Eline Vere (31 page)

She was loath to admit it, but she did not care for Eline. A large, sensible woman and a good mother, Truus ruled over her small empire with firmness and gentle determination, making her
will pass as law, and was consequently accustomed to speaking her mind. Now, however, she had restrained herself, for she had noticed how touched her mother-in-law was by Eline's attentions and displays of affection towards her; she did not wish to disappoint the old lady, who had evidently taken Eline to her heart as her son's bride-to-be. Nonetheless, Truus couldn't help feeling that Eline looked slightly out of place in their rural family setting, there was a certain artificiality about her, something that didn't quite ring true. She was not to know that Eline was in fact feeling more herself than ever, that she felt happy in the bosom of the Van Erlevoort family, and that staying at De Horze had sharpened her faculties. All Truus could see was an over-civilised, pampered society girl affecting to love the simple life in the country, and this irked her, as did the large blue bow on Eline's dress of smooth, pale-blue lawn.

Catherine Howard was all indignation. Eline would be a lovely sister-in-law, she maintained, and launched into such high praise of Eline that Madame van Erlevoort's face was soon wreathed in smiles once more.

‘No, really, Truus, I don't understand your reservations. I admire Eline, especially for the way she has made herself at home with us all. I can assure you that when I first arrived in London with Howard to meet his family I felt very awkward, even though they extended me the most cordial welcome you can imagine. As for Eline – good heavens! I feel as if I have known her all my life, she is such agreeable company, so accommodating, I can't imagine anyone easier to get along with. Truly, I can't understand what makes you think she might not fit in. It's not very charitable of you to think it, either.'

Truus gave a light laugh and excused herself as best she could, and as the maid had come in to clear the table, her mother-in-law, Mathilda and Catherine went out to the veranda to sit in the shade, while she herself remained invisible for the rest of the morning, absorbed in her domestic duties.

. . .

The covered wagon had long since departed. Theodore, Howard, Etienne and Cor walked in front, followed by Otto and Eline, who had opened her large lace parasol.

The men conversed in a mixture of English and Dutch; Howard claimed to understand the latter and was able to speak two or three words, while Theodore kept wavering in his English discourse on the subject of tenants and farming. Some farmhands in their Sunday suits passed by with a respectful greeting. The sun-baked road ran between russet-gold fields of rye and oats; there was not a breath of wind. Beyond, white on pink, gleamed the flowering buckwheat. On the horizon stood a farmhouse near some trees, with a faint plume of grey smoke rising up into the bright blue sky.

‘I expect you feel yourself quite the king of the castle here,' said Howard.

‘Oh, no,' replied Theodore. ‘I feel more like a farmer than a king, to be honest. But if you turn round a moment you'll have a fine view of my castle.'

They all paused to look. Through a break in the trees De Horze could be seen in the distance, white as chalk, with its dainty shutters, its white, pointed turrets jutting into the blue and the wide verandas festooned with Virginia creeper. The pond glittered like an oval mirror in the midst of the fresh greensward, which was speckled with white doves.

‘What a delightful view,' enthused Eline. ‘Oh look, there are people waving at us!'

‘Grandma and the aunts, I suppose,' said Cor.

In the shade of one of the verandas they could make out the flutter of several white handkerchiefs, and they waved back, while Etienne shouted Hurrah at the top of his voice.

‘Well, so much for the fine view,' said Theodore. ‘Time to move on, or we'll never get to the Big Tree.'

Eline spoke English quite fluently, and Howard enjoyed talking with her. He drew her into an animated conversation while she strolled arm in arm with Otto, who was holding her parasol. She was struck by how easy it was for her to engage the sympathy of men, while women only seemed to like her if she made a conscious effort to make herself agreeable to them.

While she was conversing it flashed through her mind that Madame van Erlevoort only liked her because of Otto, and Catherine only because she was friendly by nature. Their feelings did not run deep, she could tell, but on the other hand, how different it was with old Madame van Raat, with dear Cateau, and now with little Tina as well. She smiled and leant closer to Otto; what did she care about the others? She had him now, and his love was all she needed.

It was close to an hour's walk to the Big Tree. Leaving the golden cornfields behind, they took the lane along a stretch of heath flushed pink with Erica, then entered the deep shade of a grove of densely columned pine trees, redolent with the pungent odour of resin.

