A Stitch in Time

By Laurie Campbell

You rarely hear men talk about juggling children, work, and household today. Imagine if a nineteenth-century man was in that fix. What would he do? They didnt have the resources we have today.
This book is a look at Otto von Goff and his daughter, Luise, during the time he made a contract to sell his cattle to France. That had never been done before. Railways were just starting, and Otto set out to take advantage of it.
Unfortunately, his wife, Hildegard, is ill and hasnt paid the household staff, so Otto has to get the books without letting his guests know hes involved in the household.
In addition, his daughter is sick and lonely, wanting his attention and someone to play with.
He lets them go to his sorrow. He concentrates on the deal, letting his household and his daughter fall aside, thinking hell make up later.
His mother taught him, A stitch in time saves nine, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466902244

Laurie Campbell

Laurie Campbell grew up playing paper dolls with her sister, but spent far less time selecting their clothes than creating situations for the characters to act out. By the time they outgrew paper dolls, the characters were so real that Laurie started writing a book about six beautiful sisters who lived next door to six dashing brothers. She swears she'll finish that novel someday. But meanwhile, she enjoys writing about ordinary people in extraordinary situations that could happen to anyone who want the best for those they love. Laurie spends her weekends writing romance, and her weekdays producing TV commercials for a Phoenix advertising agency. She also works as a marriage counselor, teaches a catechism class, speaks to writing groups on psychology for creating characters, coaches newly diagnosed diabetics, and spends any free time playing with her husband and teenage son (who helps her solve plot problems). For getaway weekends, they travel to Arizona's red-rock country of Sedona...which was named for Laurie's great-grandmother, Sedona Schnebly.

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© Copyright 1987, 2011 Laurie Campbell.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

isbn: 978-1-4669-0226-8 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-0225-1 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-0224-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011919260

Trafford rev. 10/28/2011

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

September 1860

Chapter Two

Schönwald Yarns

Chapter Three

On the Mend

Chapter Four

Medical Assistance

Chapter Five

International Diplomacy

Chapter Six

Wringing in the Changes

Chapter Seven

Preparations for Winter

Chapter Eight

Cross Stitch

Chapter Nine

Frayed Edges

Chapter Ten

Meadow Yarns

Chapter Eleven

Autumn Yarns

Chapter Twelve

Biased Yarns

Chapter Thirteen

Bat Yarns

Chapter Fourteen

October 1860

Chapter Fifteen

A Tangled Yarn

Chapter Sixteen

Backstitch

Chapter Seventeen

Mending and Patching

Chapter Eighteen

Loose Threads

Chapter Nineteen

Wills and Ways

Chapter Twenty

November 1860

Glossary of German Words and

Sayings Used

All Manor of Yarns

Acknowledgements

With thanks to my son Richard Campbell, without whose constant understanding, help, support, encouragement, and ideas, these books wouldn’t be what they are. With gratitude to my friend, Lori Thiessen, for her unflagging support, critique, and encouragement of my writing. With immeasurable appreciation for the Writing echo for teaching me as much as I have learned of the art and craft of writing; for comradeship, for honest critique, and most of all for showing me that I’m not alone with this damblest talent; especially Rebecca Anderson, Raphael Carter, Pakki Chipps, Pamela Dean, Elvis Hargrove, Dennis Havens, Beth Freidman, Don Friedkin, Barb Jernigan, Russ Jernigan, Jack Lynch, John Moore, Michael Nellis, Lisa Peppan, Keenan Powell, Ellen Recknor, Phil Reynolds, Jack Ruttan, Quinn Taylor Jackson, Wendie Olds, Susan Setley, Allyson Taylor, Roxanne Tellier, Rachel Veraa, Shalanna Collins Weeks, Vicki Wootten, and Patricia Wrede.

Chapter One

September 1860

Katya Scheltgen leaned her head on the wall and gripped her stomach. God in Heaven, she whispered, closing her eyes, Gott im Himmel, I’m so hungry.

The manor house lay still. Katya was the only one awake in the mistress’s gloomy, quiet suite of rooms. She looked into the room beside her and saw the lady of the house, Hildegard von Goff, still lying curled in the unnaturally deep sleep that her potions always gave her, even though it was past time a Mistress of the Manor should have been up and about.

Frau von Goff’s personal maid, Philomele Hübner, lay flat in an exhausted sleep in a little truckle bed by the side of the mistress’s big, luxurious bed. Despite how heavily Frau Hübner appeared to be sleeping, Katya had seen that the slightest sound would wake her with a start. She also knew that nothing would wake Frau von Goff, not even on the occasions when she had appeared to be barely asleep, tossing and mumbling, her eyelashes fluttering.

Balancing herself by pressing the side of her head and one shoulder against the parlour wall, Katya bent over her clenched fists, pushing them deep into her stomach to still her hunger pains. Her stomach didn’t growl any more, it just hurt at the times it used to be filled. In every other household that Katya had worked in, First Breakfast had been served by now; the Mistress of the Manor, the Gutsherrin, up, dressed, and gone from her rooms, whether she ate First Breakfast in her suite or in the breakfast room downstairs. So that she wouldn’t think about how hungry she was, Katya thought about the morning routines she was used to, and compared them with Schönwald.

In other houses, once the Gutsherrin was off, bustling about supervising the running of her house, swarms of little maids and pages cleaned the fire grates, set new fires, carried away the night soil, and dusted, cleaned, polished, and tidied the entire suite while she was gone. So these still, sombre rooms should have been a hive of activity by mid-morning, with Frau von Goff herself no longer in them.

Actually, Katya corrected herself, it shouldn’t be ‘these’ rooms at all. This Gutsherrin did not live in the suite of the master and mistress, the largest suite in the middle of the Manor House on the second floor, with a commanding view out over the land at the back, and a parlour across the hallway that overlooked the front the house. Instead, Frau von Goff, with Frau Hübner and Katya, was in a small suite on the third floor of the east wing, near the nursery, with only a restricted view of part of the front drive; rooms that were suited to a young girl who had just left the nursery but had not yet been presented to society, certainly not the usual choice for a Gutsherrin and her personal maids.

