III
“There they go,” said the people in the village, watching the two “Berlin detectives.” “What fools they must think us to believe they’re farmers!—Did you see the hands of the young one, Dad? He’s never handled a pitchfork in his life!—But yesterday he shoveled away with the rest!—Oh, that’s just eyewash! They’ve already put little Meier away. They say he was taken straight to Meienburg!—Then why are they still here?—Don’t you know who’s the next one?—The next is the Rittmeister.—The Rittmeister! You’re crazy! The next one is Forester Kniebusch.— No, it’s the Rittmeister, I tell you—they’re expecting another
“There they go!” said Amanda Backs, and watched the two of them go. But they hadn’t seen her. “What do you think of them, Minna?”
“That I can’t say, Amanda,” said Minna cautiously. “But the big fellow knows everything about tidying-up. When he makes a bed you feel like rolling into it straight away.”
“And the young one?”
“Of course you only see the young one, Amanda,” said Black Minna with a pious roll of her eyes. “Don’t you think of your Meier anymore? After you stood up for him in the evening service, Amanda, and pointed to me with your finger. After all, the detective stole him from you.”
“Yes, thank God he did!” But Amanda sounded very gloomy. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
Minna was suddenly vexed. “What should I be doing? I’ve got to go to my kids. They’re certain to be up to some mischief now that I’m away half the day with the cleaning in the staff-house.”
“You ought to be glad you’ve got your kids. Sometimes I think it would have been better for me if I’d had one from him.”
Minna became indignant. “Lord, how can you say that, Amanda, you an unmarried girl! And you’ve already got your eye on another fellow, too. I can understand people sinning, but one’s got to repent of sins, Amanda.”
“Oh, stop your drivel,” said Amanda, angrily going off to the forest, as Minna observed with profound satisfaction.
“There they go,” said Jutta von Kuckhoff to her friend Belinde von Teschow. “Herr von Teschow speaks badly of them—but I do think the older one looks really distinguished. What sort of nobility are the Studmanns—old or new? Do you know, Belinde?”
Frau von Teschow peered eagerly out of the window after the disappearing figures. “They’re carrying bundles under their arms—yes, bathing suits. They had no time for divine service this morning, but for bathing they have time. And you say he’s distinguished, Jutta!”
“You are right, Belinde. It must be very new nobility; our ancestors certainly never bathed. I once saw an old wash-basin at the Quitzows’ in Castle Friesack—the sort of thing you nowadays put in the cage for your canary.”
“Horst-Heinz says he can revoke the lease at once; there isn’t a single farmer on the farm now!”
“I suppose he wants to have little Meier back, does he? The rings round Amanda’s eyes are getting darker and darker.”
“There she goes—the same way!”
“Who?”
“Amanda! But if anything starts again now—efficient or not—she’ll have to go.”
“And what’s this about Fraulein Kowalewski?” asked Fraulein von Kuckhoff dreamily. “Wherever there’s a carcass, the flies gather!”
“They’re said to have traveled in the same compartment,” replied Frau Belinde eagerly. “And even if she did sit on the box with the coachman afterwards, they’re said to have spoken to each other quite intimately. And, up until the day before, the Kowalewski parents didn’t know of her visit. Suddenly a telegram arrived, and—Jutta—my son-in-law was already in town when it was sent off.”
“They say she’s dressed like a cocotte. Her brassiere is all lace.…”
“Brassiere! Please don’t say that indecent word, Jutta. When I was young, girls like that wore drill corsets with alternate stays of whalebone and steel—that was like armor, Jutta. Armor is moral, but lace is immoral.”
“There they go,” said the Rittmeister, having coffee on the veranda with his wife and daughter. “They look good. Quite different from that monster Meier.”
“They’re going bathing,” said Frau von Prackwitz.
“They’ll be back in time for the foddering,” said the Rittmeister. “Studmann is punctuality and reliability itself.”
“Oh, Mamma!” cried Vi.
“Well,” asked Frau von Prackwitz very coldly, “do you want anything, Violet?”
“I was just thinking.… I’d also have liked to go bathing.”
“You know, Violet, I have forbidden you to go out until you tell Papa and myself who the strange man was with whom you crossed the yard at night.”
“But, Mamma,” cried Vi, almost weeping. “I’ve already told you a hundred times that it wasn’t a strange man. It was Kniebusch! Rader also told you that!”
“You are lying, and Rader is lying, too. You are not going out of the house until you’ve told me the truth, and the good Hubert can expect sudden dismissal if he goes on telling lies. It’s shameful of you both to lie to me in this way.” Frau von Prackwitz looked very angry. Her ample bosom heaved hastily. Sharp, angry looks shot from her eyes.
“But if it really was the forester, Mamma—really and truly!—I can’t lie to you that it was someone else. Who else could it have been?”
“This is impudence!” cried Frau von Prackwitz breathlessly, trembling with rage. She controlled herself, however. “You are to go up to your room, Violet, and write out yesterday’s French lesson ten times, and without a mistake.”
“Even if I write it out a hundred times, Mamma,” said Vi, white with rage, “it
The door slammed: she was gone.
The Rittmeister had listened to this dispute in silence. Only by the twitching of his face had he indicated how painful it was to him. A quarrel between others he always found distressing. But he knew from experience that his wife, on the rare occasions when she was angry, had to be handled with extreme care. “Aren’t you being a little hard on Vi?” he therefore asked cautiously. “It might really have been the forester. Hartig is just a gossip.…”
“It wasn’t the forester. He says so now, but he can’t tell me why they went into the staff-house instead of the forest.”
“Hubert says they went to see whether there were any more cartridges for Vi.”
“Nonsense! You must excuse me, Achim, but don’t let those two make a fool of you. Rader knows as well as Vi that the cartridges are in your rifle cupboard.”
“They say they didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Disturb me! My light was on till after twelve—and Vi’s never yet been considerate. If she’s got a pimple on her neck she wakes me up at two in the night to have it rubbed with ointment.… All stupid lies!”
“But really, Eva, who could it have been, then? A stranger whom Hartig doesn’t know? And going with Vi at night to the staff-house?”
“That’s the worst of it, Achim: that’s why I can’t sleep. If it had been some young fellow from the district, someone we know, a farmer’s son or something like that—he would never be dangerous for her. A harmless flirtation which we could put an end to at once.… But it’s a stranger, a man of whom we haven’t the faintest inkling. She went with him to the staff-house; she was alone with him during the night. For Rader was in bed. That’s not a lie. Armgard confirms it, and she’d never lie for Hubert.”
“You really think, then, that something could have happened? I’d kill the fellow.”
“Yes, but you don’t know who it is. Who can it be, for all of them to be afraid to speak about him—to lie so desperately? The forester, Amanda Backs, Rader—and Vi! I can’t imagine.”
“But, Eva, I’m convinced you are worrying yourself like this for nothing. Vi’s still a mere child.”
“That’s what I also thought, Achim—but my eyes have been opened. She’s no longer a child, but she pretends to be one, very impudently, and a child who knows all about things.”