The lane curved, and a huddle of houses came into view. It was the village likewise known as De Horze, which boasted a bakery, a vicarage, an inn with stables and a modest church in the centre. Eline looked about her with bemusement, declaring that she did not see any village.

‘But that's it – right there!' said Otto.

‘What? Those cottages?' gasped Eline.

They all laughed, including Howard, and Etienne asked Eline if she had been expecting to see something along the lines of Nice or Biarritz.

‘Or were you were thinking of somewhere like Scheveningen, with the Kurhaus?' he quipped. ‘I say, Elly, can you tell the difference between rye and oats yet?'

‘No, not quite. I know what buckwheat looks like, and I know flax when I see it – very pale yellow, dotted with wild flowers – and I know potatoes,' said Eline, counting the crops on her graceful fingers. ‘But I don't know anything about rye or oats or barley. So you can stop quizzing me, Etienne! But Theodore, are you telling me you are lord and master of all this?'

She laughed beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. There were chuckles all round at Eline's ignorance, although a look of dismay flitted across Theodore's features. Eline immediately regretted having laughed, for she did not wish to give offence, and quickly added that De Horze was a truly delightful place with the most picturesque views.

‘And the Big Tree?' she asked. ‘Where is the Big Tree?'

They crossed the village, scattering chickens as they went. The blacksmith and some farmers doffed their caps to the landlord as they stood by the wayside, grinning and ogling the strangers in his company. Then they had to walk across a meadow and Theodore called to a young farmhand to keep the cow tethered, as Eline was clearly afraid of the massive beast with its bulging eyes and chewing, drooling maw.

When Etienne and Cor began to make mournful mooing noises at the cow, Eline became nervous and begged them to stop.

‘Serves you right for making fun of De Horze, Eline!' boomed Theodore, but the veiled look she gave him so beguiled him that he hastened to add that Etienne and Cor should stop teasing. At the far end of the meadow stood the Big Tree, an oak with a colossal trunk and a mighty crown. Frédérique, Marianne, Henrietta and the children had already settled themselves between the spreading roots at the base, and raised a cheer when the walking party arrived. They clamoured for Howard and Eline to say what they thought of the Big Tree. Eline, looking very serious, complied by pronouncing it immense and prodigious, but Theodore noticed the twinkle in her eye as she said this, and wagged his finger at her accusingly until she pealed with laughter, especially when Howard solemnly concluded:

‘A big tree, indeed! I never saw one quite so big. How interesting!'

‘You wait! I'll catch you!' cried Theodore, and ran after Eline, who fled shrieking until she collapsed on the grass with her arms outstretched.

‘Theodore, stop it! I shall call Otto!'

‘I'll teach you, you wicked girl! Call Otto if you like! I'll teach you!' and he seized her wrists and shook her arms with mock force, while she pretended to be in abominable pain. Finally he helped her to her feet, and she, still giggling, promised to better her ways and show more respect for nature.

The youngsters and their English uncle were holding hands to form a ring around the tree.

‘It's quite ridiculous of Theodore to make such a fuss of Eline,' Frédérique muttered to herself, but Etienne overheard.

‘How tiresome you've become lately!' he exclaimed. ‘You can't even enjoy a joke any more!'

. . .

Nearby the small church was a pine grove, where Eline reclined on a bank smooth with fallen needles, propping up her head with her hand. Otto sat beside her. They could hear the creak of the rope pulling on the headstock before each slow clang of the bell. It was time for church. Some country folk in glossy broadcloth and shiny silk aprons passed by on the road, prayer book in hand, and Eline and Otto, themselves scarcely visible among the trees, followed them with their eyes. The scattered church goers were few in number, and after a few latecomers hurried by a Sunday hush descended on the countryside. All was still save for the distant bleating of a goat.