Straightening up to lean her back against the wall, Katya looked around the parlour that had unexpectedly become the centre of her entire world. In the week she’d been at Schönwald, her eyes had become so used to the perpetual dimness that she could see without lighting candles or pulling back the heavy dark brown drapes, though that didn’t stop her from yearning for the light. Even just a breath of fresh air would have made her feel better.

When she remembered how she’d recoiled at the first smell of these musty rooms that needed to be opened up and aired out, Katya was surprised to find that she couldn’t smell the mustiness any more. She sniffed, tentatively, but had to admit she couldn’t smell anything.

She puzzled over why the Gutsherrin was shut away on the third floor. As a young girl in service, Katya had shared lurid stories with other young maids about masters who locked away wives who were mad, or unfaithful, or disfigured, and had thrilled to horror stories of wicked men who locked away good women for unspeakable reasons. Katya’d enjoyed the yarns as a way to spice up evenings spent stitching around the fireside, she hadn’t thought of them as tales of things that had happened to real people. But now she wondered if she hadn’t accidentally put herself in the middle of something horrible and real. Now such stories didn’t seem fun at all.

When she thought about Frau von Goff’s shrieking scenes, Katya thought perhaps Herr von Goff was simply ashamed of his wife. On the other hand, being shut away like this, never setting foot outside of her rooms, always being hungry, always in the dark, could make anyone hysterical.

The silence in the deserted east wing of the ancient manor house seeped into Katya’s bones. She wondered what was going on outside the boudoir.

*     *     *

Outside the boudoir, ten year old Luise von Goff, the heiress, made her way carefully down the stairs to the breakfast room. Luise used to scramble out of bed each morning while her governess still slept, dress herself, and race downstairs to have breakfast with her Daddy, but she’d injured her right shoulder the week before. Now her shoulder hurt so much she had to get up carefully and call her companion/maid, Kirsten, to help her to dress.

The throbbing shoulder made sleeping impossible, getting up uncomfortable, and getting dressed painful. Kirsten, who slept in a little alcove divided from Luise’s bedroom by a curtain, said she didn’t mind getting up, and claimed she went back to sleep until the governess, Frau Braun, got up, but Luise still hated to wake her. It was not only that needing to wake Kirsten made her feel dependent, but it also was a constant reminder that it had been her own fault that she’d been hurt, not to mention that it was also a constant reminder that what happened to her affected other people on the estate.

Luise resented feeling dependent and she hated feeling guilty.

Instead of dashing off down the servant’s stairwell and flinging herself headlong into the breakfast room with its cheerful yellow and white furnishings and draperies, Luise had to balance herself with her good arm against the wall of the narrow, twisting, servant’s staircase. Even with her balance compromised by having her arm in a sling, she could not bring herself to walk sedately down the wide, well lit main staircase. That would be giving in more than she could bear.

Despite her shoulder, Luise was not cautious entering the breakfast room, banging the door back against the wall and earning an automatic, Be careful, Luise, from her father, Otto von Goff, the Lord of the Manor, already seated at the table, with a pot of coffee, behind a newspaper.

The familiarity of their daily routine comforted Luise. Somehow the sameness of it gave her the feeling that she really was still the same person, even though she felt different when she couldn’t run about as she had all of her life. The breakfast room itself was cheering, with its light yellow and white gingham curtains, white table cloth, sparkling glasses, yellow and white china.

It was September, but the autumn of 1860 was unusually sunny, and the breakfast room was built to catch the early morning sun. Even in the middle of winter if there was any sun in the morning, it would find its way into that room. Cheered, Luise gritted her teeth so that she could stand on tip toe to peek at the sideboard as she always had, and ask the serving maid, Cosima, What are the rolls this morning?

Sometimes she could see the rolls, sometimes Cosima told her what they were, but more often than not her father’s voice behind the newspaper said, Sit down and find out.

Each morning as they ate their breakfast, Otto told Luise about the news of the world that he read in the newspapers he had delivered from Berlin, from London, and from Paris. Otto could read in all three languages, so he translated for Luise as well as explaining. He wanted her to grow up understanding how the events around her affected their estate, Schönwald, as part of her training to run Schönwald when she inherited it.

The rolls were different each morning, as the stout cook, Emma, Cosima’s mother, had something different made each day. Otto and Luise liked the variety, and liked being surprised by what they were served, as much as Emma liked deciding for herself what to have made for them.

Otto had coffee, Luise had milk. Otto had only the rolls with jam or with cheese and sliced meat, Luise had a soft boiled egg that she dipped her roll into. Their breakfast routine was comfortable, contented, and peaceful. They both looked forward to it. It was also the one meal where their great tall serving maid was relaxed and at ease enough to wait on them without her hands shaking. Cosima almost never dropped or broke anything when there was only Otto and Luise at the table.

As the footman held Luise’s chair for her, she said, I was so surprised when Cosima came in to my room this morning and said I could have first breakfast with you, Daddy, I thought I was going to have to eat in the nursery this morning because of the guests. I thought you would be eating with the guests and not with me.

I thought so, too, Otto answered as he forked slices of ham to his plate from the serving platter Cosima held for him.

Are they too tired from their journey to get up for breakfast?

I couldn’t tell you.

Luise stopped chattering, and stopped choosing slices of ham from the platter to stare at her father, trying to guess whether he was teasing her or not. He appeared perfectly serious, so Luise asked him, Where are they?

I couldn’t tell you, Otto replied in the same noncommittal tone.

Luise finished choosing the ham slices she liked best, and Cosima put the ham platter on the side board and pick up the cheese platter. Luise didn’t speak, as she picked among the variety of sliced cheeses for the ones she liked the best, trying all the while to think what kind of game her father might be playing with her. Otto took great delight in joking with his daughter. Luise took as much pleasure in banter as her father did. Have you lost them? she asked, playfully.

