478Appearing to have set in for the rest of the afternoon, a thick fog hung heavy in the air. It was one of those drizzly kinds of fogs, and a fine damp layer had quickly settled on them, their woollen coats musty and dank. Seeing any distance was near on impossible, and every sound that reached them arrived muffled and distorted. With the world shrunk to little more than the few yards around them, they'd given up any attempt to get their bearings or make sense of their surrounds long ago. Left with little choice, they ploughed on. Like a millstone, the fog had been a constant companion since they'd set sail from Trieste. Rarely leaving them for more than a day, it would return thicker and heavier than when it last paid an unwelcome visit.
At least they were back on land, Maria kept telling herself. It could be worse – much worse. They weren't being tossed around on grey waves, with a gale force wind threatening to rip sails from their mast. Trudging along between the two girls, she had one hand wrapped around Brigitta's, while Marta clutched tightly to the other. The girls' free hands were stuffed deep in their pockets, a desperate attempt to keep them out of the biting cold.
It wasn't the first time they'd all wished for the mittens and scarfs tucked away and forgotten at the back of their drawers sometime last spring. Soon after the first few frosty mornings and then the days on end of biting cold wind, they'd made a pact to give up any mention of them. Like so many other things they missed and had left behind, it went without saying – they wanted their mittens, longed for a warm fire, craved a hot meal. Even Gretl had stopped grumbling, taking a little longer than her brothers and sisters to realise nothing would be gained by constant complaining.
Maria's eyes fell on Max, taking up the lead with an arm around Kurt's shoulders. Only a few yards ahead, they looked like they might disappear altogether into the cloud of fog with each new stride. She smiled to herself – it took too much effort for a real smile. Max's earlier attempts at clumsy magic tricks hadn't been able to conjure up mittens, beanies and scarves out of nothing. But at least, he'd been able to make the children smile.
Glancing to her right, she could see a ghostly halo hanging low in the mist. Who knows, it might be a bright, sunny day somewhere above all this grey. Not that it mattered. The fog seemed to have settled in for the evening, so would probably linger all night and into the morning. Knowing where they were, would have to wait until then. She was just grateful to have her feet back on land. If she never set foot on a boat again, she'd be relieved.
She shot a guilty look over Marta's head in Georg's direction. Not that she'd tell him. How he spent weeks out on the water, she'd never know. Perhaps it was easier underneath the waves. She doubted it. Her stomach still felt like it was churning – it had since the night they left Trieste. And if she stood still on one spot, she was sure she could feel the ground bobbing and swaying under her feet.
She noticed Georg rummaging in the pocket of the tweed overcoat he'd claimed from the St Francis of Assisi poor box back at San Giusto's. Tailored for a man they'd never meet, it was at least two sizes too big for him. She'd often caught him cursing under his breath as he wrestled with the scratchy, cheap woollen collar chafing at his neck. At least it was keeping out some of this damp and cold. And Heaven knows, they'd given up caring what they looked like a long time ago…
Georg pulled out the scrap of paper, torn from a notebook back in John's office. It had a telephone number, and an imprecise address with vague directions, all written in the familiar block letters that notated John's blueprints. The telephone number had proved useless. Even if he could find a telephone box in this fog – surely, it would be easier to find a needle in a haystack – he didn't have the right currency. The only thing he could stuff into it were some francs or the few Austrian schilling notes remaining from Salzburg. Converting them was out of the question, drawing the kind of attention they were desperate to avoid.
He tightened his jaw. In this fog, the directions proved almost as useless as the telephone number. Realising they were somewhere in the middle of a crossroads, he stopped and narrowed his eyes at the name on the street sign. Frowning, he looked down at the paper, than back up at the street sign.
"Is this it, Father?" Friedrich asked, clasping his hands and holding them against his mouth. Blowing into them, a puff of warm vapour hung in a cloud around him for a moment or two before dissipating into the cold and mist.
"Y-es…" Georg answered unconvincingly, the accompanying sigh immediately joined by a cloud of vapour. Waiting for everyone else to mill around, he made sure they hadn't lost anyone in the fog. "We turn right here," he announced, scanning the children with concern. Shrunken eyes rimmed by black circles stared back at him. With barely a nod between them, there wasn't even a hint of relief on their white faces. Just blank looks. What he'd give to hear the banter and joy he'd grown used to over summer. God knows, right now, he'd settle for just a smile. "It shouldn't be too much further…" he added reassuringly, realising it would take much more than that to lift their tired spirits.
