Kitabı oku: «Fickle Fortune», sayfa 4

CHAPTER IV

March and the greater part of April had gone by; snowstorms and sharp frosts were things of the past. Nevertheless, spring came but tardily. The country, which at this season of the year is usually decked in vernal bloom, looked bare and desolate. Warmth and sunshine were well-nigh unknown, and for weeks together the weather continued as ungenial as it well could be.

To all outward appearance, the hostile relations between Ettersberg and Brunneck remained unmodified. The lawsuit dragged its weary length along, both parties maintaining their original position, and no attempt at a compromise was, or seemed likely to be, made. The Countess furnished all instructions in her son's name, that young gentleman taking not the smallest interest in the affair; and the Councillor represented his daughter, a minor, who naturally could have no opinion in the matter.

It had been so from the beginning, therefore the delegation of authority was accepted as a thing of course.

But the principal persons concerned, the real opponents in this legal warfare, were by no means so passive as they appeared to be; and the parents, while pursuing their own determined course, upholding their 'principles' with the utmost persistency, little guessed what was preparing for them in secret.

Rüstow himself had been absent from Brunneck during the last few weeks. Some business connected with a great industrial enterprise of which he was one of the promoters had called him to the capital. His counsel and aid were needed and sought in high quarters; unlooked-for delays occurred, and his stay, which was to have been a short one, had extended over an entire month.

When Count Ettersberg, after an interval of a week, repeated his visit to Brunneck, he found the master of the house absent. Fräulein Hedwig and her aunt were at home, however, and Edmund naturally made the most of his opportunity and ingratiated himself with the two ladies. This second visit was promptly succeeded by a third and a fourth; and from this time forward, by some remarkable accident, it invariably happened that when the ladies drove out, took a walk, or paid a visit in the neighbourhood, the young Count would be found at the same hour on the same road. By this fortunate chance, greetings were frequently exchanged, and meetings of varying duration occurred. In short, the friendly intercourse proposed some time before was thriving and prospering exceedingly.

The Councillor knew nothing of all this. His daughter did not consider it necessary to mention the matter in her letters, and Edmund pursued the same tactics with regard to his mother. To his cousin he had, indeed, imparted with triumphant glee the fact of that first invasion of the enemy's camp; but as Oswald made some rather sharp observations on the subject, describing any intercourse with Brunneck during the progress of the lawsuit as improper in the highest degree, no further communications were vouchsafed him.

On a rather cool and cloudy morning towards the end of April, Count Edmund and Oswald sallied out into the woods together. The Ettersberg forests were of great extent, stretching away to, and partly clothing, the low chain of hills which acted as advanced sentinels to the mountain-range beyond. The two gentlemen bent their steps in the direction of the rising ground. They had evidently something more than a pleasant walk in view, for they carefully surveyed the trees and the land as they advanced, and Oswald frequently addressed his cousin in terms of urgent appeal.

'Now just look at these woods! It really is astounding to see how things have been mismanaged here during the last few years. Why, they have cut down half your timber for you. I cannot understand how you were not at once struck by the fact yourself. You have been riding about all over the place nearly every day.'

'Oh, I did not think about it,' said Edmund. 'But you are right, it does look rather queer. The steward declares, I believe, that he had no other way of covering the deficit in the receipts.'

'The steward declares just what seems good to him, and as he stands high in favour with your mother, she accepts it all and gives him full tether, allowing him to act as he sees fit.'

'I will talk to my mother about it,' declared the young Count. 'It would be a great deal better, though, if you would do it yourself. You can explain these matters much more clearly and cogently than I can.'

'You know that I never offer advice to your mother on any subject. She would consider it an unjustifiable piece of impertinence on my part, and would reject it accordingly.'

Edmund made no reply to this last observation, the truth of which he no doubt recognised.

'Are you of opinion that the steward is dealing unfairly by us?' he asked, after a short pause.

