They blew out the candle when the bell sounded and got into bed. Miriam imagined the Martins’ regular features under their barley and poppy trimmed hats. She knew exactly the kind of English hat it would be. They were certainly not pretty hats—she wondered at Mademoiselle’s French eyes being so impressed. She knew they must be hats with very narrow brims, the trimming coming nearly to the edge and Solomon’s she felt sure inclined to be boat-shaped. Mademoiselle was talking about translated English books she had read. Miriam was glad of her thin voice piercing the darkness—she did not want to sleep. She loved the day that had gone; and the one that was coming. She saw the room again as it had been when Mademoiselle had looked up towards the toiles d’araignées. She had never thought of there being cobwebs up there. Now she saw them dangling in corners, high up near those mysterious windows unnoticed, looking down on her and Mademoiselle … Fräulein Pfaff’s cobwebs. They were hers now, had been hers through cold dark nights. … Mademoiselle was asking her if she knew a most charming English book … La Première Prière de Jessica?
“Oh yes.”
“Oh, the most beautiful book it would be possible to read.” An indrawn breath, “Le Secret de Lady Audley.”
“Yes,” responded Miriam sleepily.
After the gay breakfast Miriam found herself alone in the schoolroom listening inadvertently to a conversation going on apparently in Fräulein Pfaff’s room beyond the little schoolroom. The voices were low, but she knew neither of them, nor could she distinguish words. The sound of the voices, boxed in, filling a little space shut off from the great empty hall made the house seem very still. The Saal was empty, the girls were upstairs at their housework. Miriam restlessly rising early had done her share before breakfast. She took Harriett’s last letter from her pocket and fumbled the disarranged leaves for the conclusion.
“We are sending you out two blouses. Don’t you think you’re lucky?” Miriam glanced out at the young chestnut leaves drooping in tight pleats from black twigs … “real grand proper blouses the first you’ve ever had, and a skirt to wear them with … won’t you be within an inch of your life! Mother got them at Grigg’s—one is squashed strawberry with a sort of little catherine-wheely design in black going over it but not too much, awfully smart; and the other is a sort of buffy; one zephyr, the other cotton, and the skirt is a sort of mixey pepper and salt with lumps in the weaving—you know how I mean, something like our prawn dresses only lighter and much more refined. The duffer is going to join the tennis club—he was at the Pooles’ dance. I was simply flabbergasted. He’s a duffer.”
The little German garden was disappearing from Miriam’s eyes. … It was cruel, cruel that she was not going to wear her blouses at home, at the tennis club … with Harriett. … It was all beginning again, after all—the spring and tennis and presently boating—things were going on … the smash had not come … why had she not stayed … just one more spring? … how silly and hurried she had been, and there at home in the garden lilac was quietly coming out and syringa and guelder roses and May and laburnum and … everything … and she had run away, proud of herself, despising them all, and had turned herself into Miss Henderson … and no one would ever know who she was. … Perhaps the blouses would make a difference—it must be extraordinary to have blouses. … Slommucky … untidy and slommucky Lilla’s mother had called them … and perhaps they would not fit her. …
One of the voices rose to a sawing like the shrill whir of wood being cut by machinery. … A derisive laugh broke into the strange sound. It was Fräulein Pfaff’s laughter and was followed by her voice thinner and shriller and higher than the other. Miriam listened. What could be going on? … both voices were almost screaming … together … one against the other … it was like mad women. … A door broke open on a shriek. Miriam bounded to the schoolroom door and opened it in time to see Anna lurch, shouting and screaming, part way down the basement stairs. She turned, leaning with her back against the wall, her eyes half-closed, sawing with fists in the direction of Fräulein, who stood laughing in her doorway. After one glance Miriam recoiled. They had not seen her.
“Ja,” screamed Fräulein—“Sie können Ihre paar Groschen haben!—Ihre paar Groschen! Ihre paar Groschen!” and then the two voices shrieked incoherently together until Fräulein’s door slammed to and Anna’s voice, shouting and swearing, died away towards the basement.
Miriam had crept back to the schoolroom window. She stood shivering, trying to forget the taunting words, and the cruel laughter. “You can have your ha’pence!” Poor Anna. Her poor wages. Her bony face. …
Gertrude looked in.
“I say, Henderson, come on down and help me pack up lunch. We’re all going to Hoddenheim for the day, the whole family, come on.”
“For the day?”
“The day, ja. Lily’s restless.”
Miriam stood looking at her laughing face and listening to her hoarse, whispering voice. Gertrude turned and went downstairs.
Miriam followed her, cold and sick and shivering, and presently glad to be her assistant as she bustled about the empty kitchen.
Upstairs the other girls were getting ready for the outing.
Starting out along the dusty field-girt roadway leading from the railway station to the little town of Hoddenheim through the hot sunshine, Miriam was already weary and fearful of the hours that lay ahead. They would bring tests; and opportunities for Fräulein to see all her incapability.
