Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV

Item 55

Posted on Monday, 23 June 2008

'I shall be very lonely, shall I not, when you are all off reading on newer and fancier boards, and I remain here all alone ...' - M.M.

55. Verena's Tale - continued.

I had been sent to school some years before. At that time, I was attending Frau Reimann’s Preparatory Lyceum for Girls in Koenigsberg. My brother travelled there under an assumed name - it was the first time of many that the two of us used our mother’s maiden name as our own, in the hope that an English couple (as which we posed) - or in his case, a gentleman - would not be brought into connection with the Vampire Hunters. My brother reached Koenigsberg in October. He was lucky that Frau Reimann had not yet heard of our parents’ arrest and therefore had no qualms about allowing him to visit me.
When he told me what had happened, I was shocked beyond anything. I had not had letters from anyone in my family for several weeks then, but as they all had had to work under-cover at times, I had not yet been overly worried. I simply could not believe it when my brother told me that there was little hope that they would be released soon - [the certain person] was far too powerful. I did not think that possible. Yes, I may have been naïve, but keep in mind that I was then but sixteen years old.

My brother told me that I could not remain at Frau Reimann’s - once she found out what had happened, and she would, she was bound to send me back to Vienna, care of the Imperial Government. I asked my brother where I was to go. We had had a great-aunt in a small town in Koenigsberg, who would certainly have taken me in, but she had died a couple of years ago. Apart from our parents, we had no living relatives, and no one to turn to for help. Arnold suggested that I go to England. It was our mother’s country and I knew the language, and my good friend Charlotte Lucas - now Lady Metcalfe - had just returned to England and would certainly have invited me into her family’s home. Yes, Lady Metcalfe and I went to school together, Mrs Bingley. It was she who started calling me Lizzy because she could not pronounce Verena the way I did. In addition to that, Arnold added, he had contacts with the V.D., who would certainly give me protection if he wrote to them. I asked him whether he did not plan to go to England with me; surely he did not want to Vienna where he would certainly be arrested. Arnold replied that that was exactly his plan. He said that however great the danger for himself was, our parents were in even greater danger and it was his duty to return to Vienna and try whatever he could to free them. Furthermore, he said, he and some of his colleagues had decided, now that the Vampire Hunters were in the process of being disbanded, to continue their work in secret, lest more people died without reason.
I told him that in that case, I would return to Vienna with him. I said that they were my parents as well as his and that I would not shrink from that duty. He first refused to take me with him - he said I knew not what I might be facing and that I should not underestimate [that certain person]. I remained stubborn. I told him I was no longer a child. I had been confirmed the previous spring and now considered myself, to all intents and purposes, an adult. Arnold, of course, would hear nothing of that. He said that he had long ago promised our parents that should anything happen to them, he would take care of me. Of course I had not known about that, but I argued that surely, he could not take care of me when I was in a different country. I begged him to take me with him; I told him I would not be bale to bear losing him as well - Arnold was just as stubborn as I was. He told me that most certainly he would not take me with him, for however grown-up I might consider myself, and however well I had been educated, I had no idea of the tasks that lay before and of the things he had to do.

We debated the whole afternoon as we sat in a small, old-fashioned coffee-house that was overlooking a grey Prussian square with the obligatory statues of military leaders standing in puddles of rain. Whenever I think of Koenigsberg, this square is the first picture that comes to my mind.
In the end, the decision was made for us. As I returned to Frau Reimann’s school, having agreed that we would both sleep a night over the matter and make our decision in the morning, one of the maids informed me that a letter from Vienna had arrived for Frau Reimann and that everyone knew it was concerning me. Sure enough, as I came to the Common Room, the prefect informed me that Frau Reimann wished to see me as soon as I had returned. I did not hesitate. Pretending that I had to use the bathroom, I excused myself for a moment, got a small bag with my dearest possessions and a change of clothes from the dormitory (packed in anticipation of a weekend trip to a friend’s country house) and left the same through the windows, thanks to an obliging apple tree.