It was true: Eline had imagined De Horze far grander and more luxurious than it had turned out to be, and the simplicity of life on the estate made her smile when she thought back on Ouida's English castles with their complement of dukes and princes, and how, during her vigils at Aunt Vere's sickbed, she had dreamt of inhabiting such a castle herself. Compared with the past splendours of that fictional aristocracy, the living conditions of these well-to-do but necessarily frugal members of an ancient house were positively austere. Yet she would not have exchanged her present circumstances for anything, and with a smile she told Otto about how enchanted she had once been by Ouida's novels and her English castles, but that she would now give preference to De Horze, just as she preferred him, her poor country squire, to some fantasy Scottish laird with an immense fortune and a name like Erceldoune or Strathmore.

Yes, Eline felt her heart swell with happiness as she sat in that quiet glade beneath the pine trees, with Otto's voice, deep and full, sounding in her ears. He told her he could scarcely believe that she was his, his alone, and that they would indeed be united for ever. He told her she had only one fault, which was that she did not know herself as he knew her. He knew her as she really was:
she had untold treasures hidden within her character, and it would be his privilege to attempt to bring them to light. In the fullness of her joy she became candid, even towards herself, more than she had ever been before, and her voice was tinged with regret as she replied that he would yet, when he knew her better, discover in her much that was bad. No, no, truly, he didn't not know her as well as he thought. There was so much going on in one's heart that one got muddled at times – she did anyway – and she had to confess that her thoughts were not always of the best, neither was she always as even-tempered as she pretended to be whenever he saw her; and she could be peevish at times, without reason, or nervous, or in low spirits, but for his sake – he was such an idealist! – she would certainly endeavour to live up to the image he had formed of her. She felt pure and good making this admission, assured that she could freely reveal to him thoughts she that she scarcely dared admit to herself. Gone was the fear of losing him through some careless word; she could now see so clearly how much he loved her, and that he loved her all the more for speaking of her feelings in that frank, unguarded way. He was like the personification of her conscience, someone in whom she could confide every secret a girl might harbour. And the more she deprecated herself in such moments of sincerity and truth, the more he worshipped her, and the more he believed he could plumb the mysteries of her soul beneath that beautiful exterior.

They listened to the hymns of the peasantry drifting from the church like a soft current of simple piety, and in the tranquillity of the moment it seemed to them that the rustic voices were steeped in poetry, a poetry that mingled with the darkling boughs above, with the aroma of pine needles, with the love in their hearts. Eline was so affected with emotion that she raised herself up a little, the better to rest her head against his chest; she could not resist twining her arms about his neck, too, and all at once, feeling herself so close to him, with her bosom pressed to his heart, she was shaken by a sob.

‘Goodness! Eline, whatever is the matter?' he asked gently.

‘Nothing!' she replied, breathless with exaltation. ‘Nothing, don't mind me – it's just that I feel so – so very happy!'

And she wept in his embrace.

. . .

It was early-to-rise and early-to-bed at the country house, and the days flew by. The weather was splendid, and most of the time was spent in the fresh air, especially by the children, who only came indoors at mealtimes or to shelter from a rare shower. With their faces and hands as brown as berries from the sun, the youngsters – the Van Rijssel foursome, the two boys, Willy and Gustaaf, and Edmée and Kitty Howard – resembled a band of little Negroes cavorting on the lawns and by the pond amid the flutter of startled doves. Often they would be pursued by any one of the three nursemaids: Truus' governess, Catherine's English nanny and Nurse Frantzen, the latter being in a state of constant anxiety about the danger of Nico falling into the pond. The youngsters inspected the aviary and the stables, they befriended the head gardener and his men, as well as the coachman and his stable boy, fed the birds and the hens and the ducks, they went swimming and took turns riding Theodore's unsaddled horse under the watchful guidance of the good-natured stable boy. They also peered in the windows of the gym-room to watch the men exercise, finding Theodore impressively muscular and Howard more lithe and supple, while Etienne made a show of swinging wildly on the rings and vaulting over the horse. Most of all, however, the children were in awe of Cor, who wore a rather conceited expression while effortlessly performing the most audacious turns on the rings with his strong, sinewy limbs. After coffee the boys played cricket with Howard, or they joined the girls at a game of lawn-tennis in the shade of the lofty trees in the park, or lounged under a tree with a book, or simply did nothing but lie back and daydream with their hands folded beneath their heads. After supper they went for walks or took turns in the small boat to float about the pond until darkness fell, and it would be ten o'clock before they knew it.