It appears so, he nodded, straight faced.

Oh, Daddy! Luise exclaimed. Oh, Vati! You never did!

Where are they, then? Otto asked, raising one eyebrow.

In their rooms?

I couldn’t tell you.

So they’re not here, at Schönwald?

Apparently not.

You left them in Berlin?

I couldn’t tell you.

Luise started to snicker.

Otto put on a hang-dog expression. It isn’t funny, you know, he said with exaggerated mournfulness.

Luise put on a false sternness and scolded him in the same tone Frau Braun used with her, I should say not. Losing guests is very careless. Very careless indeed. Not the done thing at all.

Otto produced a childlike whine, But Fräulein, they weren’t there.

Luise dropped the playacting in her surprise. They weren’t there? How could that be?

All of a sudden, Otto’s irritation with the situation evaporated as the ridiculousness of it appealed to his sense of humour. No, really, they weren’t there. He finished with a parody of Luise’s own way of trying to convince people of the truth, in a falsetto voice, Really. Honestly.

Luise laughed out loud. Vati, Vati, tell me what happened. Tell me.

Otto ate in silence for a moment, composing his story. He watched the way Luise’s right arm moved, paying minute attention to which movements were avoided, which were a struggle, and which were normal or nearly so. It was only a week since she had fallen into a stream in flood, and had been rescued by her dog. The injury to her shoulder had been caused by her dog taking hold of her shoulder in his teeth and pulling her from the flood, which had resulted in a very deep bite to her right shoulder. The family doctor was convinced that she would never regain use of her arm, but Otto could see that she did, in fact, have some use of it already.

Since she was battling on gamely, giving no sign of wanting help, he made no attempt to help her. He was proud of her courage, even if it did lead her into problems, like flooding streams, that a more cautious child would have avoided.

He told his story in a deliberately dramatic voice. In complete innocence I headed off to Berlin to meet them. Innocently, I tell you. We’ve been working for months by mail to put this transaction together, and we agreed on the day and time that Monsieur le vicomte de Beaulieu would arrive in Berlin so that we could talk face to face.

Luise watched him with shining eyes, while she ate her egg by tearing a roll into pieces that she dipped into the soft egg yolk. She loved her father’s stories. You had the right date, didn’t you? she asked, more to keep him talking than anything else.

Of course I had the right date. Otto parodied his valet, Ernst. I’m hurt that you could suggest otherwise. Hurt, hurt, hurt.

Luise giggled. Did you check?

Ja, I checked as soon as I got home last night. I’d made no mistake in the date or which train we’d agreed to. He just wasn’t there.

He wasn’t on the train?

Well, he didn’t get off the train, let me put it that way. I didn’t search under every seat and in every hidden corner on the train, you know. I waited on the platform. No one was looking for me. I thought perhaps he was hidden in the crowds, so I waited until the crowds were gone. No Frenchmen. I waited until there was no one on the platform at all except the old man who sweeps it. Still no Frenchmen. I can’t believe it!

Vati, I have to tell you something, Luise whispered with mock seriousness. She looked elaborately at the empty chairs around the table. I think it’s true. I think you should believe it.

Otto pretended to look under the table. He put the back of one hand against his forehead theatrically when he straightened up, and moaned, Oh, woe is me, I’ve lost them!

Did you look really, really carefully? A grown man with his attendants and luggage is not something most people lose.

Evidently I’m not most people. I paced up and down that station platform looking through the crowds while the people were getting off the train. Once the people who got off the train and those who had come to meet them had left, there really was no one there but me and the sweeper.

Luise suggested, Maybe you missed him in the crowd and he left the platform while you were hunting for him?

I thought of that, but in that case he would have gone looking for my carriages. I can’t imagine he’d be foolish enough to hire droshkies when he knew I was meeting him in carriages bearing the Schönwald crest. The only carriages waiting were mine. Even the droshkies were all gone. I was more amazed than disgruntled, though I don’t mind telling you, I did leave a good many of my gruntles on that platform.

Luise laughed right out loud. You did?

Yes, I did. I am now without my best gruntles. Almost completely disgruntled.

There’s no such thing as gruntles.

Of course there is. You have to have gruntles in the first place before you can be disgruntled, don’t you?

Luise shook her head.

Otto grinned, You’re wrong, you literal being, you. Otto emphasised his point by waggling a piece of ham on a fork at her. I had enough gruntles left to think that perhaps they had missed the train, and to wait for the next train just in case. That makes sense, doesn’t it? If they’d missed the train they’d be on the next one, wouldn’t they?

Luise nodded, concentrating on her plate so she wouldn’t laugh out loud and interrupt the story.

You are wrong, young and innocent one! He popped the ham piece into his mouth and explained around it, They weren’t on that one, either. I did the same thing; walked up and down the platform, searching through the crowds; only this time I made sure Kurt was with me so that he could use his height to look over the top of the heads. That should have helped, shouldn’t it?

Luise nodded.

Wrong again! Didn’t see hide nor hair of them! They were either invisible or just plain not there. And no telegraph to let me know he wasn’t coming!

Dropping the game for a moment, Otto shook his head in genuine disbelief, still unable to accept that the viscount had simply not shown up without a word of explanation. He continued, putting on his playful voice again, Ernst said, Perhaps the gentleman is ill, but I don’t see that he could be too ill to send a note—or even if he were, that none of his attendants could send me a telegraph. We rushed off home because Ernst thought, Perhaps we had already left when the telegraph arrived. Perhaps it is waiting for you at home, which I thought made sense, don’t you?

Luise nodded, struggling to keep a straight face.

Wrong again! You aren’t getting any of these right! There was no telegraph waiting for me when I got home. How could he let us go all that way for nothing? The two biggest carriages, one for us to ride in, one for his luggage and attendants, drivers and footmen, pony boys and eight horses, travelling all the way to Berlin and back, staying at Goffhausen overnight on the way there and on the way back, all for nothing. Still no word.