I found Arnold in the small hotel where he was staying. Praising my luck that I was not dressed in the school’s uniform, I hastily put a ring I had inherited from my godmother onto my finger and asked the concierge to please inform Arnold that his wife had come a day earlier. The concierge eyed me sceptically, but in the end sent one of the boys for Arnold.
When Arnold came downstairs, I enquired very loudly whether he had not received my telegram that I was coming and complained that I had had to leave my baggage at the train station because he had not been there to help me with it. Arnold luckily realised my intention and said just as loudly that no telegram had reached him, but surely I was tired, and suggested that we retire to our room and collect my belongings in the morning. The concierge was satisfied with our charade and after Arnold had given him a Mark for all his efforts, was happy to confirm that Arnold’s room had been booked for two persons all along. Arnold had explained, with a rakish wink, that he was not yet quite used to having a wife, and such a young one as that, that he must have forgot to inform anyone of my arrival. The concierge had nodded understandingly and answered with an equally rakish wink.

Once we were upstairs, however, Arnold’s demeanour changed completely. As soon as he had closed the door behind us, he grabbed my shoulders and hissed ‘What on earth did you think you were doing coming here and posing as my wife?’, shaking me while he did so. He released me then and ran a hand through his hair.
‘Do you not realise,’ he said, ripping at his tie, his collar and his cuffs, as he always did when he was nervous - oh, you have seen him done the same, Col. Brandon. You will realise what a complete mess he looked after only a few seconds. ‘Do you not realise that the two of us are in grave danger already? What have you done now?’
‘I fled from school,’ I said, trying to stay calm even though I was shaking inside.
‘You what?’ he roared.
I tried to explain what had happened. Before I had even mentioned how I had made my way to his hotel, Arnold had pulled me in a crushing hug.
‘I am so sorry,’ he whispered, ‘you must know how afraid I was for you.’
‘Will you take me back to Vienna with you then?’ I asked. ‘I doubt I could get to England without considerable trouble now, and I had rather be with you.’
I swallowed hard, but then told him what had been on my mind anyway.

‘I just had a glimpse of what me life could be like from now on and I am terribly afraid. I do not think I could manage that on my own.’
‘Do not worry,’ Arnold said and stroked my hair. ‘We will go back together.’
He concierge entered the room in that moment, carrying a tray with tea and bread. He took one glance at Arnold, collarless and dishevelled, holding me tight, then gave us a lewd wink and disappeared again. It was not the last time we saw that knowing smile on the face of a landlord or concierge.

We left Koenigsberg the next morning and made our way to Vienna through small villages and little towns, posing as an eccentric English couple on their honeymoon, as siblings trying to find their eloped sister, as a German historian searching old churches accompanied by his wife, and on one memorable occasion, as a Catholic priest and a nun, travelling on church business. The disguise as the eccentric honeymooners worked best, for it explained our desire to keep to ourselves and no one questioned our right to be alone together. More observant people could not fail to notice that I was still very young to be married, and once or twice, I heard horrible abuses of my brother whispered behind his back. In a small town near Prague, an elderly lady staying in the same hotel, to whom we had introduced ourselves as Dr Kerner, the historian, and his wife, offered me - in private - help to get in contact with the local authorities in case my husband ‘had blackmailed me into the marriage.’ Most people, however, accepted what we told them, an if they thought Arnold a brute who had forced me, they did not care enough to let anything on.

It took us about a month to reach Vienna. We avoided the main roads, the railway and the larger cities and instead travelled almost leisurely, as if we feared reaching Vienna and what we might learn there. During the days, we hiked to our next stop or accepted rides on farmers’ carts or tradesmen’s carriages. I often wished we could travel faster, but at the same time dreaded what news should await us upon our return to Vienna. Not even I in my youthful naiveté could persuade myself that they were likely to be good news.
The subject was hardly ever touched upon by either Arnold or myself. We had painstakingly discussed all possible outcomes that dreadful afternoon in the coffeehouse and were resistant to mention anything again for fear of cutting open wounds that had not even begun to heal - forgive my metaphors. During the nights, Arnold kept tossing and moaning in his sleep. I knew he was having nightmares although he denied it when he woke screaming and sweating. I tried to keep awake at night, for in my dreams I found myself running through rainy Koenigsberg, pursued by a nameless fear as I crossed bleak places or tried to make my way through cold grey puddles. I woke out of breath, with a heavy weight pressing on my chest and the nameless fear still looming over me.