"Where are we going, Father?" Liesl asked.
"I'm not entirely sure, Liesl," Georg answered truthfully, having learned early it was easier to temper the children's hopes, than deal with their disappointment later. "I'm not sure, but they must be connected to your grandfather."
"Maybe Gromi knows them, too?" Gretl suggested helpfully.
"Perhaps Gromi does know them," Georg reached out and placed a tender hand on Gretl's hair. Shocked by its dampness, he hoped they'd soon be out of this awful drizzly fog. Much longer, they'd all catch a chill. "Would you like me to piggyback you the rest of the way, sweetheart?" he asked his youngest, despite his back still being the worse for wear. The bruises and swelling might no longer be visible from where the boom had swung back unexpectedly during a storm on their third night out from Trieste, but the pain lingered. He caught Maria's eye, her look of concern obvious.
"I can carry you, Gretl," Friedrich crouched down beside his sister, who quickly wrapped her arms around her brother's neck before he changed his mind. Standing up, Friedrich waited for Gretl to settle on his back and loop her legs over his arms. He turned to nod at his father. "Just looking after you, old man," Friedrich quipped.
"Hmpf!" Georg replied, landing a soft punch on his son's upper arm affectionately. "Come on, everyone, it's down this way!"
Turning right and leaving the cobblestone laneway behind, the crunch under their feet announced their arrival on a gravel side road. The footpaths had come to an end sometime further back when they'd turned off the high street, so they'd been trudging down the middle of the road. In this weather, they were unlikely to meet anyone.
The fog seemed to be growing thicker, and they couldn't see much beyond the stone fences, the modest front gardens and the stone façades. If the road wasn't so narrow, they might not have realised there were houses on both sides. After passing five or six double storey homes made from the same local stone as the fences, the row of houses ended, replaced with a field, bordered by a timber post and rail fence. Every now and then, the silence was broken by a cow lowing in the distance. An odd sound, more like a foghorn in this blanket of grey and mist.
Crunching along the gravel road, their silence dragged out into minutes. Tired, cold and miserable, none of them had the energy to talk. Besides, what was there to chat about. The fog, the cold, the constant gnawing hunger?
"Mother…?" Marta's tentative whisper finally broke the silence.
"Yes, Marta?" From somewhere, Maria's heart found the energy to leap for joy. It always did whenever one of the children called her mother.
"Do you think we can get a kitten?"
"A kitten…?" Maria smiled. Not the question she was expecting. But then, the children, especially the younger ones, came out with the strangest things at times. Although, she shouldn't be too surprised. Back at the wharf, Marta and Gretl had noticed a cat slinking around the fishing boats. The girls would have stayed to play if only the skinny tortoiseshell hadn't been more interested in the prospect of a meal of offcuts or undersized fish from the day's catch.
"Yes… a kitten," Marta replied.
"It might be a bit difficult travelling with a kitten, don't you think?" Maria squeezed the little girl's hand.
"Maybe…" Marta drifted back into her thoughts, imagining sitting on the boat with a black and white kitten – or maybe a tabby one – cradled in her arms.
"I'd much rather a puppy…" Brigitta spoke up.
"But he'd scare my kitten!" Marta exclaimed, horrified.
"They could be friends," Brigitta decided. "Couldn't they, Mother?"
Maria smiled. There was that word again. "I can't see why not," she said. "Perhaps one day when we're settled." Glancing either side, she watched the girls' heads bob up and down in silent agreement.
Now that they'd settled that, silence fell upon the group again. As the minutes dragged on, a raven's mournful call broke through the misty cloud. It was a fitting accompaniment to their forlorn little group. Although she'd grown used to it and no longer cared, Maria had noticed the looks that came their way as they walked through the main streets of town, a block or two from the wharf. The dishevelled, hungry-looking group in worn, ill-fitting clothes, that were starting to resemble rags. They stood out even in a small, working-class port town.
"I can see someone ahead, Father!" Kurt called out over his shoulder from the front of the group, his voice seeming louder than usual in their foggy cocoon.
"It's not people, silly!" Louisa called out to the back of her brother's head. With the benefit of a few more steps, she squinted as two towering figures started to take form. "It's gates…"
With each step, more of the stone gate posts took shape, seeming to have kept watch over the countryside for centuries like a pair of sentinels. The large iron gates that hung from the posts were already open wide. As they trudged through, Georg wondered when they'd last been closed. Judging by the gravel and weeds that had built up along their bottom rail, it hadn't been any time recently.