'Not that precisely, but I consider him to be incompetent, wholly unfitted for the position of trust he occupies. He has no initiative, no method or power of keeping things together. As it is with the forests, so is it with all under his rule. Each man on the place does what seemeth best in his own eyes. If matters are allowed to go on in this way, I tell you they will absolutely ruin your property. Look at Brunneck; see the order that reigns there. Councillor Rüstow draws as much from that one estate as you from the whole Ettersberg domain, though the resources here are incomparably greater. Hitherto you have had to confide in others. You have been absent for years, first at the University, then abroad; but now you are on the spot–you are here expressly to look after your property for yourself. Energetic measures must at once be taken.'

'Good heavens! what discoveries you have made during the six weeks we have spent at home!' said Edmund, in a tone of sincere admiration. 'If it is all as you say, I certainly shall have to take some steps; but I'll be hanged if I know how I ought to begin!'

'First of all, dismiss those employés who have proved themselves incapable; put men of more power and intelligence in their place. I almost fear that you will have to change the entire staff.'

'Not for the world! Why, that would give rise to perplexities and disagreeables without end. It is painful to me to see all new faces about me, and it would take months before they settled down into harness, and got used to their work. Meanwhile, all the burden would fall upon me. I should have to do everything myself.'

'That is what you are master for. You can at least command those beneath you.'

Edmund laughed.

'Ah, if I had your special liking and talent for command! In a month you would have metamorphosed Ettersberg, and in three years you would make of it a model establishment after the pattern of Brunneck. Now, if you were going to stay by me, Oswald, it would be different. I should have some one to back and support me then; but you are determined to go away in the autumn, and here shall I be all alone with unreliable or strange new servants to deal with. Pretty prospect, I must say! I have not formally taken possession yet, and the whole concern has become a worry to me already.'

'As Fate has willed that you should be heir to the estates, you must perforce bear the heavy burden laid upon you,' said Oswald sarcastically. 'But once more, Edmund, it is high time something should be done. Promise me that you will proceed to action without delay.'

'Certainly, certainly,' assented the young Count, who had visibly had enough of the subject. 'As soon as I can find time–just now I have so many other things to think of.'

'Things of more importance than the welfare of your estates?'

'Possibly. But I must be off now. Are you going straight back home?'

The question was a particularly pointed one. Oswald did not notice this; he had turned away in evident displeasure.

'Certainly. Are not you coming with me?'

'No, I am going over to the lodge. The forester has my Diana in training, and I must go over and have a look at her.'

'Must your visit be made now?' asked Oswald, in surprise. 'You know that the lawyer is coming over from town at twelve o'clock to-day, to hold a conference with you and your mother on the subject of the lawsuit, and that you have promised to be punctual?'

'Oh! I shall be back long before then,' said Edmund lightly. 'Good bye for the present, Oswald. Don't look so black at me. I give you my word that I will have a thorough good talk with the steward to-morrow, or the day after. Any way, I will have it out with him, you may depend upon it.'

So saying, he struck into a side-path, and soon disappeared among the trees.

Oswald looked after him with a frowning brow.

'Neither to-morrow, nor the next day, nor, in fact, ever, will a change be made. He has some fresh folly in his head, and Ettersberg may go to the dogs for anything he cares. But, after all'–and an expression of profound bitterness flitted like a spasm across the young man's face–'after all, what is it to me? I am but a stranger on this soil, and shall always remain so. If Edmund will not listen to reason, he must take the consequences. I will trouble myself no further about the matter.'

But this was more easily said than done; Oswald's gaze constantly wandered back to the mutilated forest, where such cruel gaps were to be seen. His anger and indignation at the senseless, purposeless work of devastation he beheld on all sides grew too strong to be subdued, and instead of returning home, as he had intended, he continued on his way uphill, to inspect the state of the woods on the higher ground. What he there saw was not of a consoling nature. Everywhere the axe had been at its work of destruction, and not until he reached the summit could a change be noted. Here, on the heights, began the Brunneck territory, where a different and a better order of things prevailed.