You forgot one thing, Vati.

What’s that? He took a sip of coffee.

Ernst.

Otto put his cup down with a clatter. I protest! I did not forget Ernst. He was there. I’ve even told you what he said. Are you paying proper attention?

Luise put her nose in the air. You didn’t list him with the others. Pony boys, footmen, drivers, and Ernst. You forgot to mention Ernst. You did.

Hey! Otto shook his finger at her. It’s my story, I’ll tell it! He dropped the playful tone and added in a confidential tone, You know, when I met the viscount Beaulieu in Paris, I thought he was one of the most ugly personalities I had ever met.

But didn’t your French friend introduce you to him?

Otto raised his hands in a gesture of futility. That doesn’t mean he likes Jean Beaulieu, only that he knew Beaulieu would be the best one for me to work with in trying to set up a way to send cattle from Schönwald to France. Otto continued in his serious tone, You don’t need to like someone to do business with him, Ludi, you only need to believe he has knowledge and ability that you can depend on. My friend introduced me to Jean Beaulieu as the one man who knows more about taking products into France and selling them than anyone else in France. He seemed to be the right one to help me with this idea because he’s so good at what he does. What doesn’t make any sense to me now, is how could he be making a fortune in trade if he doesn’t show up when he is expected? We have both spent months working towards this day. I would think a person could only do as well as he’s done and earn the reputation he has by being good at what he does, and one of the first marks of being good at trade is reliability. If I can’t depend on the man, how can I do business with him?

Luise set her knife and fork together on her plate to signal Cosima that she’d had enough. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you wanted, Vati, but I’m not sorry he didn’t come. I don’t want to eat in the nursery all the time because you have guests.

Otto was about to exclaim with irritation, Don’t you understand this is all for you? when he stopped himself and remembered, She’s only ten years old. He said instead, Don’t you remember why I’m looking for new markets for our cattle? What did I tell you about that?

He had gone over it with her enough times that Luise was able to trot out the answer for all the world as if she understood it. You’ve been looking for new places to sell our cattle because that free trade deal their Louis Napoleon signed with the English and our Friedrich Wilhelm will change things.

What’s it called?

The Cobden Treaty.

So you’ve got a good memory. I know that already. Doesn’t prove to me you understand what you just said.

Luise tried again. Your French friend introduced you to Monsieur le vicomte de Beaulieu because he’s the best one to help you sell Schönwald cattle in France.

Otto winked at Luise. I just said that to you a moment ago.

She grinned back, determined to find an answer that would please him. He’s the one who’ll help you take cattle all the way from Prussia to Paris on the new trains so that they get there ready to be fattened up and sold.

I’m impressed. I do believe you were listening.

But he’s not here, so he must have changed his mind, so now we can keep on doing what we’ve always done and nothing will change, after all.

Otto shook his head, and spoke in his normal voice. This time you really are wrong, Luise. If Beaulieu has changed his mind I’ll simply find someone else.

But Vati, I don’t like it when you’re so busy that I hardly ever see you.

Just the same, I have to if I’m going to be able to send our cattle to markets that are so far away that I can’t take them myself. Beaulieu was supposed to come up here and work with me on planning how to do this. It’s never been done before, so we have to do detailed work if I’m going to be successful the first time I try it. We have no one else’s experiences to learn from, and if we make mistakes the cattle won’t arrive alive—or at the very least we won’t be able to get them across the various borders outside the Zollverein, or have them change carriages safely every time the train reaches a spot where the gauge changes width. For Beaulieu to have backed out after all the work he’s put into this over the last several months doesn’t make any sense, but to do it by simply not showing up without a word of warning or explanation is rude as well as senseless.

Luise’s voice took on a petulant tone. But that means you’ll be busy all the time and I won’t be able to go in your library if I have to tell you something, and I can’t eat Abendbrot with you and maybe I can’t even have breakfast with you. And since that stupid flood you won’t let me go outside so I’ll be stuck in the stupid school room every single moment and I’ll be really, really unhappy, Vati.

You’ll understand when you’re older, Liebling. You’ll be a lot more unhappy in the long run if I don’t take care of Schönwald for you. It’ll take work to keep the estate afloat when the rules of the world are changing. If I don’t, I’ll end up leaving you with the same kind of headaches I had to deal with when I started out. I don’t want you to go through the hard work and worry I did to make this place thrive, not to mention that it’ll be much harder for you being female than it was for me, and it was a tremendous effort for me, make no mistake. It’s for you that I’m doing all this, Liebling. For your future. To protect your inheritance. It won’t be for very long, then we can spend all the time together that you want.

After they had breakfasted together, father and daughter went their separate ways, Otto out to his stables, Luise back up to the nursery, longing for the day that she could go outside again.

*     *     *

Katya tried to distract herself by looking out of the window, moving quietly to slide up under the drapes without disturbing Frau von Goff and Frau Hübner, so that she didn’t let any of the bright morning light in to wake them. She wanted to delay the beginning of another day of hysterical scenes as long as she could. Gazing down onto the circular driveway that passed the front door three floors below her, Katya thought about her journey from her home to this strange place with the lovely name of ‘Schönwald,’ Beautiful Forest.

Katya was eighteen, born in Berlin in 1842 to a maid and a footman. She had grown up in service, earning her first wage at twelve in the household that employed her parents.

At fifteen she signed up with an agency which provided temporary staff to establishments in and around Berlin. She not only worked steadily, she had variety in her work and managed to get away from her mother with whom she fought. Married servants’ quarters gave precious little space for squabbling members of a family to retreat from one another.

After three years of working as a maid in various town houses and villas in and around the city of Berlin, Katya had thought it would be romantic to work in the countryside as the maid to a lady’s maid, and had the agency answer the advertisement for a permanent position at the estate of Schönwald, 100 kilometres to the north east of Berlin. She thought it would be far enough away for her mother to be no longer able to insist that she return home to visit on every single one of her half-days off.