"Are you sure this is the right address?" Maria frowned, wishing they could see further than a few yards.
"I think so…" Georg had been doubting his navigation skills for the past mile, since they'd turned left at the town hall. Perhaps they should have turned right? John had listed the addresses of friends they could rely on at different stages throughout their journey, but there were no names, and the addresses were vague and coded, just in case the information fell into the wrong hands. At times, they'd been forced to change their plans, so had bypassed some of the contacts along the way. "Yes," Georg answered with more conviction, realising his indecision was no doubt causing the children concern. "This is it."
"Well, even if they're not expecting us, I'm sure they'll have a roaring fire and a shot of brandy," Max couldn't face the possibility this might be the wrong address and they'd have to turn around.
"Ooh, Uncle Max! I'd love to warm my hands in front of a fire…" Liesl whispered dreamily, pushing her hands deeper into the pockets of a coat covering a dress which was far too thin to be worn in this weather.
"I'd give anything for a hot chocolate…" Louisa chimed in.
"It's been forever since we had one of those," with Gretl still clinging to his back, Friedrich's thoughts drifted off to Frau Sudholz's mugs of melted chocolate around the large table in the kitchen in front of the wood stove.
"Do you think they have warm apple strudel?" Kurt had lost count of the days since he'd eaten his favourite dessert. Seeing it in the window displays of bakeries they'd passed by, didn't really count, and only made the cravings worse.
"I hope so, Kurt, I really hope so!" Max squeezed the boy's shoulders.
Sparked by the possibility of getting out of the damp fog, the children fell silent but continued dreaming what might be waiting for them at the end of the drive. Crunching along the gravel in a straight line, the black trunks and bare branches of ancient oaks formed a ghostly avenue.
After a few hundred yards, they followed the drive's sweeping bend, and were relieved to see a building start to take shape as it rose slowly ahead of them out of the fog. A large, double storey home gradually revealed itself, perched on a rise overlooking surrounding countryside that would have been part of the original estate. The grey stone was almost lost in the fog, which had thickened since walking up the driveway's gentle incline. In the silence, their hearts were hopeful for what lay beyond the imposing façade. A fire, something to eat, a hot bath, dry clothes…
"Who lives here, Father?" Friedrich asked, staring wide-eyed at the impressive mansion.
"I'm not sure, son," Georg answered.
Stepping off the circular drive and up the stone steps to the large portico framed by thick columns, Georg turned to cast an eye over the children as they milled around. Dwarfed by the enormous double doors, he searched for a doorbell. Giving up, he seized the original iron knocker and gave two, then a third, sharp rap. In the silence, they heard the sound echoing on the other side of the door.
Holding their collective breath, heavy footsteps, barely audible at first, grew louder. The handle turned and the latch groaned moments before the door slowly moved away from the ten pairs of hopeful eyes.
"Yes…?" A young man in a black afternoon suit looked the rag-tag group up and down.
"Georg von Trapp…" Georg introduced himself. "Captain Georg von Trapp…"
If the young man was expecting them, it certainly didn't show.
"Who is it, Edward…?"
At the sound of a woman's voice calling out from somewhere in the bowels of the house, the children looked at each other.
"Edward…?" This time louder, the question was accompanied by the echo of footsteps on marble.
Ignoring the young butler, Georg reached out and pushed the door wider open. "Excuse me, Edward…" he glared at the man as he walked through the doorway. Turning, he ushered everyone to follow him.
Moments later, a woman emerged from one of the doorways. She stopped and stared at the group gathered in the foyer.
"Gromi…?" The children all said her name as one, their eyes wide, their mouths open in shock.
"Children!" Countess Whitehead's feet started moving towards the front door. Arms wide, she met her grandchildren somewhere in the middle of the foyer and gathered them tightly against her. "Georg… why didn't you tell us…?" Eyes brimming with tears, she frowned over the heads of the children. "You should have called…"
Georg didn't bother explaining he might have if they could find a telephone out in the fog.
"You're all frozen to the bone! Come, through to the sitting room," Countess Whitehead ushered the children. "John…! You'll never guess who's here!" she called out over her shoulder to the far end of the large, dimly lit foyer. "John!" she called out again. "He must be on one of his telephone calls…" she dropped her voice and shrugged in the direction of Maria and Georg.