We hardly spoke at all during the days. If one of us said anything, it was a remark about the weather or the food or, if we had company, one of the forcedly cheerful conversations about churches and castles we pretended to have visited. Those were the evenings I hated most, when I knew I had to appear interested in my environments and show enjoyment and pleasure at the prospect of travel. What I said sounded stiff and wooden to my ears and the strain of the conversation tired me more than a day’s hiking. At the same time, spending the evenings with strangers meant not having to return to a cold and lonely room after a hastily taken dinner, with no company but my taciturn brother and my haunting nightmares.
We reached Vienna on All Soul’s Day.

Once there, Arnold contacted an old friend of his, Father Kaufmann of St. Sebastian’s Parish - yes, of course you know him - who was able to find us lodgings in the flat of an old seamstress, Frau Glickstein. Having been harassed by the government for more times than she cared to count, she was more than ready to support the Vampire Hunters now that they had fallen from grace. Not only did she demand far less rent from Arnold and me than she could have, but she also made me her protégée. It was she who taught me how to cook, how to iron shirts and mend stockings, and she looked after us almost like a mother and even took the trouble of sewing me some of the prettiest gowns I ever possessed, for which she would accept no money at all, arguing that Arnold and I were practically family.
When I did not cook or clean with Frau Glickstein, or assisted her in her sewing business - for I felt that cutting out or assembling her patterns and other small tasks was the least I could do to thank her for her kindness - I spent my time learning. Unexpected at least by me, Arnold had decreed that if I could not be kept away from his work, I shouln at least properly learn what I might be facing. For most of my first year in Vienna, I poured over books for a large part of the day. I read everything Arnold gave me with an almost feverish zeal and spent hours quizzing him and asking him to explain details.
I began with the basics - Anselm of Wolverhampton, of course, and Johnson - and of course your father’s book, Mr Darcy. My brother taught me more - he told me all those things that are never written down, but passed on only to those who need to know. I learnt the truth behind superstitions and old wives’ stories; I learnt the tales of old, the lore of blood - yes, I understand, Mr Darcy. You do not believe in this - I know it is crude and revolting, but I think we need to know - but Arnold told me that things are done slightly differently here in England.
I also spent many hours with Father Kaufmann in the church - he knew about the old traditions and he could acquaint me with not only with the history of the Hunters, but also with the close links between the Hunting and the religion - the subtle ways in which it is possible to gain a certain amount of protection -

You may think that the diligence with which I furthered my studies was admirable. I assure you it was far from that. Spending all my wake moments doing something, anything, not allowing myself any time to let my thoughts wander, was the only way I could keep myself sane in those first months and I suspect that Arnold felt the same, although we never really talked about it. From our parents there were no news, and we could hardly convince ourselves that this was good news. Arnold tried his old contacts, but no one was able to tell him anything and we grew more and more desperate as the months passed and spring came.

In May, one of Arnold’s old colleagues moved in with us, having lost his lodgings with his post at the ministry. Frau Glickstein, wonderful as she was, allowed him to share Arnold’s room, and although the flat was now more cramped than ever, none of us would have wanted to miss Tomasz - that was his name. He was amazing in every respect and cheered us up countless times. Tomasz came from Silesia; he was Arnold’s age and very dedicated to his work. I often admired how he could remain so cheerful after all the horrors he had to face every day. We spent a lot of time together in that summer, many hours reading and discussing in Frau Glickstein’s kitchen, but we sometimes also took time off from studying and just strolled through the narrow streets or sat by the Danube. During these walks, I learnt that there also was a very serious side to Tomasz. I found out that he strongly believed in the Great and Good in the world and would do everything to protect it. My respect for him grew with every hours we spent together and for a while I even hoped that maybe - but never mind.
In October, it became too dangerous for Tomasz in Vienna and he went back to Breslau, where he soon married his beautiful and intelligent fiancée who had waited for him for five years and was infinitely more worthy of him.

