On the second such occasion, a cool wind was blowing and Wayness went out with a robe, but the Countess rejected it with a wave of the hand.
At last, in the dying twilight, Countess Ottilie stared at the cards, whether in triumph or defeat Wayness could not be sure. The Countess heaved herself to her feet the keys fell jingling to the grass. The Countess was moving away and noticed nothing. Wayness picked the keys and tucked them into the pocket in her skirt. Then she gathered cards, robe and followed the Countess across the lawn.
Countess Ottilie did not go directly to the castle, but off a slant toward the foot of North Tower, Wayness followed ten paces to the rear. The Countess paid her no heed.
Twilight had fallen over the landscape, and a cool breeze was blowing through the ancient pines which grew on the hills. Countess Ottilie’s destination became clear: the little cemetery beside the North Tower. She entered through a gap in the yew hedge and wandered among the graves, stopping now and again to utter chirrups and little calls of encouragement. Wayness, waiting outside the hedge, heard her voice: “It has been long, ah how long! But do not despair, my good Snoyard; your loyalty and trust shall be rewarded! And you, Peppin, no less! How you used to romp! And dear little Corly, whose muzzle was so soft! I grieve for you every day! But we shall all meet again, on some happy day! Myrdal, do not whimper all graves are dark…”
In the gloom behind the yew hedge Wayness bestirred herself; it was as if she were involved in a queer dream. She turned and ran through the dusk, one hand pressed against the keys to keep them secure. She halted by the terrace and stood waiting.
A few minutes later she saw the pale form of the Countess approaching, moving slowly and leaning on her cane. Wayness waited silently. The Countess passed as if she were invisible and, crossing the terrace, entered the library, with Wayness coming after.
The evening went by slowly. While the Countess dined, Wayness furtively examined the keys, and found to her satisfaction that each was tagged with a label. There it was: ‘Study': the key she had wanted so long and so badly! After a moment's thought she went to the scullery where a few tools and oddments were kept on a workbench and where she previously had noticed a box of old keys. Sorting through the box she found a key of the same general type as the key to the study, and tucked it into her pocket.
A shadow in the doorway! Wayness turned about startled. It was Baro, the new footman: a stalwart young man, black-haired, with expressive hazel eyes and features of perfect regularity. He carried himself with assurance, and spoke with an easy flow of inconsequential language. Wayness, while conceding Baro to be an exceedingly handsome young man, thought him vain and glib, and kept her distance from him — a tendency which Baro instantly noted and interpreted as a challenge. Thenceforth, he began to make easy casual advances toward her, which Wayness as easily and casually avoided. It was now Baro who stood behind her. He spoke, “Mayra: princess of all that is delightful, why are you skulking in the scullery?”
Wayness restrained the first tart response which came to her tongue, and said only: “I was looking for a bit of string.”
“Here it is,” said Baro. “Right here on the shelf. “Reaching past her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned his body against hers, so that she felt his animal warmth. He wore, so she noticed, a pleasant fresh scent, mingled of fern, violet and odd off-world essences.
“You smell nice, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” said Wayness. She ducked under his arm, sidled past his body and gained the freedom of the pantry and then the kitchen beyond. Behind came Baro, smiling a vague bland smile. Wayness went to sit in the servant's lounge, annoyed and disturbed. Contact with Baro's body had aroused a response in her, and had also sent tingles of fear and revulsion racing along the fibers of her subconscious. Baro entered the room. Wayness became wary, and picked up a journal. Baro came to sit beside her. Wayness paid him no heed.
Baro spoke in a soft voice: 'Do you like me?”
Wayness turned him a dispassionate glance. She delayed several seconds before answering. “I haven’t given the matter any thought, Mr. Baro. I doubt if I will.'
“Poof,” said Baro, as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus. “My word, but you are a cool one!”
Wayness, turning the pages of the journal, made no response.
Baro uttered his easy laugh. “If you relaxed just a bit, you might find that I was not such a bad fellow after all.'
Wayness gave him another expressionless glance, laid the journal aside and, rising to her feet, went to sit with Madame Lenk, only to be summoned by a tone from her wristband. 'Off you go,' said Madame Lenk. “It is time for the ball game… Hoy! Listen to the rain! I must send Lenk to foster the fire.”
The Countess had gone into the library, along with her dogs. Outside the windows rain thrashed down upon the terrace and across the lawn, where it could occasionally be glimpsed in the instantaneous blue illumination of lightning bolts.
The ball game was played by the Countess, who hurled the ball; the eight dogs, who bounded after it, snapping and snarling at each other, and Wayness, who must pull the ball from the jaws of the animal which had gained possession and return the wet ball to the Countess.
After ten minutes the Countess tired of the game but insisted that Wayness continue to play it in her stead.
At last the Countess’ attention wandered and she began to doze. Wayness, standing behind her chair took occasion to detach the key to the study from the key ring, and replace it with the key she had taken from the box in the scullery, switching the label as well. She hid the key ring in the soil of a potted plant to the side of the room, and went to fetch Countess Ottilie’s nighttime potion from the kitchen: an unpleasant concoction of raw egg, buttermilk and cherry cordial, mixed with a packet of therapeutic powders.
Countess Ottilie awoke from her nap in a querulous mood. She scowled at Wayness. Where have you been? You must not leave me so! I was about to ring for you!”
'I was fetching the potion, Your Ladyship.”
“Hmf. Bah! Give it to me then.” The Countess was only partially mollified. “It is a mystery to me how you flit here and there so carelessly, like a fluff on the wind!”
The Countess swallowed her potion. “So now, once more it is bedtime. I have negotiated the trials of another day despite all! It is not so easy when one is old, especially when one is wise, as well!'
“I'm sure not, Your Ladyship.”
'Everywhere, grasping hands and pinching fingers! From all sides the gleam of predatory eyes like the eyes of wild beasts circling the fire of a lone adventurer! I wage a stark and pitiless battle; greed and avarice are my sworn enemies!'
“Your Ladyship is armed with great strength of character.”
“Yes, that is true.” Gripping the arms of her chair, the Countess struggled to gain her feet. Wayness ran forward to help, but the Countess angrily waved her away and sat back in the chair. “That is unnecessary! I am not an invalid, no matter what they say.”
“I have never thought so, Your Ladyship.”
“That is not to say that I shall not die some day and then: who knows?' The Countess glanced sharply at Wayness. “You have heard the ghosts in North Tower?”
Wayness shook her head. “I am happier not knowing of such things, Your Ladyship.”
“I see. Well, I will say no more. It is time for bed. Help me to my feet, and take care for my poor back! I suffer tremendously when I am jerked about!'
During the intricate routine of preparing for bed the Countess discovered the loss of her keys. “Ah! Chife, pox and vomit! Why must these trials so afflict me? Marya, where are my keys?'
“Where Your Ladyship usually keeps them, or so I suppose.”
'No, I have lost them! They are out on the lawn, where any thief of the night can come upon them! Call Lenk, at once!'
Lenk was summoned and informed as to the missing keys. 'I suspect that I dropped them out on the lawn,” said the Countess. “You must find them at once!'
“In the dark? With the rain driving down at a slant? Your Ladyship, that would be impractical.”
The Countess began to fulminate and pounded her cane into the floor. 'It is I who determines what is practical at Mirky Porod! Never be deceived! I have taught this truth to others!”
Lenk turned his head sharply and held up his hand. Countess Ottilie cried out: “What do you hear?'