Still standing in shock near the front door, Maria hadn't even heard the butler close the door behind them. Watching the children, closely followed by Max, scurry through one of the doors toward the promise of a warm fire, a wave of relief washed over her for the first time in weeks. She caught Georg's eye. Did you know?
Georg shook his head. No idea, my love…
"Maria…" Countess Whitehead walked to the door where the pair were still standing. She gathered Maria in her arms and held her tight. "I can't thank you enough for looking after the children," she murmured against her hair. Reaching out for Georg, she pulled him into the same embrace with Maria. "What kept you, Georg…" she whispered through tears. "We've been worried sick… I haven't slept for weeks…"
At the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, she remembered herself and let go of them both. She took a second look at Maria, recognising her dress under the loose hanging coat.
"I'm sorry…" Maria could feel her cheeks grow warm. "I had to borrow…"
"Nonsense! No need to apologise…" the Countess had taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing her eyes. "John, darling, they've arrived!"
"Oh, thank Heavens!" John's deep voice rumbled through the foyer. "We expected you five or six weeks ago, Georg!" Forgetting stuffy convention, he gave Georg a warm, yet awkward hug. Pulling away, both men cleared their throats and shuffled their feet. "Maria…" he gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Now…" he called over in the direction of the sitting room, his voice booming, "where are the children?"
Maria smiled as he strode through the doorway, the children's joy and excitement quickly spilling into the foyer.
"Let's not stand around…" Countess Whitehead, ushered them towards the sitting room. "You must be frozen! The locals keep telling us, we've skipped autumn altogether this year."
"Well, it certainly feels like winter out there…" Georg muttered under his breath.
"Edward!" She called out over her shoulder.
"Yes, Countess…?" the young man took a reluctant step away from the front door.
"Tea, hot chocolates…" she ordered. "Tell Mrs Jones, we've got hungry mouths to feed…" she stopped and turned to Maria. "You are hungry, I assume…" she smiled as Maria answered with a quick nod. "Edward, bring whatever cakes and biscuits we have. Sandwiches… use some of the leftover lamb. Tell Mrs Jones, we'll have an early dinner…"
"We weren't expecting you to be here," Georg smiled at Aggie.
"Oh, Georg, after we didn't hear from you for weeks, I couldn't possibly stay at Cardross," Countess Whitehead explained. Not that she'd ever really cared for the Whitehead's family estate in the Scottish Highlands. "I told John, we had to be here, somewhere close to the Channel, not the opposite end of the country."
"Where exactly are we…?" Georg frowned around the dimly lit foyer with its heavy timber panelling.
"It's Ellington Hall," Countess Whitehead noticed Georg's frown didn't shift. "One of the summer houses owned by Fanny's husband," she added.
"Fanny…?" Georg asked.
"Yes, Frances… John's youngest sister," Countess Whitehead explained. "She married well – I think that's the local term – and they have houses dotted all over the countryside."
"Oh…" Georg and Maria answered in unison.
"But enough about all that…" Countess Whitehead ushered Georg and Maria toward the sitting room. "We need to get you both warm." Realisation hitting, she stopped suddenly. Clutching Georg's arm, she looked toward the front doors. "Where's Hede? Wasn't she with you when you left Salzburg?"
"She came as far as Paris," Georg dropped his voice so the children wouldn't hear. "She decided travelling would be easier if there was one less." She'd been right, it had been easier, but they all missed her terribly. "We couldn't convince her otherwise," he sighed.
"She'll be safe in Paris," Countess Whitehead patted Georg's arm, "try not to worry too much."
Georg nodded, still hopeful she might decide to join them.
"Come on… you need to thaw out…" she reached out and touched Maria's arm. "Oh, you're soaking wet from this awful fog…"
Maria stood in the doorway of the sitting room, pleased to see the children and Max already crowding around the large fire burning in a hearth that was taller than Friedrich and just as wide. Joining everyone in front of the roaring fire, John was already directing Friedrich to add more logs as he took charge of the poker. Stirring up the coals, it wasn't long before he was rewarded with flames leaping halfway up the hearth, as the fire burst into life.
"Children, take your coats off…" Maria prayed none of them would come down with colds that they'd managed to avoid so far.
Gretl tugged at the top button on her coat, her stubby fingers had always struggled to wrestle it free of the buttonhole. "I need help, Mother…" she grumbled in frustration, walking across the room.
