On the Night of the Seventh Moon

“Young girls really have plenty to do in the house,” she said.

“They learn how to be good wives when they marry.”

“It seems very little,” I replied.

“Oh no, being a housewife is one of the important jobs in the world . for a woman.”

I didn’`t take to it. My jam burned the pans; the labels came off.

Aunt Caroline tut-tutted.

“This is what comes of going to outlandish schools.”

“Outlandish’ was a favourite word, to be applied to anything of which she did not approve.

My father had made that ‘outlandish’ marriage. I had ‘outlandish’ notions about doing something in life.

“What could you do? Go and be a governess to children? Miss Grace, the vicar’s daughter in our old home, went as a companion when her father died.”

“She went into a decline soon after,” added Aunt Matilda grimly.

To that Lady Ogilvy. She was the one who stopped giving soup to the poor because she said they gave it to the pigs as soon as her back was turned. “

“I knew what was wrong with her long before,” put in Aunt Matilda.

“She was that transparent colour. You can tell.

“You’ll go into a decline, my girl,” I said to myself.

“And it won’t be very long before you do either.”

I was thoughtful. I didn’`t fancy looking after children or being a companion to some fratchetty old lady who might well be worse than Aunt Caroline and Aunt Matilda; at least the incongruity of their conversation and the predictability of their views gave me a little amusement.

I was drifting. It was as though I were waiting. Life was dull; my high spirits were taking a waspish turn because I was frustrated. I provoked the aunts; I refused to learn what Aunt Caroline was so desperate to teach; I was flippant over the ailments of the body. Yes, I was frustrated. I yearned for something and I was not sure what. I felt that but for that adventure in the forest I might have felt differently. If Siegfried had not robbed me of my virtue (as he had put it), he had robbed me of my peace of mind. I felt that I had glimpsed something which I would not have known existed if he had not shown me; and now I could never clearly be content again.

When the Clees came in the spring life was more tolerable. They were as serious as Anthony Greville. I went into the shop quite a bit and grew very friendly with them. The aunts quite liked them too. I was nearly nineteen-not yet of age; the aunts were my guardians; and life seemed to promise me very little.

And then the Gleibergs appeared in Oxford.

I was helping Aunt Caroline make strawberry jam when they arrived.

There was a knock on the door and Aunt Caroline cried: “Who on earth is that, of this hour of the morning?”

It was about eleven o’clock and I was surprised afterwards that I had no premonition of how important this meeting was going to prove.

Aunt Caroline stood, her head on one side listening to the voices in the hall, to make sure that Ellen was making the necessary enquiries as to the visitors’ identity in the correct manner.

She came into the kitchen. oh Mum . “

“Madam,” corrected Aunt Caroline.

“Madam, they say they’re your cousins so I put them in the drawing-room.”

“Cousins!” cried Aunt Caroline indignantly.

“What cousins? We have no cousins.”

Aunt Matilda came into the kitchen. Unexpected callers were an event and she had seen them arrive.

“Cousins!” repeated Aunt Caroline, “They say they’re our cousins!”

“Our only cousin was Albert. He died of liver,” said Aunt Matilda.

“He drank. We never beard what became of his wife. She was as fond of the liquor as he was. Sometimes it affects the heart and she was always a funny colour.”

“Why not go and see them?” I said.

“You’ll probably find they’re some long-lost relations who have suffered all the diseases that flesh-is heir to.”

Aunt Caroline gave me that look which meant that I was showing signs of my outlandish education; Aunt Matilda, who was more simple, never tried to analyse the workings of my mind; although she kept a close watch on my physical condition.

I followed them into the drawing-room because after all, if the cousins were theirs they were probably some relation to me also.

I was unprepared for the visitors. They looked foreign.

“Outlandish’ I knew Aunt Caroline was thinking.

They were a man and a woman. The woman was of middle height and carried herself well; the man, of the same height, was inclined to rotundity. She wore a black gown and elegant bonnet on her fair hair.

The man clicked his heels and bowed as we entered.

They were both looking at me and the woman said in English : “This must be Helena.” And my heart began to beat fast with excitement because I recognized her accent; I had heard it many times while I was in the Damenstift.

I went forward expectantly and she took my hands in hers and looked earnestly into my face.

“You have a look of your mother,” she said.

She turned to the man: “It is so, don’t you agree, Ernst?”

“I think I see it,” he replied rather slowly.

Aunt Caroline said: “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.”

They’sat.

“We are here for a short visit,” said the woman in rather laborious English.

“Three weeks or so. We came to London. My husband has seen a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Aunt Matilda’s eyes glistened.

“It’s a complaint of the heart. So he came to London and I thought while we are in England we must go to Oxford and see Lili. We have called at the bookshop and they tell us this sad news. We did not know, you see, that she was dead. But at least we can see Helena.”

“Oh,” said Aunt Caroline coldly, ‘so you’re relations of Helena’s mother. “

“Would it be the valves?” asked Aunt Matilda.

“I knew somebody who was born with valve trouble.”

Nobody was listening to her. In fact I doubted the visitors knew what she was talking about.

“Soon after her marriage when she came to England,” said the woman, ‘we began to lose touch. There were a few letters and then-nothing more. I knew there was a daughter, Helena. ” She smiled at me.

“I felt we couldn’'t be so near and not look you up.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said.

“Where do you live? Near my mother’s old home? She talked about it a good deal.”

“Did she ever mention me?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Ilse, Ilse Gleiberg now, but not then of course.”

“Ilse,” I said.

“There were some cousins, I know.”

“There were several of us. Oh dear, it seems so long ago. And then everything changed when she married and went away. People should never really lose touch.”

“Whereabouts do you live?”

“We have just taken a little summer place temporarily. It’s in the Lokenwald.”

“The Lokenwald!” There was a lilt in my voice. Aunt Caroline would notice it and think it unbecoming. Aunt Matilda would be aware of my high colour and think I was developing heart disease. I wanted to laugh; I was suddenly so lighthearted.

“I was educated at a Damenstift near Liechtenkinn.”

“Really well that’s quite close to the Lokenwald.”

“Loke’s forest!” I said gaily.

“Ah, you know something of our old legends.”

Aunt Caroline was restive. These people seemed to forget that she was the mistress of the house, because they were so excited to have discovered me.

To turn the attention from me Aunt Caroline suggested that the visitors might like a glass of her elderberry wine. They accepted and Aunt Caroline summoned Ellen and then, afraid that she would not dust the glasses or in some way not carry out the order to her liking, went off to superintend the ceremony. Aunt Matilda cornered Ernst Gleiberg and talked to him about hearts, but his English was not as good as his wife’s, which didn’`t worry Aunt Matilda who never needed replies, only an audience.