A wish to draw a comparison first drew Oswald on to the neighbour's land, but his anger swelled high within him as he paced on through the noble woods and carefully preserved plantations, with which, in their present maimed condition, the Ettersberg forests could certainly not compare. What a great work the energy and activity of one man had effected here at Brunneck, and how, on the other hand, had Ettersberg fallen! Since the old Count's death, the care of the estates had been left almost entirely in the hands of employés. The Countess, an exalted lady who from the day of her marriage had known nothing, seen nothing but wealth and splendour, considered it a matter of course that the administration of affairs should be conducted by subordinates, and that the family should be troubled on such subjects as little as possible. Moreover, the establishment was kept up on a costly footing; the sums for its maintenance had to be found, and, of course, the estates must be made to provide them–it signified little how. The Countess's brother, Edmund's guardian, lived in the capital. He filled a high office under the State, and was much taken up by the duties and claims of his position. He interfered but rarely; never except in special cases when his sister desired his counsel and assistance. Her husband's testamentary arrangements had vested all real authority in her. There would, of course, be an end to all this now that Edmund was of age; but proof had just been forthcoming of what might be expected from the young heir's energy and concern for the welfare of his estates. Oswald told himself, with bitter vexation of spirit, that he should see one of the finest properties of the country drift on to certain ruin, owing entirely to the heedlessness and indifference of its owner; and the thought was the more galling to him that he felt assured a swift and energetic course of action might still repair the mischief that had been done. There was yet time. Two short years hence it might possibly be too late.

Absorbed by these reflections, the young man had plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. Presently he stopped and looked at his watch. More than an hour had passed since he had parted with Edmund–the young Count must long ere this have turned his face homewards. Oswald determined that he also would go back, but for his return he chose another and a somewhat longer route. No duty called him home. His presence at the conference to be held that day was neither necessary nor desired. He was therefore free to extend his walk according to his fancy.

Those must have been singular meditations which occupied the young man's mind as he paced slowly on. The forests and the steward's mismanagement had long ago passed from his thoughts. It was some other hidden trouble which knit his brow with that menacing frown, and lent to his face that harsh, implacable expression–an expression that seemed to say he was ready to do battle with the whole world. Dark and troubled musings were they, revolving incessantly about one haunting subject from which he strove in vain to tear himself free, but which, nevertheless, held him more and more captive.

'I will not think of it any more,' he said at length, half aloud. 'It is always the same thing, always the old wretched suspicion which I cannot put from me. I have nothing–absolutely nothing to confirm it, or to base it upon, and yet it embitters my every hour, poisons every thought–away with it!'

He passed his hand across his brow, as though to scare away all tormenting fancies, and walked on more quickly along the road, which now took a sharp turn and suddenly emerged from the forest. Oswald stepped out on to an open hill-summit, but stopped suddenly, rooted to the ground in astonishment at the unlooked-for spectacle which presented itself.

Not twenty paces from him, on the grassy slope close to the border of the forest, a young lady was seated. She had taken off her hat, so a full view of her face could be obtained–and he who had once looked on that charming face, with its dark beaming eyes so full of light, could not readily forget it.

The young lady was Hedwig Rüstow, and close by her, in most suggestive proximity, lounged Count Edmund, who certainly could not have paid his visit to the forester in the interval. The two were engaged in an animated conversation, which did not, however, appear to turn on serious or very important topics. It was rather the old war of repartee which they had waged with so much satisfaction to themselves on the occasion of their first meeting, the same exchange of banter, of merry jests accompanied by gleeful laughter; but to-day their manner told of much familiarity. Presently Edmund took the hat from the girl's hand and threw it on to the grass; after which, lifting the little palms to his lips, he imprinted on them one fervid kiss after the other, Hedwig offering no opposition, but accepting it all as the most natural thing in the world.

For some moments the amazed spectator stood motionless, watching the pair. Then he turned and would have stepped back among the trees unnoticed, but a dry bough crackled beneath his feet and betrayed him.

Hedwig and Edmund looked up simultaneously, and the latter sprang quickly to his feet.

'Oswald!'

His cousin saw that a retreat was now impossible. He therefore reluctantly left his position and advanced towards the young people.

'So it is you, is it?' said Edmund, in a tone which vacillated between annoyance and embarrassment. 'Where do you come from?'

'From the woods,' was the laconic reply.

'I thought you said you were going straight home.'

'I thought you were going over to the forester's lodge, which lies in the opposite direction.'