"Mother…?" Countess Whitehead whispered, turning to the woman beside her.
Blushing, Maria bent down and undid the top button, then the five other buttons that followed in a straight line from the collar down past the small girl's waist. "Go back and keep warm, sweetheart," she told Gretl after peeling off her coat.
Maria stood up, clutching the damp coat to her. "I hope you don't mind… we married the night we left Trieste," she whispered to the children's grandmother. "I wish we could have told you earlier…"
"Mind…?" Countess Whitehead frowned. "Before I left Aigen, I told Georg he couldn't afford to let you go," she reached out and wrapped Maria in tight embrace. "Welcome to the family…" she whispered, her voice choked. Releasing Maria, Countess Whitehead called out across the room, "John!"
John stopped mid-sentence and turned from Georg and Max to his wife. "Yes, darling…?"
"Has Georg told you they're married?" Countess Whitehead asked.
"Married…?" John frowned at his wife. "Who's married?" he looked at Georg.
"Georg and Maria, of course…" Countess Whitehead shook her head at her husband.
"About time!" John grasped Georg's hand and gave it a hearty shake. "This calls for a celebration!"
oOo
Georg tugged at the cuffs of the crisp, starched shirt. Not the perfect, tailored fit he'd grown accustomed to over the years, but he didn't care. It was clean, and had a fresh, laundered scent he promised to never take for granted again. Descending the stairs, he buttoned up the jacket to one of the suits he'd found hanging in the dressing room. Not a bad fit, he had to admit, wondering if it belonged to Fanny's husband, Sir Charles Carter Drury.
Reaching the foyer, he swept a hand through his damp hair. Remembering how Maria had noticed him stifling more than a few yawns during dinner, his heart softened. She'd insisted he have a bath while she rounded up the children and readied them for bed. Leaning back in the bath, if he strained his ears, he could hear the shenanigans all the way from the children's wing. It had been the first time in weeks he'd heard their skylarking. It was hard to believe, by the time he stepped out into the hallway, it was deathly silent. Not wanting to disturb the children, he realised they'd probably fallen asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows. He'd check on them later, on his way to bed.
Lounging in the bath, he'd decided to take advantage of the children being in bed and catch up with John. Feeling like a new man, he walked through the large foyer, lit with lamps that seemed more designed for decoration than providing any useful light. Soft voices drifted into the dark foyer from the sitting room. He hoped to find John in the study, but not certain where that might be, he'd start his search in the sitting room...
"Aggie, you and I both know it's not the first time the man's attracted rumours, but this…" Max was shaking his head disapprovingly. "Oh…" he turned and shot a guilty smile from the sofa towards the doorway. "There you are, Georg…"
"Max, I hope you're behaving…" Georg muttered under his breath, noticing his friend was wearing a dark suit and his moustache was perfectly trimmed for the first time in weeks. John wasn't here, so perhaps he should have followed his first instinct and gone in search of the study.
"Oh, Georg! Max was just updating me on the latest news from Vienna," Countess Whitehead tut-tutted.
"Unfortunately, Aggie, all my latest news is week's old," Max gave the shrug of a man not used to being so out-of-date. "Not to worry, knowing poor old Kasper, he's probably moved on from the pretty maid to the handsome young butler!"
"Max…" Georg growled.
"Oh, not to worry, Georg!" Max smiled back, not letting his friend's dark look deter him. "Either way, his long-suffering wife will take him back. God knows, Winnifred's a saint!"
"All that dreadful gossip is the one thing I don't miss about Vienna," Countess Whitehead huffed.
Georg smiled to himself. Aggie always said she never paid any attention to gossip, but it didn't stop her from gathering around whenever any was on offer. Although, he had to admit, there was one important difference. She never spread rumours or gossip herself, being content to simply listen.
"It only took John a day to claim the library as his study," Countess Whitehead smiled, ignoring Georg's raised brow. "I'm sure he's waiting for you to join him, Georg."
Georg nodded, not wasting the opportunity to escape. After retracing his steps to the doorway, he stopped suddenly and turned back. "Argh… where do I find the library, Aggie?"
"At the end of the foyer, on the right," the Countess smiled.
Striding through the foyer, Georg stopped at the closed door where a thin line of light spilled through the gap between the floor and the panelled door into a particularly dark corner. Knocking, he heard a muffled voice from the room beyond the door, and turned the handle to let himself in.