Posted on 2008-07-27

‘I am afraid this cannot be anything but frivolous; I am glad not to take part in it.’ - F.P.

56. From the journal of Col. The Hon. John S. Fitzwilliam

17th May, much later - When came back from the village, found house in an uproar. Not without good cause, though, for It had managed to escape from the attic again and apparently sneaked up on Miss Bennet, who, it then turned out, was not Miss Bennet at all, but Arnold Dohnanyi’s little sister, Verena, who had had to leave Austria, although how she ended up at Pemberley of all places still a mystery to me. Found everyone in the attic upon my return where It had just crawled back into Its coffin. Caroline in tears and threw her arms around me at once sobbing uncontrollably. Had been fearing for my life, it transpired. Never thought she cared that much.
Tried my best to comfort her and think I succeeded for she soon calmed down and became her wonderful self again. Must say am more touched by her affection than previously thought I should. Only wish I could make her see -
It was soon decided we should all spend the night upstairs so Caroline and I went downstairs with Darcy and Miss Dohnanyi to collect some things.
Wanted to ask Caroline about her apparent change of attitude since the morning, which I had already noted when she helped me get ready for my trip into the village, but was interrupted by voices from the room across the hall. First was alarmed then realised it was Darcy and Miss Dohnanyi in Miss Dohnanyi’s room, getting her things ready. Was just about to suggest to Caroline that we remove to a more private place when she put a hand on my arm and whispered, ‘what are they talking?’
Listened again and noticed, this time, that they were speaking German. Never realised Caroline does not speak it. Must try to teach it to her some time.
‘He is apologising for ransacking her belongings,’ I explained to Caroline in a whisper. ‘He is telling her he is sorry we removed the pictures of her brother’s funeral from the Curse and hands them back to her.’
In the mirror over Caroline’s vanity, we could see Miss Dohnanyi accepting the pictures from Darcy and stowing them back into the book that way lying on her desk. Miss Dohnanyi then asked Darcy something in a low voice and Caroline looked questioningly at me.
‘She is asking Darcy whether he knew that this was her brother’s copy. It is one of very few items of his she managed to take with her, she explains.’
We saw a rare spark of emotion flit across Darcy’s face before he spoke again. Without any further prompting from Caroline, I translated in a whisper.
‘He says he had no idea, and that she is an incredibly brave woman,’ I said, ‘and now he is asking her whether she knew it was his father who wrote that book. Dear me, he is looking quite smug, is he not?’
We watched as Miss Dohnanyi gave a little shriek of amazement, clapped her hand to her mouth, then jabbed away in rapid German.
‘She says she had no idea,’ I translated, ‘but that she should have realised all along. She marvels how she could have been so ignorant at what was going on around her when the truth has been directly in front of her all the time.’
We saw Darcy take Miss Dohnanyi’s hand and squeeze it .
‘He is saying that he himself has been blind to quite a lot of things,’ I translated. ‘And now he is saying -’
Caroline interrupted me.
‘I suppose we better not tell them we were eavesdropping,’ she muttered. ‘They might take it in the wrong way.’
She took my arm and gestured towards the door.
Left the room with Caroline then, still with no opportunity to discuss the recent events with her.
Must say, quite astonished at Caroline’s room though. Quite the contrast to her room at Hurst Park. That was very orderly and elegant. This here is much more Caroline. A little more messy, with her books and other belonging lying all around, but infinitely more comfortable for it. The furniture is not as new and styled after the latest fashion as the one at Hurst Park is, but looks older, more used. Recognised the armchair by the window as an old favourite from the nursery. There is a throw on the bed which I know Mina once made for her, and some photographs of all of us scattered around the room.
Realised, with a jolt, that this is probably the closest to home she has had since her father died and they had to sell the townhouse. Suddenly thought how hard it must be for her to always be someone’s guest. However welcome she is at her brother’s or her sister’s place it cannot be the same as having a home of one’s own to come to. Felt incredibly sorry for her but knew not how I could tell her this so just put an arm around her and steered her towards the stairs.
Knew not that once had the boldness to touch Caroline, would not be able not to touch her anymore. Only wonder what I am supposed to do now.

