortchen, go and calm the animals. They’ll be frightened by the smell of smoke.’

The sisters obeyed at once. As Dortchen hurried down the pathway, a lantern in her hand, she saw that the silvery mantle of frost on the garden was marred with black smuts. Trudi was restless in her stall, tossing her head and dancing about, trampling down her straw. The cow was mooing plaintively and the birds were awake and squawking.

Even with the smell of smoke thick in the air, and the air itself full of tiny black flakes, Dortchen smiled to herself as she went about her work.

Wilhelm wanted to kiss me.

By dawn, the danger had passed. The night had been so cold that the fiery sparks and embers had fallen onto frost and been extinguished. The Palais Bellevue was nothing but cinders and charred timbers. Jakob had managed to save most of the books, but now they sat piled in the courtyard, at the mercy of the weather.

‘It’s a symbol,’ Herr Wild said. ‘There’s no palace for the Kurfürst to
return to, no throneroom. Hessen-Cassel is gone. A thousand years of Hessian rule is over.’

The small family sat at the breakfast table, their bread tasting like ashes. Frau Wild drooped over her plate like a wilted flower. ‘I knew that comet was a bad omen,’ she said.

‘Perhaps the fire is what it foretold?’ Dortchen said, hoping to reassure her. ‘Maybe we’ve had the worst of it and our luck will now turn.’

But that night, as she knelt in her bed and looked out at the skyline, the comet was brighter than ever.

THE SINGING BONE

January 1812

After Christmas, Frau Wild and her two unmarried daughters travelled to Nentershausen to visit Hanne and her husband, Johann. Hanne was expecting another baby, and Frau Wild wanted to see her grandson, who was already seven months old and toddling everywhere.

One morning in mid-January, the sun came out and the sky was brilliantly blue. The snow was so white that it hurt the eyes, and the icicles hanging from the bare branches of the trees glittered like magical swords. Dortchen and Mia both wrapped up warmly and went out to walk in the garden. Both felt so light-hearted and free that they romped like children, making snowballs and flinging them at each other.

Then Dortchen saw a tall, dark figure walking towards them, muffled up in a dark coat and with a tall hat on his head. Something about the slightly stooped posture, and the way the walker looked about him with eager interest, made her stomach flip. Her hand flew to her mouth. Surely not … How could Wilhelm be here, so far from Cassel? Unable to help herself, Dortchen ran towards him, crying his name.

He smiled at her. ‘Good news,’ he cried. ‘My book is published! Look, here it is.’ He pulled out a small leather-bound book and opened it to the title page, his fingers clumsy in his thick gloves. Dortchen took it eagerly, examining the drawing of a knight and a musician,
surrounded by twining vines, birds, butterflies and a plump, smiling angel.

‘
Old Danish Epic Songs
,’ she read. ‘Translated by Wilhelm Grimm.’ She looked up at him in delight. ‘Wilhelm, that’s wonderful! A book – a real book!’

‘I know. I could not let myself believe it till the book actually arrived. I doubt it will make me much money. Who is interested in old Danish songs, apart from me? But at least it is something to show for all those months of hard work. There were times when I thought I’d be better going off and getting work as a stablehand or signing up as a soldier.’

‘No, no,’ Dortchen said, distressed at the idea. She cradled the little book as if it was the most precious treasure, then reluctantly passed it back to him. ‘Do you think … If they want your translations of old Danish songs, perhaps might they want your collection of old German stories?’

‘Oh, Dortchen, I hope so. Achim came to visit us for Christmas. He read our manuscript and loved it. He’s going to show it to his publisher!’

He held out both his hands to her; she took them and he swung her about. She laughed for joy.

‘We need more stories, though,’ he continued, ‘and who else should I come to for stories than the girl who knows them all?’

‘All this way? Wilhelm, you really came all this way, just for some more stories?’

‘I wanted to see you,’ he admitted. ‘And show you the book, of course. I knew
you’d
be happy for me.’

Dortchen blushed and smiled, then, realising he was still holding both her hands, drew them away gently. ‘You had best come in and have some coffee. You must be chilled to the bone. Come and see Hanne and meet her little boy. He’s a holy terror!’

‘Just like Hanne herself,’ Wilhelm responded, smiling. They walked together back towards the house, past a grinning Mia, who had been amusing herself by throwing snowballs at a tree. When Dortchen’s boot slipped on a patch of ice, Wilhelm’s hand shot out to steady her. Her heart sang with joy.

Hanne and Johann made Wilhelm welcome, although a quick, knowing glance passed between them. Frau Wild was troubled by his appearance and murmured a few incoherent phrases, which Dortchen hoped Wilhelm would not be able to decipher. They had coffee and strudel, and talked a great deal about his book and the fairy tale project. Wilhelm was both very hungry and very happy, and so the small, messy, crowded room rang with laughter and talk.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Wilhelm cried. ‘Achim and Bettina are to be married at last.’

‘She has decided to succumb to the evils of domesticity?’ Dortchen teased.

‘Achim has wanted to marry her as long as I have known him, but he could never persuade her that marriage is not a living death.’

Hanne snorted. ‘She could have asked me. I have never been happier.’

‘Ah, yes, but you were lucky to land a jewel of the first order,’ her husband said. ‘Once I was taken, what was this Bettina to do?’

Dortchen entertained them with a few of Bettina’s exploits, and Hanne and her husband laughed till they almost cried.

Baby Hans, meanwhile, had been cruising around the room from one piece of furniture to another, holding on with both hands, laughing happily as the adults laughed. Whenever the gap between the furniture was too large, he would drop down on all fours and crawl, before pulling himself up again. The skirts of his white dress and the heels of his hands were quite grubby, and he was dribbling profusely, but he was such a chubby, merry little fellow, with a crest of fluffy yellow hair and one charming, protruding tooth, that when he pulled himself up by Wilhelm’s trousers, Wilhelm smiled and picked him up, tossing him up in the air. Hans shrieked with laughter. ‘
Da-da-da-da
,’ he said.

Dortchen was struck with a piercing longing for a baby of her own, one with ruffled dark curls like Wilhelm’s.
He would be a wonderful father
, she thought.
He would not beat his children, or force them down to pray at his feet. He would play with them and sing them songs and tell them stories.
A vision rose up before her, of Wilhelm sitting by the fire with dark-haired,
dark-eyed children clustered about his knee, reading from a book, while she sat opposite, darning his stockings and smiling. It was such a potent vision that it blew all the laughter and chatter away from her, and she fell silent.

‘But you are here to listen to Dortchen’s stories,’ Hanne said, coming to whirl her son away from Wilhelm. ‘Why don’t you go out to the summer house? You can be quiet there. Mia can help me put this limb of Satan to bed.’