The young Count bit his lips. He was, no doubt, conscious that he could not pass off this meeting as an accidental one. Moreover, those fervent kisses must have been witnessed–so he resolved to put as good a face upon it as possible.

'You know Fräulein Rüstow, having been present at our first meeting; I therefore need not introduce you,' he said lightly.

Oswald bowed to the young lady with all a stranger's frigid courtesy.

'I must apologize for intruding,' he said. 'The interruption was most involuntary on my part. I could have no idea that my cousin was here. Allow me to take my leave at once, Fräulein.'

Hedwig had risen in her turn. She evidently was more keenly alive to the awkwardness of the situation than Edmund, for her cheeks were suffused by a flaming blush, and her eyes sought the ground. Something, however, in the tone of this address, which, though polite, was icy in its reserve, struck her disagreeably, and she looked up. Her glance met Oswald's, and there must have been that in the expression of his face which wounded her and called her pride into arms; for suddenly the dark blue eyes kindled with indignant fire, and the voice, which so lately had rung out in merry jest and silver-clear laughter, shook with emotion and anger as she cried:

'Herr von Ettersberg, I beg of you to remain.'

Oswald, on the point of departure, halted. Hedwig went up to the young Count, and laid her hand on his.

'Edmund, you will not let your cousin go from us in this manner. You will give him the necessary explanation–immediately, on the spot. You must see that he–that he misunderstands.'

Oswald, involuntarily, had drawn back a step, as the familiar 'Edmund' met his ears. The Count himself seemed somewhat taken aback by the determined, almost authoritative tone which he now heard probably for the first time from those lips.

'Why, Hedwig, it was you yourself who imposed silence on me,' he said. 'Otherwise I should certainly not have kept the fact of our attachment secret from Oswald. You are right. We must take him into our confidence now. My severe Mentor is capable else of preaching us both a long sermon, setting forth our iniquity. We will therefore go through the introduction in due form. Oswald, you see before you my affianced wife and your future relation, whom I herewith commend to your cousinly esteem and affection.'

This introduction, though decidedly meant in earnest, was performed in the Count's old light, jesting tone; but the gay humour, which Hedwig was usually so prompt to echo, seemed to jar upon her now almost painfully. She stood quite silent by her lover's side, watching with strange intensity the new relative opposite, who was mute as herself.

'Well?' said Edmund, surprised and rather hurt at this silence. 'Have you no congratulations to offer us?'

'I must in the first place sue for pardon,' said Oswald, turning to the young girl. 'For such a piece of news, I certainly was not prepared.'

'That is entirely your own fault,' laughed Edmund. 'Why did you receive my communication so ungraciously when I told you about my first visit to Brunneck? There was every prospect for you then of filling the post of confidant. But I must say, Hedwig, we are not lucky as regards our rendezvous. This is the first time we have met alone, unsheltered by Aunt Lina's protecting wing–and behold, we are overtaken by this Cato! The philosopher's face is so eloquent of horror at witnessing an act of homage on my part that we are obliged at once to soothe him back into calm by notifying to him our engagement. You may recall your little pleasantry about the "intrusion," my dear fellow, and proceed to express–rather tardily–your wishes for our happiness.'

'I congratulate you,' said Oswald, taking his cousin's proffered hand; 'and you too, Fräulein.'

'How very monosyllabic! Can it be that we are to have a foe in you? That would be the drop too much. It will be quite enough for us to meet the opposition which our beloved parents will in all probability offer to our plans. We shall be between two fires, and I hope, at least, to be able to count on you as an ally.'

'You are aware that I have no influence with my aunt,' said Oswald quietly. 'In that quarter you must trust to your own powers of persuasion alone. But precisely for this reason you should avoid giving your mother any extra cause for offence, and offend her you certainly will, if you are not present at to-day's conference. Your lawyer must be waiting at Ettersberg at the present moment, and you have a good hour's walk before you. Excuse me, Fräulein, but I am forced to remind my cousin of a duty which he appears to have entirely lost sight of.'

'Is there a conference at the castle to-day?' asked Hedwig, who had remained wonderfully quiet during the last few minutes.