"Georg!" John called out enthusiastically from behind a large desk strewn with blueprints – some rolled up, others spread out on the desk with paperweights on their corners to stop them curling up again. "Feeling human again?"
"Hah!" Georg closed the door behind him. "Now I know why I'd forgotten what it was really like being on a U-boat for weeks on end."
"Well, it didn't help that you hit bad weather in the Mediterranean," John stood up and walked over to the drink's cabinet in the corner of the room. He picked up the decanter of brandy and held it up to Georg, who nodded in reply. "Who could have forecast that run of storms?"
"Hmpf…" Georg scoffed. After leaving Trieste it had taken ten weeks before they finally set foot on English soil just a few hours ago. The trip should have taken half as many weeks.
"We were lucky and managed to stay ahead of the storms," John walked over and handed the glass to Georg.
"I can't believe it only took you four weeks, we were worried you were somewhere out in that wild weather as well," Georg shook his head. "I'm relieved for you, but envious!"
"Take a seat," John nodded at one of the Chesterfield armchairs by the roaring fire.
Nursing his brandy, Georg settled back into the leather chair and crossed his legs. Scanning the surrounds, he took in the floor to ceiling shelves filled with neat rows of books.
"You know, I didn't want to say too much in front of the children," John made himself comfortable in the chair opposite and took a sip. "I imagine you heard about the Anschluss?" he asked gently.
"I saw the headlines when we were in France," Georg nodded solemnly. "It was inevitable," he took a sip of brandy, savouring its burn. "Still, that doesn't make it easier to accept," he added sadly.
"If it's any consolation, your friend Zeller came off the worse for wear," John scoffed. He knew it didn't go anywhere near compensating for the Nazis taking control of the once proud country, but at least it was some small victory. "A rather spectacular fall for someone busy telling anyone who'd listen in the weeks leading up to the Anschluss, he'd been anointed Gauleiter of Salzburg."
"What happened to him?" Georg asked.
"No one seems to know," John brushed some fluff off the front of his jacket. "Disappeared without a trace by all accounts."
"He might not be in charge of Salzburg, but they'd have found another traitor only too happy to take his place," Georg gave a grim smile.
"Sad, but true!" John agreed.
"Leitner, perhaps…" Georg snapped, not hiding his feelings for the man.
"Leitner…?" John raised a brow across the rim of his brandy glass. "You do realise he's on our side, don't you?"
"You are joking, aren't you?" Georg frowned, shock written over his face at such a mad idea. "A double agent…?"
"Mmmm…" John nodded. "He was only pretending to side with the Nazis. He was with us all along…"
"I never guessed…" Georg muttered, feeling more than a little silly.
John smiled.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Georg asked, but he already knew the answer.
"Safer for you both," John shrugged.
"It might have made me feel better…" Georg sounded a little wounded.
"Probably… but you never know with those types exactly which side their loyalty will eventually fall," John conceded. "Anyway, it worked out in the end."
Georg raised a questioning brow.
"The Germans have been working on the faulty design for six weeks now," John raised his glass in a toast.
"Well, that is worth a toast!" Georg raised his glass and took a sip of brandy. "How did you hear about Zeller?"
"There's still a steady flow of people crossing the border, even after the Anschluss," John sighed.
"Tell me about it," Georg took another sip of brandy. "We were slowed down in France with so many on the move…" his voice drifted off.
"Hede will be fine," John reassured, noticing Georg's dark look. "They're unlikely to get to Paris anytime soon."
"If the Nazis get to Paris, London won't be too far behind," Georg sighed. They both nodded solemnly, considering the nightmare scenario, but neither wanting to spoil the evening by talking about it.
"How long are you planning to stay here?" Georg finally broke the lengthening silence.
"As long as Aggie tells me!" John laughed, heartened when Georg joined in. "No seriously, we'll stay as long as you want."
"Fanny won't mind?" Georg asked, stifling a yawn that suddenly crept up on him.
"I think her and Charles have forgotten the place even exists!" John scoffed.
"Really…?"
"It's their summer house," John explained. "So apart from a few weeks in July, they stay at the main family estate in Wiltshire."
"So, we can stay a few weeks?" Georg asked.
"We can stay a few months!" John answered. "What are you thinking?"
"I imagine we'd like to stay as long as we can," Georg hadn't had the time to give it too much thought. "Of course, I'd have to ask Maria."