Within a day Katya’s delight at being hired by Frau Müller, the Schönwald housekeeper, had evaporated, replaced by hunger. She had been at the Schönwald Gutshaus less than a week, but she had been hungry every moment of the time. She had begun to think fondly, then, of her mother’s mistress, and of the amount of food she had eaten as the child of servants, then later as a servant herself. Thinking back on it now she wished she had appreciated her good fortune, and had not taken it for granted. She dreamed at night of food she’d set aside, suppressing the urge to apologise to it.

From the time, three years ago, that she landed the first job outside of the house where she grew up, until now, Katya had been glad to be away from her mother and her scolding. But now she missed the familiarity of her parent’s employers. She was no longer enjoying the novelty of being in a new place. Now, for the first time, she looked back on the fights with her mother as if they weren’t so bad after all. Certainly, the feelings she could remember having didn’t seem as bad as this constant bewilderment and hunger. She longed to visit her family. She hoped she would be given time over Christmas. She wished she knew how to write.

With a lump in her throat, Katya realised she held out no hope of Frau von Goff giving her enough time to get to Berlin and back, not even at Christmastime. She could just imagine the outcry, If Frau Blücher were here I wouldn’t have to put up with such nonsense. Then the inevitable tears at the mention of Frau Blücher’s name. Katya had never met ‘Frau Blücher’, whoever she was, but she was tired of hearing about her. She couldn’t understand a grown woman like Frau von Goff being rendered incapacitated by the absence of what seemed to have been a servant. Of course one could always miss someone who had gone away, but this business of collapsing over it was too far-fetched for Katya to understand it or respect it.

In all the different establishments in which Katya had worked, never had she heard of so nervous, so helpless a mistress. To be just skin and bone, yet still refuse to eat! That was more than weird in Katya’s eyes; there was something sinful about it.

Frau Hübner, who waited on Frau von Goff hand and foot, day and night, was also gaunt. Katya thought Frau Hübner was worn down with the care of that crazy woman. Just because they didn’t eat, did that mean Katya had to starve, too? She bit her lip to keep from moaning and pushed her fists into her stomach again. First breakfast was never brought to them. Frau von Goff was never awake at that time, much less up, dressed, and off downstairs to see to her staff or to eat first breakfast with her husband, or, in fact to fulfil any of a Gutsherrin’s duties and obligations. Katya had worked in households where the Gutsherrin had first breakfast in bed, but at Schönwald there was no sign of even that. And when Frau von Goff didn’t eat, Katya and Frau Hübner didn’t eat.

It was worse that morning than usual, because there had been a huge scene the evening before, to the point where Frau von Goff had been given her potions early and had fallen asleep without eating—which meant, of course, that there had been no evening meal for Katya. She held out no hopes of a bigger second breakfast to make up the difference. In fact, she was afraid there might not even be any second breakfast.

To keep her mind off that thought, Katya concentrated on the view below her. The drive to the porticoed front door was lined with ancient oaks and linden trees, their leaves falling with the onset of autumn, making the branches barer by the day. It seemed to Katya that the trees reached despairingly to the sky, their trunks sadly extending down into the fallen leaves that lay around them. As she watched, a tall, slow looking, blonde man arrived with a rake and began to rake up the fallen leaves.

To one side Katya could see the decorative gardens below her. The way she felt that morning, they looked neglected and forlorn to her, though she knew that such well-appointed grounds would be beautiful in reality. She could tell from the way they were laid out that terraces and steps went into them from such things as drawing rooms and perhaps even a ballroom.

Katya watched the man raking without really seeing him. Not only was he gathering up all of the leaves to make the drive look tidy, he also raked the gravel of the drive until there was not a speck of grass or dirt on it, not a ridge or hollow in the gravel. He worked slowly, but steadily and methodically, not even looking up when other workers appeared every once in a while to fork the piles of leaves and weeds onto a cart and drive away with them.

Katya wasn’t thinking about the scene she was watching, she was wondering about another thing that bewildered her; why was the entire nursery wing of the great old manor house lying quiet? There were no flotillas of nannies and their helpers, maids, pages, governesses, and tutors. There were no swarms of children that normally would have filled that end of the house with noise and bustle. Room after room stood silent, empty. Except for the accommodations for one child and one governess, plus the inexplicable addition of the Gutsherrin living in a young girl’s suite, the entire east wing of Schönwald was unused.

Only one child and that a girl, yet how much noise she could make! It seemed to Katya that Luise von Goff couldn’t speak in a normal voice, but had to shout, call out, sing, or laugh. She had a tinkling giggle, a clear, piping voice that penetrated the walls, and she brayed like a donkey when she laughed.

Katya had only seen Luise once, the morning before. At the time, Katya had been standing in the doorway telling the third floor serving maid, Marta, to take away Frau von Goff’s breakfast tray. As Luise went by she’d called, Morgan Marta! to the maid as if they were friends, which surprised Katya, given how insular Luise’s mother was. It was a complete contrast for the heiress to be so familiar with serving girls, when the mistress kept Katya severely ‘in her place’ and even treated her constant companion, Frau Hübner, as a lesser being. Katya’s other mistresses had been very close to their personal maids. To live perpetually at a distance from everyone the way Frau von Goff did must be painfully lonely, she thought. Plus it was unnecessary. If she had to be in such close quarters with her personal maid for all of their lives, why not be companionable?

Still gazing idly out of the window, Katya wondered about the difference between the rigid, withdrawn mother and the energetic, friendly daughter. Luise was a tiny, blonde girl who looked to be about eight years old, darting along the hallway, cradling one arm in a sling with the other, shouting at the top of her lungs, Amalie! Amalie! I’m sorry we’re late! I’m much better now! Look, I can run again!

Luise had been pursued by another blonde child who looked to be about thirteen, a pretty girl who called out breathlessly, uselessly, Ludi, don’t run! You have to be careful of your arm; you’ll hurt yourself if you run. It isn’t ladylike, Ludi, don’t run!