After Tomasz had left, my outlook on the future became rather bleak again. As the winter approached, things took a turn for the worse. In November we received intelligence that our mother had contracted tuberculosis in prison and was gravely ill. W were not able to visit her as our presence in Vienna had to be concealed, but Father Kaufmann received permission to see her. I think the news that Arnold and I were alive and well greatly relieved her. Father Kaufmann told us later that she thanked him profoundly for his visit an sent us all her love. She died two days later, leaving Arnold and me her prayer book and her rosary, her only remaining personal items.
Our father died of the same illness a few days later and luckily, Father Kaufmann was also able to see him for a last time. Father Kaufmann received permission to bury them outside the prison walls and we laid them side by side on a small, almost forgotten graveyard, in the shadows of a large birch.
Arnold kept even more to himself after the funeral. He hardly spoke to us at all and often disappeared for hours, when not even Father Kaufmann would be able to tell us where he was. I knew that he blamed himself for all that had happened, but he never spoke to me about it. The only person he seemed to be able to talk to was Rivka, Frau Glickstein’s daughter, who had come to live with us with her infant son after her husband’s death. Arnold confided in Rivka, although what they spoke about, I know not. I only touched upon the subject with Rivka once. She said that Arnold was so worked up with feeling guilty that he did not allow himself to grieve. Then I knew not what she meant, but today I understand her.

That winter, Arnold also thought about leaving Vienna for good and going to England. I know because I overheard him and Rivka talking in the kitchen one night. He was worrying that he perhaps ought to try to leave Austria and bring me to safety as long as he was still able to. In the end, however, we stayed in Vienna. Whether it was because of Rivka that Arnold was hesitant to leave, or whether he wanted to finish his work in Vienna, I know not. He offered me, however, that if I did not feel safe and wanted to leave, he would do all he could to help me escape. I wanted to stay. Arnold was the only family I had and I wanted to support his work in all ways I could. After much persuading from Rivka, Arnold grudgingly had to admit that I was no longer a child and that he had to accept my decision.
Spring came and saw me still pouring over my books. When I was not reading or studying with Father Kaufmann, I helped Rivka minding Yankele or took him outside when Rivka and her mother were sewing. Arnold had found work as a waiter in one of the many wine-houses and the money helped us greatly. Before our parents’ deaths, we had now and then been able to withdraw money from their bank accounts, with the help of a friendly teller, but after they had died, all the money had fallen to the crown and Arnold and I had suddenly found ourselves without any means whatsoever. Not even Frau Glickstein could afford not to demand any rent from us.
I wanted to contribute something as well, for even though Arnold’s wages kept us from destitution, we were far from doing well. Arnold forbade me to take work in a factory or as a serving girl, and this time Rivka did nothing to persuade him. What I had learnt at Frau Reimann’s was nothing that could be put to good use and as I could not use my own name, I had no references that would enable me to work as a governess for the genteel or as a schoolteacher. I could knit and crochet tolerably well, and sometimes, Frau Glickstein was able to find some work for me when she had special demands for her gowns, but apart from that, the only work I could find was the occasional writing or translating job which Father Kaufmann would find me, where I would usually help short-sighted elderly ladies compose letters to their families and friends, or translate letters of business from the United States for a coffee merchant.
For a few months, I did tolerably well when I assisted a lady who wrote sentimental novels and, having broken her arm, could not write very well. She was kind enough to allow me to practice on her typewrite in my free time, so that when I left her, it was with a very good letter of recommendation - if I may say so - and considerable skills in shorthand and typing. I felt competent enough now to seek employment in an office and about a year after our parents’ death, I had found a post as a secretary with an acquaintance of Father Kaufmann, Herr Leopold, a lawyer.
Arnold, meanwhile, had found better work; he was no longer a waiter, but now a concierge in a large hotel. I had suggested to him that he try and find a post similar to mine; surely, with his intelligence and skills, he could easily have become someone’s private secretary, but he preferred working in a place where many people would come. He argued that he needed to keep contact to the people if he wanted to notice unusual incidents.