'Yes, about the Dornau business,' said Edmund, laughing. 'We are still at open feud–irreconcilable enemies, you know. In your company I had certainly forgotten all about lawsuits and appointments. It is fortunate that Oswald has reminded me of them. I must perforce be present to-day, and concoct plans with my mother and the lawyer for snatching Dornau from the enemy. They little dream that we settled the matter in dispute long ago by the unusual, but highly practical, compromise of a betrothal.'

'And when will they hear this?' inquired Oswald.

'As soon as I know how Hedwig's father takes the affair. He came back yesterday, and that is why we wanted some quiet talk together, to draw up the plan of the campaign. Ettersberg and Brunneck will thrill with horror at the news, no doubt, and do the Montague and Capulet business yet a little longer; but we shall take care there is no tragic ending to the drama. It will wind up to the tune of wedding-bells.'

He spoke with such gay confidence, and the smile with which Hedwig answered him was so superb and assured of victory, that it was evident the parents' opposition was not looked upon by the young people as a real obstacle, likely to involve any serious conflict. They were fully conscious of their power and influence where father and mother were concerned.

'But now I really must go home,' cried Edmund, making a start. 'It is true that I should not rouse my lady-mother's displeasure just now, and nothing displeases her more than to be kept waiting. Excuse me, Hedwig, if I leave you here. Oswald will replace me, and will accompany you back through the wood. As you are so soon to be related, you must become better acquainted with him. He is not always so taciturn as he appears at a first meeting. Oswald, I solemnly entrust my affianced wife to your protection and knightly conduct. So farewell, my charming Hedwig!'

He carried the girl's hand tenderly to his lips, waved an adieu to his cousin, and hurried away.

The two who were left were, it seemed, not agreeably surprised by the Count's sudden arrangement. They certainly did not fall into the tone of cousinly familiarity so promptly as he had wished. A cloud rested on the young girl's brow, and Oswald's manner showed as yet little of the chivalrous gallantry which had been enjoined upon him. At length he spoke:

'My cousin has kept his acquaintance with you so secret, that the disclosure he has just made took me altogether by surprise.'

'You made that sufficiently evident, Herr von Ettersberg,' replied Hedwig. It was strange how lofty and decided a tone she could adopt when really serious and in earnest.

Oswald approached slowly. 'You are offended Fräulein, and justly offended, but the greater blame rests with Edmund. He ought never to have exposed his betrothed, his future wife, to such misconceptions as that of which I was guilty.'

At this allusion a crimson flush again mounted to Hedwig's cheek.

'The reproach you address in words to Edmund is in reality aimed at me, for I was a consenting party. My imprudence was only made manifest to me just now by your look and tone.'

'I have already apologized, and now once more I pray to be forgiven,' said Oswald earnestly. 'But ask yourself, Fräulein, what a stranger, to whom a frank, straightforward explanation could not have been given, would have thought of this meeting? I say again, my cousin should not have induced you to agree to it.'

'Edmund always speaks of you as his Mentor,' exclaimed Hedwig, with unmistakable annoyance. 'It seems that, as I am engaged to be married to him, I also am to enjoy the privilege of being … educated by you.'

'I merely wished to warn, and by no means to offend you. It is for you to judge in what spirit you should take the warning.'

She made no reply. The grave earnestness of his words was not without effect upon her, though it did not altogether calm her ruffled spirit.

Hedwig picked up her hat, which lay neglected on the ground, and sat down in her former place to rearrange the crushed flowers. The fresh and dainty spring headgear had suffered a little from its contact with the grass, still damp with mist and rime; such a hat was, indeed, hardly suited to the inclement April day. Spring comes tardily among the mountains, and this year especially she showed no smiling countenance. Her advent was heralded by rain and tempest. To frosty nights succeeded days of mist, through which the pale sunshine gleamed but fitfully.

On this day the sky was as usual shrouded in masses of gray cloud. A wall of fog shut out the distant horizon, and the air was close and laden with moisture. The woods were still bare and leafless; in the undergrowth alone signs of the first tender green could be seen sprouting timidly forth. Each leaflet, each bud, had to struggle for existence, with difficulty holding its own in that raw, keen temperature. The scene altogether was cheerless and desolate.