They’d thundered past the door and off down the hall out of sight. Katya could tell that the main door to the nursery was just around the corner: she heard the door crash open ahead of Luise, then close quietly behind the other girl. Marta had acted as if such behaviour were perfectly normal. She’d even whispered quickly, It’s lovely to see her getting back to her old self, with a fond smile. The warmth between the serving maid and Luise had stood in stark contrast to the coldness of Frau von Goff.

Because the door to the suite had been open at the time, all of Luise’s cheerful racket had been heard. Instead of being pleased that her only child was evidently recovering from some kind of injury, Frau von Goff had been in a temper all the rest of that day. Despite such thoughts making her feel disloyal to her mistress, Katya couldn’t help feeling that Frau von Goff behaved like an unnatural mother.

Other Gutsherrinen would have been cheered up by such joyfulness, even if they would have warned an injured child to be more careful and ordered her not to run in the house. Katya wondered how the heiress had hurt her arm. The way she dashed about it could have been anything, even a fall down the stairs. That was another thing Katya didn’t understand; why her mistress didn’t seem interested in the health of her only child. Did she even know Luise had been hurt? It had never been mentioned.

There were times when Katya thought she understood why Frau von Goff, who was in frail health, found such an exuberant child to be a trial, yet she was repulsed by a mother who denounced her own child. Certainly Katya had fought with her own mother, but never had Katya’s mother spoken about Katya or her brothers and sisters in the way Frau von Goff condemned Luise. Her parents’ mistress had also been in ill health, but she had been made to feel better, not worse, by the happiness of her children.

In the time Katya had been at Schönwald, the mistress, die Frau, had not left her rooms once, neither had her daughter set foot in them, and Herr von Goff had been there only once. His visit resulted in hysterics that had left die Frau unable to eat. No wonder there was only one child if there was no visiting between the master and the mistress! Luise was only a short way down the hallway from her mother’s door, yet never did she peek in, much less visit, not even to get a mother’s touch when she was hurt. Katya thought of her own mother’s employer, a fat, jolly woman who delighted in the party life of Berlin, shared a suite with her husband, and always had friends visiting or staying with her. When she had been sick her children had swarmed over her bed hardly leaving room for the poor woman to get well, and when her children were hurt she didn’t leave their side no matter how she felt herself.

The memory of the noise of that house echoed in Katya’s head, as she stood alone under the drapes in the quiet. She held her breath and listened, straining to hear voices from the nursery. She couldn’t. All she could hear were the sleeping breaths of the two women in the suite, and the sounds of the outdoors, muted through the closed windows.

Katya had given up asking questions on the first day she had arrived. The mere asking of a question aroused such an outcry from Frau von Goff that Katya had been startled to silence. Frau Hübner had no idea what went on outside the boudoir and didn’t want to know, and Marta was never allowed to stop and gossip. Schönwald certainly didn’t run the way other places in Katya’s experience did. Gossip was the oil that kept the wheels of other great houses turning. All other mistresses found out from the servants what was going on in their houses, whether they joined in the chatter, merely listened, or pumped for information. All except Frau von Goff.

When she thought about it, Katya wished she hadn’t told Frau Müller that she was experienced in dealing with a mistress in poor health. Her parents’ employer had been ill, it’s true, but she had not whined and complained the way Frau von Goff did. She had not had ‘bad turns’ just because she heard her child’s voice. Even in her illness she had continued to run her household from her bed, the senior staff coming to her for instructions, and the guests coming to her to pay their respects. Yet the mere sound of Luise outside her door had set Frau von Goff wailing as if she had been afflicted.

Two days after Katya had arrived at Schönwald was the only time she’d seen Herr von Goff set foot in die Frau’s rooms. He had arrived before the evening meal, Abendbrot, to tell die Frau that he was going to Berlin to meet some Frenchmen who were going to be guests at Schönwald for a couple of weeks or so. Frau von Goff had shrieked and screamed at him so loudly that Katya had clearly heard what was said, even though she bent over her stitching diligently and had tried not to hear.

That evening had certainly been a break in the monotony of their routine. Katya replayed every moment of it in her mind, trying to figure it out. It was while she thought about the fight between the master and the mistress that it dawned on her that Herr von Goff didn’t keep Frau von Goff shut in her rooms, it was die Frau who refused to leave them. Why would anyone do that? There had been some shouting about the ‘rightful Gutsherr’. She hadn’t heard enough to understand that, and hadn’t dared to ask Frau Hübner, who had sat with her lips pursed in an anger that rendered her unapproachable. This was fascinating stuff, enough to take Katya’s mind off her hunger altogether. It had seemed to Katya that Frau Hübner had been angry with Herr von Goff, not with Frau von Goff, though Katya thought it was die Frau who was being unreasonable.

It was when Herr von Goff had said that Frau Blücher had done something wrong that Frau von Goff had become hysterical enough to need calming potions, which had put her to sleep so that she had slept right through the evening meal. Since die Frau was not eating, Frau Hübner had sent the dinner trays away untouched, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Katya was hungry. Katya hadn’t dared protest. Now she wished she had said something.

Anyway, there was that name again. Blücher. And the melodramatic reaction the mention of the name always had on die Frau. Katya tried to piece together what had happened from the fragments she had heard over die Frau’s shrieks. It seemed as if someone claimed to be the Gutsherr over Herr von Goff. And Frau von Goff claimed she owned Schönwald, not der Herr, so he couldn’t have guests in her house without her permission. Somehow Herr von Goff was sure die Frau saying such shocking things to her husband was Frau Blücher’s fault, which Frau von Goff wouldn’t hear of, so she had screamed and sobbed her way into such a hysterical fit that she’d been administered potions that had knocked her out for the entire night and into the morning.

Then all yesterday she’d been distraught about the Frenchmen arriving last night, sobbing for Frau Blücher, for her mother, and over the idea that there were going to be foreigners in her father’s house, so that she’d been unable to eat. Last night had been a virtual repeat of the night the master had been there, even though Herr von Goff had not visited his wife again.

