‘I shall never be ready in time!’ she muttered nervously, sweeping aside the green damask curtain of her bedstead, where her ball gown, a diaphanous cloud of pale-blue tulle, lay spread out on the coverlet.
Frédérique’s ball dress had been delivered by the dressmaker that morning, and she wanted to add a few bows but scarcely dared touch the garment for fear of tangling the filmy material.
‘Oh, what shall I do?’ she moaned. Then, on an impulse, she ran out of the room and called from the landing:
‘Tilly, Tilly, Mathilda!’
A door opened and her sister appeared in some alarm.
‘But, Freddie, whatever is the matter? Is the house on fire?’
‘No, no! If it were I wouldn’t be calling you specifically, now would I? The thing is, I need help, I’m at my wits’ end and I’ll never be ready!’
‘Help? What with?’
‘With my dress! I told you I wanted some little bows as a finishing touch. I thought it looked rather bare on the side, and I’ve bought some ribbons.’
Before Mathilda could answer, the door of another room opened to reveal Madame van Erlevoort, demanding to know what the commotion was about. At the same time a shrill burst of children’s laughter came from the second floor, followed by the loud patter of small feet. Frédérique’s seven-year-old niece came tripping down the stairs with her six-year-old brother in hot pursuit.
‘Mama! Mama!’ screamed the little girl, clearing the last steps with a jump.
‘Now, now, Tina and Jo! What a dreadful noise you’re making! What are you doing here?’ chided their mother.
‘Jo keeps teasing me, he wants to tickle me and he knows I can’t stand it!’ explained Ernestine breathlessly, and she hid behind her grandmother’s skirts while Frédérique caught hold of her brother.
‘How many times have I told you not to run about indoors, and to keep your voices down!’ scolded Mathilda. ‘You know Granny isn’t getting any younger, and all this noise is too much for her.’
‘Never mind,’ soothed Madame van Erlevoort. ‘They were only playing.’
‘You’d better be careful, young man, or I shall tickle you!’ cried Frédérique, and she tickled Jo under his short arms so that he fell about laughing.
‘Mais comme vous les gâtez, toutes les deux; ne les choyez donc pas, quand je suis fâchée. Je perdrai tout mon pouvoir, si vous continuez ainsi!’ fretted Mathilda. She leant over the banisters, where Madeleine and Nico were driving fat Nurse Frantzen to distraction with their disobedience.
‘Madeleine and Nico! Stop that at once!’ she cried.
‘Oh, Mathilda, never mind the children, just come and look at my dress!’ pleaded Frédérique.
‘It’s impossible to keep them in order!’ sighed Mathilda.
‘You had better hurry up, Freddie; dinner will be early today — hopefully in half an hour,’ said Madame van Erlevoort.
The front door opened and in came Otto and Etienne van Erlevoort, their cheerful voices mingling with the children’s excited shrieks, Miss Frantzen’s fruitless admonitions, and the barking of Hector, Otto’s black dog.
‘Mathilda, please come and look at my dress, just for a second!’ Freddie wheedled in her sweetest voice.
Mathilda abandoned further attempts to discipline her brood and allowed herself to be led away by Frédérique.
‘Really, I mean it; they’re getting completely out of hand.’
‘Now, now, children, stop fighting! Be good, now!’ said Madame van Erlevoort to Ernestine and Johan. ‘Come with me, come downstairs with Granny. It’s freezing cold out here on the landing.’
. .
Madame van Erlevoort was used to the bustle and turmoil of children, which had never caused her the slightest displeasure. As a mother of seven she had always been surrounded by laughter, squabbling and excitement, and could not imagine a large family growing up in an atmosphere any calmer than that which she had known herself. Her house had been filled with shrill jubilation, noisy disputes and the constant running to and fro of her youngsters until they grew up, all aflutter with youthful high spirits. Then, with the passing of her husband Theodore Otto, Baron van Erlevoort ter Horze, member of the Second Chamber of the States General, a period of unprecedented calm had set in, when four of her children in succession had married and left home. The first to go was Theodore, the eldest, who now managed their estates in Gelderland, and who, in possession of a young wife and numerous offspring, appeared to have transformed into a gentleman farmer as well as a youthful patriarch. Next had been Mathilda, her third daughter, whose brief marriage had been very unhappy; she was followed by the two eldest girls, Catherine and Suzanne, the former married to an English banker by the name of Percy Howard and now residing in London, and the latter to the Honourable Arnold van Stralenburg, registrar at the court of law at Zwolle.
Thus Madame van Erlevoort was left with two sons and a daughter — Otto, Assistant Commissioner at the Ministry of Home Affairs, Etienne, studying law in Leiden, and her youngest, Frédérique — and without the novel charm and refreshing emotions of being a grandmother, the comparative calm that ensued would certainly have rendered her despondent, accustomed as she was to the patter of light feet on the stairs and the song and laughter of clear voices in her spacious hall.
And now Mathilda had returned home with her children, over whom she had been granted custody after her divorce from Van Rijssel. He had gone abroad, and little had been heard of him since.
Madame van Erlevoort sympathised with her daughter, who had so long and with such dignity borne her lot of wronged wife, and received her with open arms, inwardly delighting in the fresh, burgeoning life the four grandchildren brought into her house. She spoilt them all, more than she had ever spoilt her own children, and even their wildest pranks failed to rouse her anger. Mathilda, for her part, was concerned about the effect this might have on her young foursome, and begged her mother not to oppose her when she meted out some well-deserved punishment. Madame van Erlevoort conceded to this readily enough, but would forget all about it the next minute, and while Frédérique, herself a pampered child, took her sister’s side, she made little attempt to instil any discipline in them either. It was only from her brother Otto that Mathilda could expect firm support, and it was indeed only to their uncle that the four rascals showed any respect. Otto had inherited his mother’s kind heart and his father’s common sense, and with his calm demeanour seemed older than his twenty-eight years. But his manly features were cast in such a genial, sincere mould, and there was so much sympathy and trust in those dark, shining eyes, that his general air of earnestness and sound sense was by no means unattractive. Etienne, by contrast, was all cheer and light-hearted restlessness, his mother’s favourite and the very sunshine of her existence. Frédérique was devoted to both her brothers, but often called Otto ‘Daddy’, while she would romp with Etienne much as Madeleine did with Nico and Tina with Jo.
. .
Madame van Erlevoort had decreed that dinner would be early — at half-past five — so that she might take a short rest before dressing for the ball at the Eekhofs, which she would attend with Freddie and her two sons. Mathilda, the quiet, sad-eyed young mother who seemed to have lost the ability to laugh, would remain at home with the children. The unruly foursome had their meals separately with Miss Frantzen, at Mathilda’s urgent request, for Madame van Erlevoort would have liked nothing better than to have the whole tribe plus their stout nursemaid joining her at mealtimes, not caring a bit about gravy stains on her damask tablecloth, glasses getting broken, or small fingers being dipped in the preserves. Thus Mathilda had been unable to prevent the youngsters from stealing into the dining room one by one after their supper, to the dismay of Miss Frantzen, who would put her head round the door, round-eyed with alarm. After they had done this several times without any protest from their grandmamma they had made a habit of it, in which Mathilda would acquiesce with a sigh. Etienne and Frédérique took it all as a good joke and Otto laughed too, and in the end Mathilda gave a shrug and smiled: it couldn’t be helped.