Oswald made no attempt to renew the conversation, and Hedwig, for her part, showed but little inclination to pursue it. After a while, however, the silence became oppressive to her, and she ventured the first remark that suggested itself.

'What a miserable April! Anyone would think we were in cold, foggy autumn, with winter closing in upon us. We are to be cheated this year of all our spring delights.'

'Are you so fond of spring?' asked Oswald.

'I should like to know who is not fond of it? When one is young, flowers and sunshine seem necessary as the air we breathe. One cannot do without them. But perhaps you are of a different opinion.'

'It all depends. Flowers and sunshine do not come with every spring; nor are they given to everyone in their youth.'

'Were they not given to you?'

'No.'

The negative was very harsh and decided. Hedwig glanced up at the speaker; it occurred to her, perhaps, that he was austere and undelightful as the spring day which excited her displeasure. What a contrast was there between this conversation and the sparkling, playful babble in which the young engaged pair had so recently indulged here, on the self-same spot! Even the 'plan of campaign' to be undertaken against their parents had been sketched out in a spirit of drollery, amid endless pleasantries, and any lurking anxiety as to the issue had been chased away by jests and laughter. But now, with Oswald von Ettersberg standing before her in his cold unyielding attitude, not only all the merriment, but all desire for it, had vanished as by enchantment. This solemn strain of talk seemed to come as a matter of course, and the young girl even experienced a certain attraction in it and desire to pursue it.

'You lost your parents early? Edmund has told me so; but at Ettersberg you found a second home and a second mother.'

The stern, aggressive look, which for a while had disappeared, showed itself again in the young man's face, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

'You mean my aunt, the Countess?'

'Yes. Has she not been a mother to you?' Again there came that slight spasmodic working about the corners of the mouth, which was anything rather than a smile, but his voice was perfectly calm, as he replied:

'Oh, certainly. Still, there is a difference between being the only child of the house–beloved as you and Edmund have been–and a stranger admitted by favour.'

'Edmund looks on you exactly as a brother,' interrupted the young girl. 'It is a great grief to him that you are meaning to leave him so soon.'

'Edmund appears to have been very communicative with regard to me,' said Oswald coldly. 'So he has told you of that already, has he?'

Hedwig flushed a little at this remark.

'It is natural, I think, that he should make me acquainted with the affairs of the family I am likely to enter. He mentioned this fact to me, lamenting that all his efforts to induce you to remain at Ettersberg had failed.'

'To remain at Ettersberg?' repeated Oswald, with unfeigned astonishment. 'My cousin could not possibly have been in earnest. In what capacity would he have me remain there?'

'In your present capacity of a friend and near relation, I suppose.'

The young man smiled bitterly.

'Fräulein, you have probably no idea of the position occupied by so superfluous a member of a family, or you would not expect me to hold out in it longer than necessity compels. There may be men who, accepting the convenient and pleasant side of such a life, could shut their eyes to its true significance; I have been absolutely unable to do so. Truly, it never was my intention to remain at Ettersberg and now I would not stay, no, not for the whole world!'

He spoke the last words with fire. His eyes kindled with a strange lightning-like gleam, of which one would not have supposed those cold orbs capable. It flashed on the young girl and was gone, and who should determine the true meaning of it?

To Hedwig, accustomed to read in other glances a tender homage and admiration, which this certainly did not convey, the look remained problematical.

'Why not now?' she asked in surprise. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing! I was alluding to family affairs which are unknown to you as yet.'

Evidently he repented his hasty error; as though in anger at himself, he fiercely snapped to pieces a branch which he had torn from a neighbouring bush.

Hedwig was silent, but the explanation did not suffice her. She felt there must have been other grounds for the sudden vehemence and bitter emphasis with which he had spoken those words. Was it the thought of her entering the family which had roused him thus? Did this new relation intend to take up a hostile attitude towards her from the very first? And what did that strange, that enigmatic glance portend? She sat thinking over all this, while Oswald, who had turned away, looked persistently over in the opposite direction.