Katya had never seen or heard of anyone behaving like that. When she had assured Frau Müller that she knew how to help nurse a sick Gutsherrin, Katya hadn’t any idea what she was letting herself in for. Briefly she resented Frau Müller for not explaining the situation better. As the thought crossed her mind, she admitted that no-one could have described Frau von Goff. She had to be seen to be believed.

What bewildered Katya the most about last night and the night der Herr had visited, was that when die Frau had finally quietened her wailing for ‘Bubu’, as she called Frau Blücher, Frau Hübner had talked about how evil Herr von Goff was, complaining that she couldn’t even write to Frau Blücher to tell her of this latest torment inflicted on poor, dear, Frau von Goff, because the evil Master might read the letter before it left Schönwald.

Katya hadn’t dared to speak up and say that there was nothing evil about der Herr telling die Frau that they were going to have guests, but she hadn’t been able to prevent a small inarticulate sound of surprise and disbelief from escaping her throat. Frau Hübner had turned on Katya, assuring her that when the rightful Gutsherr arrived, he would put an end to the machinations and cruelties of Herr Otto von Goff.

Katya shook her head as she tried to digest that. That part made no sense to her at all. If Schönwald were Frau von Goff’s ancestral home, and Herr von Goff were her husband, how could there possibly be another, more rightful, master than Herr von Goff? Shouldn’t her husband administer her estate? Shouldn’t she take at least some responsibility for her estate, not just complain about it?

Besides, Herr von Goff had spoken to Katya with such kindness that her heart had warmed towards him. She thought about his round, blond face with his thinning hair and twinkling eyes. He hadn’t seemed in the least bit evil or cruel. Far from it, he’d seemed good and kind. She pinched herself for having not told him she was hungry when he’d asked her how everything was going for her. The only excuse she could make for being tongue-tied was that he’d caught her by surprise, and she’d only just got there and hadn’t realised that hunger was going to be constant.

In the first place, she hadn’t expected to open the door to der Herr. He hadn’t set foot in the boudoir from the moment Katya had arrived until then, so she hadn’t been prepared to see him standing there. In the second place, it was rare for a master to ask how maids were settling in when they were new. Few masters even noticed new maids, so the question had left her tongue tied. In the third place, die Frau and Frau Hübner had spoken so consistently about how cruel he was that the sight of the twinkle in his eye, and the kindly tone to his voice, had caught her completely off guard. Well, she’d be ready next time. The very next time anyone gave any hint that they wanted to know how she was, Katya would come right out and tell them, so she would!

Katya wondered how Luise could be such a cheerful child with a mother like that. Obviously Luise and the other girl weren’t hungry the way Katya was. She wondered who the other, older girl was. She didn’t dress as if she’d been a governess’ maid, and she didn’t talk to Luise as if she were a governess’ maid. Perhaps she was a ward of the von Goffs, or a cousin to Luise. It would be likely if there were only one child that a relative’s child would have been taken in as a companion. Katya wished she dared to ask.

The hunger was gnawing at her again. Looking out of the window was no longer enough distraction. Careful not to let any light into the room, she slipped out from under the drapes to tip toe carefully back and forth in the darkened rooms. It wouldn’t even be as bad if they would only let some light and air into the suite!

It was nearly time for Second Breakfast. Katya was too hungry to wait patiently for it, yet she wasn’t able to go and get a snack to keep herself going, because she was not to go out of die Frau’s rooms without permission; and she was never given permission. She thought fleetingly about leaving the rooms anyway, then pictured being sent packing for doing so, then trying to explain to her mother how she could have come to be put out, not to mention how difficult it would be to get another decent job once she’d been put out of a respectable place, and resigned herself to waiting, praying that she’d get a chance to eat. She couldn’t help wondering how to take some of the food from the tray and hide it to eat when no-one was watching.

The thought of the tray arriving brought with it the knowledge that Frau Hübner would be woken by its arrival. Frau Hübner seemed to have no idea how to cope with having Katya in the suite, yet she obviously couldn’t possibly care for Frau von Goff without help. No one could. The poor lady needed a proper nurse, not a harried, cowed personal maid with only a young girl to help her. When she thought about it that way, Katya began to feel very sorry for Frau Hübner. She resolved to stop resenting her, and do everything she could to help and support her.

If Frau von Goff was not woken by the arrival of the tray, Frau Hübner would send it away, untouched. Katya nearly wept at the thought of that. But it was almost worse to think of what would happen if die Frau did wake up. Katya decided she might as well enjoy the peace while it lasted. Once die Frau was awake there would be no peace until she was asleep again. With any luck Katya would be able to get something off the tray for herself. She would have to work out a way to do that. She wondered if Marta would help her.

Katya wished she could see what Herr von Goff was doing. Surely he didn’t live shut away on a third floor like this.

*     *     *

What Herr von Goff was doing was walking through his stables. He loved the hominess of the sturdy old buildings, the sight and sounds and smells of them, even at this time of year when the stalls were empty, their inhabitants outside in the paddocks.

Helmuth Schmidt, the head stableman, walked beside Otto, grumbling. Dry spell not doing the fodder no good. Hops not ripening right and grass is shrivelling. Dry right out it will, if’n us doesn’t get proper autumn rains like we need. Never get through the winter without us don’t get more fodder. Got to get these here stalls all fixed up like, afore them horses is moved back in for the winter, and me with a bad back trying to keep lazy little muckrakers working.

I’m glad to see you have everything so well in hand and feel so cheery today. Otto hid his grin by turning to look into a vacant stall to check on its condition. He walked with Helmuth though the stables between First Breakfast and Second Breakfast every morning. During the cold weather the two men inspected each horse and discussed its care as they went. When the horses were at pasture, they went on to the paddocks to discuss the horses.