Several years later, things were looking much better for us at Christmas than ever before, and for the first time since he had met me in Koenigsberg, Arnold had started to become optimistic about the future. He and Rivka now openly discussed the possibility of getting married and talked about finding a larger flat for the five of us, as the two rooms and the kitchen became more and more crowded ever since Yankele, now about to enter school, had started to walk.
You wonder about our other line of work, Mr Darcy? Even in that respect, things seemed to have become quiet. The chaos after the empress’ assassination had caused a mass outbreak of infestations, but these were now under control, if not wholly exterminated. After our third Christmas in Vienna, both Arnold and Fr. Kaufmann had said that they had told me all they knew, but so far, apart from minor crises, there had been no occasion for me to test my abilities.
A few weeks before Yankele was to start school, however, things changed. Arnold, I think, was the first to notice it. It was almost imperceptible in the beginning - a subtle change in the atmosphere, a darker aura - for lack of a better word - in some places; nothing, in short, that you could point your finger at. Then, on Ash Wednesday, a girl was attacked. She was not older than eleven; she never stood a chance. Soon after, both the girls’ sibling succumbed to the same illness that had, as the parents described it, befallen the girl. They had grown pale, restless and feverish, had become squeamish and panicked at the slightest uproar and looked constantly worse, weak and very ill, as if consumed from within; but upon their death, had radiated an almost angelic beauty. It was one of Frau Glickstein’s customers who told us the story and when Arnold and I had spoken with the parents our worst fears were confirmed. That what had haunted Vienna several years ago had come back, and it meant to stay.
I need hardly describe to you how things developed; you know how it happens. I do not want to go into details. You must know what I had to - what we were forced to - it was the most horrible thing I ever had to do, but of course we had no other choice.
That month before Easter was the strangest, most unreal time I have ever had. It was unusually warm for the time, even warmer than usually in July; the air was constantly humid and grew steadily staler from lack of wind, and most evenings, we saw rain and thunderstorms, which felt as if the world was torn asunder.
On Palm Sunday, the weather finally calmed and at Easter was normal again; but it did not matter, for on Maundy Thursday, the world broke apart for real.

Arnold and I had just left Church after the service and were about to go home and rest for an hour or two before setting out for that night’s work.
It all happened in an instant. We felt it coming to us from out of the shadows. How it managed to get so close to the church, I have no idea, but its creator must have given it powers we knew nothing about.
There was barely enough time to get ready to fight, but instead, Arnold pushed me back into the church, and, against my struggles, tried to close the door after me. The thing attacked him from behind. He had no chance. It was gone as soon as it had come; the only trace it left was my dying brother. Father Kaufmann and I carried him into the vestry, but there was nothing that could be done. We sent for Rivka, who came at once, and together, we waited at his side. He lingered until Friday noon. He regained consciousness once, around midnight, but was too weak to say much apart from farewell.
The only thing we can be grateful for is that he never transformed; by the time the poison began to work, he had already lost too much blood.
We buried him on Tuesday, next to our parents. All of his friends who could make it came to the funeral, which was a great comfort, but unfortunately alerted the authorities to my presence. The very next day, after morning prayers, Fr. Kaufmann told me of the danger I was in; that the church was being surrounded as we were speaking. I would not have left Vienna for the world, but I had no choice. Disguised as a nun, I left with two of Arnold’s friends. Two months later, I arrived at Lady Metcalfe’s house in London, with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and my little handbag.
I never even said goodbye to anyone