Pointed Roofs: Pilgrimage Part 15

"What an awful temper she must have," pursued Miriam.

Gertrude laughed.

9

Breakfast the next morning was a gay feast. The mood which had seized the girls at the lavishly decked tea-table awaiting them on their return from their momentous walk the day before, still held them. They all had come in feeling a little apprehensive, and Fraulein behind her tea-urn had met them with the fullest expansion of smiling indulgence Miriam had yet seen. After tea she had suggested an evening's entertainment and had permitted the English girls to act charades.

For Miriam it was an evening of pure delight. At the end of the first charade, when the girls were standing at a loss in the dimly-lit hall, she made a timid suggestion. It was enthusiastically welcomed and for the rest of the evening she was allowed to take the lead. She found herself making up scene after scene surrounded by eager faces. She wondered whether her raised voice, as she disposed of proffered suggestions--"no, that wouldn't be clear, _this_ is the thing we've got to bring out"--could be heard by Fraulein sitting waiting with the Germans under the lowered lights in the saal, and she felt Fraulein's eye on her as she plunged from the hall into the dim schoolroom rapidly arranging effects in the open s.p.a.ce in front of the long table which had been turned round and pushed alongside the windows.

Towards the end of the evening, dreaming alone in the schoolroom near the closed door of the little room whence the scenes were lit, she felt herself in a vast s.p.a.ce. The ceilings and walls seemed to disappear. She wanted a big scene, something quiet and serious--quite different from the fussy little absurdities they had been rushing through all the evening. A statue... one of the Germans. "You think of something this time," she said, pushing the group of girls out into the hall.

Ulrica. She must manage to bring in Ulrica without giving her anything to do. Just to have her to look at. The height of darkened room above her rose to a sky. An animated discussion, led by Bertha Martin, was going on in the hall.

They had chosen "beehive." It would be a catch. Fraulein was always calling them her Bienenkorb and the girls would guess Bienenkorb and not discover that they were meant to say the English word.

"The old things can't possibly get it. It'll be a lark, just for the end," said Jimmie.

"No." Miriam announced radiantly. "They'd hate a sell. We'll have Romeo."

"That'll be awfully long. Four bits altogether, if they don't guess from the syllables," objected Solomon wearily.

Rapidly planning farcical scenes for the syllables she carried her tired troupe to a vague appreciation of the final tableau for Ulrica.

Shrouding the last syllable beyond recognition, she sent a messenger to the audience through the hall door of the saal to beg for Ulrica.

Ulrica came, serenely wondering, her great eyes alight with her evening's enjoyment and was induced by Miriam.

"You've only to stand and look down-nothing else." To mount the schoolroom table in the dimness and standing with her hands on the back of a draped chair to gaze down at Romeo's upturned face.

Bertha Martin's pale profile, with her fair hair drawn back and tied at the nape of her neck and a loose cloak round her shoulders would, it was agreed, make the best presentation of a youth they could contrive, and Miriam arranged her, turning her upturned face so that the audience would catch its clear outline. But at the last minute, urged by Solomon's disapproval of the scene, Bertha withdrew. Miriam put on the cloak, lifted its collar to hide her hair and standing with her back to the audience flung up her hands towards Ulrica as the gas behind the little schoolroom door was turned slowly up. Standing motionless, gazing at the pale oval face bending gravely towards her from the gloom, she felt for a moment the radiance of stars above her and heard the rustle of leaves. Then the guessing voices broke from the saal. "Ach! ach!

Wie schon! Romeo! That is beautifoll. Romeo! Who is our Romeo?" and Fraulein's smiling, singing, affectionate voice, "Who is Romeo! The rascal!"

10

Taking the top flight three stairs at a time Miriam reached the garret first and began running about the room at a quick trot with her fists closed, arms doubled and elbows back. The high garret looked wonderfully friendly and warm in the light of her single candle. It seemed full of approving voices. Perhaps one day she would go on the stage. Eve always said so.

People always liked her if she let herself go. She would let herself go more in future at Waldstra.s.se.

It was so jolly being at Waldstra.s.se.

"Qu'est-ce que vous avez?" appealed Mademoiselle, laughing at the door with open face. Miriam continued her trot. Mademoiselle put the candle down on the dressing-table and began to run, too, in little quick dancing steps, her wincey skirt bellowing out all round her. Their shadows bobbed and darted, swelling and shrinking on the plaster walls.

Soon breathless, Mademoiselle sank down on the side of her bed, panting and volleying raillery and broken tinkles of laughter at Miriam standing goosestepping on the strip of matting with an open umbrella held high over her head. Recovering breath, she began to lament.... Miriam had not during the whole evening of dressing up seen the Martins' summer hats.... They were wonderful. Shutting her umbrella Miriam went to her dressing-table drawer.... It would be impossible, absolutely impossible... to imagine hats more beautiful.... Miriam sat on her own bed punctuating through a paper-covered comb.... Mademoiselle persisted... non, ecoutez--figurez-vous--the hats were of a pale straw... the colour of pepper... "Bee..." responded the comb on a short low wheeze. "And the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs--ah, of a charm that no one could describe."... "Beem!" squeaked the comb... "stalks of barley"...

"beem-beem"... "of a perfect naturalness"... "and the flowers, poppies, of a beauty"--"bee-eeem--beeem"... "oh, oh, vraiment"--Mademoiselle buried her face in her pillow and put her fingers to her ears.

Miriam began playing very softly "The March of the Men of Harlech," and got to her feet and went marching gently round the room near the walls.

Sitting up, Mademoiselle listened. Presently she rounded her eyes and pointed with one finger to the dim roof of the attic.

"Les toiles, d'araignees auront peur!" she whispered.

Miriam ceased playing and her eyes went up to the little window frames high in the wall, farthest away from the island made by their two little beds and the matting and toilet chests and scarcely visible in the flickering candle-light, and came back to Mademoiselle's face.

"Les toiles d'araignees," she breathed, straining her eyes to their utmost size. They gazed at each other. "Les toiles..."

Mademoiselle's laughter came first. They sat holding each other's eyes, shaken with laughter, until Mademoiselle said, sighing brokenly, "Et c'est la cloche qui va sonner immediatement." As they undressed, she went on talking--"the night comes the black night... we must sleep...

we must sleep in peace... we are safe... we are protected... nous craignons Dieu, n'est ce pas?" Miriam was shocked to find her at her elbow, in her nightgown, speaking very gravely. She looked for a moment into the serious eyes challenging her own. The mouth was frugally compressed. "Oh yes," said Miriam stiffly.

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 tr.i.m.m.i.n.g 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'araignees.

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... Fraulein 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 Premiere Priere 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.

11

After the gay breakfast Miriam found herself alone in the schoolroom.

listening inadvertently to a conversation going on apparently in Fraulein 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 s.p.a.ce 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 Fraulein 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 bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. She turned, leaning with her back against the wall, her eyes half-closed, sawing with fists in the direction of Fraulein, who stood laughing in her doorway. After one glance Miriam recoiled. They had not seen her.

"Ja," screamed Fraulein--"Sie konnen ihre paar Groschen haben!--Ihre paar Groschen! Ihre paar Groschen!" and then the two voices shrieked incoherently together until Fraulein's door slammed to and Anna's voice, shouting and swearing, died away towards the bas.e.m.e.nt.

12

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?"