While Otto checked the repairs being made to the wear and tear one of the stallions had inflicted on his stall, Otto told Helmuth, Luise should be able to handle Maia when her shoulder mends. She should have a proper saddle horse now. Jagwida is too small and too old. She’ll do for Kirsten and to pull the cart, but Luise should have something more to ride.

No good will come to the missy as ride like a boy. Cousin Frieda had a girl rode wild. Shame that. Pretty girl.

Otto asked carefully, Why was it a shame, Helmuth? What happened to her?

Nothing.

How could that be a shame?

Something should happen to a pretty girl like that. Should get married. Have babies.

Why didn’t she get married, Helmuth?

No one wants a girl as rides like a man.

Otto sucked in his breath and turned away to leave the stall, nodding his approval of the work being done on it, hiding his grin from Helmuth so that he didn’t offend the man. Helmuth was always completely serious, not seeing any humour in the things he said. As Otto turned his face from Helmuth, he saw that there was someone in his stables that he didn’t recognise. He moved down the aisle, to watch a little dark haired boy run into the mash room.

Get someone new in, Helmuth? he asked, puzzled. Helmuth didn’t need to check with Otto before he hired a new boy from the village, but Otto asked about this one because the boy was far smaller than was useful in the stables. It was pointless hiring children too young to do the job. Much of the stable work was too heavy for anyone under the age of 12 or 13—and even then they had to start slowly until they built up their age, size and strength. The boy Otto had seen looked to be no more than about six—a tiny little thing, half starved. The only children that small in the stables were the children of the workers, but Otto didn’t recognise this boy as one of the stable offspring. For one thing, none of them looked half starved.

Helmuth mumbled, One o’ them Ritter kids. Oldest boy.

Otto was astonished. Ritter let his son come in here to work for me? Rolf Ritter was well known to call no man master, and to refuse to allow any of his children to do so, either.

Nein. Boy come by hisself.

But he’s too small, surely? You can’t mean to work a baby like that in here.

That Kurt’s gone soft in the head tryin’ to find work a little tadpole like that can do ‘stead o’ sendin’ it home to grow. Should get married and raise his own, not bring up the cast offs of half of Prussia. No good can come of this, you mark my words.

Excuse me, Helmuth, I have to look into this. I’ll meet you at the mare’s paddock in a minute. Otto wandered over to the mash room, and leaned on the door watching his groom-coachman, Kurt, Helmuth’s son, teaching the small dark boy how to set out the fodder for Luise’s ponies.

The child was telling Kurt earnestly, But I can hold the pony so’s it don’t run off on you, mein Herr.

Kurt shook his head. No room for you in the cart. Pony boys doesn’t sit with das Fräulein.

I can stand real straight, see? The child drew himself up to his full miniature height. I could stand up on the back of the cart like a footman.

Ain’t no tadpole like you about to stand on the back of no cart I drive like no footman. You doesn’t get to stand up at back ’til you done learning to be a footman, and does the job so good der Herr wants you on the back of his carts. There be a lot of work and learnin’ in bein’ a footman and it don’t come from no posin’ at the back of no carts pulled by an old lady what can’t hardly put one hoof in front of tother no more.

Amused, Otto stepped into the room, asking, What’s this, Kurt?

Guten Morgan, mein Herr. Kurt tugged his forelock and jerked his head down and back up in a hasty, truncated bow. New pony boy, mein Herr.

Bit small, isn’t he? How old are you, boy?

The child looked Otto full in the eye and told him proudly, I’m eight, mein Herr.

Otto was surprised. The child was more undersized than Otto had thought. You should go home and get more schooling and more growth, my boy. If you still want to be a pony boy and learn to be a footman when you’re 12, come back and see Herr Schmidt.

The child lowered his eyes and said hesitantly, Mein Herr, excuse me, mein Herr, I can’t go home.

Otto and Kurt caught each other’s eyes. Otto could believe that Rolf Ritter had disowned his son for going to look for work in the stables, and could see from the look in Kurt’s eye that he was right.

Kurt spoke rapidly, There be work he can do, mein Herr. No charity, him can work for his supper, and he’n warm enough sleeping in the hay.

Otto frowned. What can he do at that size? I won’t have children injured by over-work in my employ.

I know he’n only a tiddler, mein Herr, but even a little tadpole can help das Fräulein with her ponies.

Ja, I can see that. Otto was doubtful, but he was swayed by Kurt’s pleading tone.

And there be other things him can help me with what’s not too much for a tadpole. Him works hard, willing to learn, and real good with the horses—got an instinct for them, like, and them takes to he.

Ja, well, being one of the Ritters he would be good with the horses, wouldn’t he? I suppose you want to work for Herr Schmidt, boy?

Kurt gulped to realise ‘Herr Schmidt’ meant him, and not Helmuth, for the first time.

The child told Otto, emphatically, Oh, yes, sir! He’s teaching me lots about horses!

Steady, Quappe, Kurt told him, saying to Otto apologetically, He’n a cheeky little tiddler, mein Herr. I’ll get he in hand.

Otto was puzzled that Helmuth wasn’t forbidding Kurt to take the child in. Your father allows this? he asked Kurt to try to find out why that might be.

Can’t let him starve, mein Herr, long as him willing to do what work a tiddler can do.

You call him ‘Quappe?’ That’s not his name, surely?

On account of him bein’ only a tadpole, mein Herr, we kind of call him ‘tadpole’ and him answers to it. Real name be Ulf Ritter.

Quappe was gazing up at Kurt with such admiration, Otto could see that Kurt could have called the child anything in the world and the little boy would have accepted it with pride. Otto gave in. You seem to have things well in hand. Mind, now, that no-one over-works him or bullies him. See to it that he gets schooling, enough to eat, clothing, and that he earns himself a proper bed. If he’s not a lazy layabout there’s no reason for him to be sleeping in the hay. No one in my employ is to go without, it reflects on me if they do.

Quappe looked about to burst with excitement. Otto cautioned him, "And you, boy—you mind Herr Schmidt here. He is your master. You will learn well if you learn to