John smiled. "You found yourself a good woman there, Georg."
"Oh-ho, don't I know it!" Georg smiled, one of the many smiles to reach his eyes since they'd arrived. Realising he was still wearing a silly grin, he cleared his throat. "The children have felt so unsettled, I'm sure it would do them good to stay in one place for a while. And we all need to recover from the trip."
"That shouldn't be a problem," John smiled. "Speak to Maria, and I'll arrange it with Fanny."
"Thank you, John," Georg returned the smile. "For everything."
"You don't have to thank me, Georg," John was suddenly serious. "You made Agathe happier than any father could hope for his daughter. And you blessed us with seven beautiful grandchildren. We should be thanking you."
"Let's call it even then, shall we?" Georg smiled, holding up the remains of his brandy.
John held up his near empty glass. "Even!"
Both men took a sip, falling into a comfortable silence. John pushed himself up from the leather armchair. Taking a few steps towards the fire, he placed his half empty glass of brandy on the mantel. Picking up the poker from the hearth, he crouched down to disturb the orange glowing coals of what had been a large log.
"I never expected finding it again…" Georg murmured.
"It…?" John wondered out loud, still concentrating on breaking up the coals.
"Oh, you know…" Georg muttered, wondering if this conversation was the fault of John's brandy or sheer exhaustion. "Falling in love…" he whispered.
John stopped stoking the fire. "For God's sake, Georg…" he mumbled with a glance over his shoulder, "none of us expect it." He placed the poker down and picked up a short log to place on top of the orange coals. "If we did, we'd run a bloody mile!"
Georg laughed, knowing full well John would be lost without Aggie by his side.
"I meant what I said…" John wrestled another log into place.
"What did you say?"
"You've found yourself a good one in Maria," John picked up the poker again.
"Strange thing, I wasn't even looking," Georg murmured, shifting in the armchair. "Far from it…"
"Oh, I know," John laid the poker on the hearth and rocked back to rest on his heels. "Let's face it, by the time the poor girl met you, you'd become a cantankerous old fool…"
"I wasn't…"
"No, Georg…" John held up his hand as he stared at the flames starting to take hold. "Hear me out," he picked up the poker and prodded at the seat of the fire some more. "You were still in shock – God, we all were – and you struggled to find a way out," he put the poker down again. "In the end, you couldn't find a way out."
"I don't know what she saw in me…"
"Doesn't matter, my man! God only knows how these women see things," John sighed into the fire. "I gave up trying to work that out a long time ago."
"Well, I'd certainly given up…" Georg ran a hand through his hair. "And then, there she was… the most unlikely, unpredictable, unassuming woman…"
John stood up and picked up his brandy glass from the mantel. Turning his back to the fire, he took a sip. "You've heard of the black swan theory…?" he whispered mysteriously.
"John, this isn't one of those mad ideas you've picked up…?" Georg rolled his eyes.
"No, no… hear me out," John walked over and dropped back into his armchair.
"You've got thirty seconds…" Georg scoffed.
"The theory goes, that something you thought was infinitely impossible – you falling in love again…" John paused and frowned. "Now don't look at me like that, Georg," he chided, "I'm trying to explain this theory as it applies to you…"
"Alright…" Georg sighed. "Go on…"
"Right, where was I…?" John muttered. "Oh, that's right… well, none of us expected you to fall in love again, not the precarious state you were in. Yet, that whole notion was turned on its head by one single, unforeseeable, inexplicable event. Nonnberg Abbey sent its wayward postulant to be the children's governess. And here we are – you're practically giddy just thinking of the poor woman!"
"What…?" Georg snorted.
"Don't deny it… you said yourself you're in love!"
"Well, I will admit Maria was the last thing I expected when the Reverend Mother sent someone from the Abbey…" Georg mused.
"There you go!" John declared triumphantly. "A black swan event, my boy, if ever I saw one! You mark my words…"
Georg chuckled along with John, still not convinced. But perhaps his theory did was sound. A single unforeseeable, inexplicable event that sent his life – the children's lives – on a totally different trajectory. Maybe, there was something to John's mad theory.
Maria was his Black Swan…
oOo
Humming softly to herself, Maria decided a soak in the bath was going to be her favourite thing for the next half hour. With their bellies full, overseeing the children's baths had been a challenge amongst all their excitement and sudden burst of energy. Still, hearing their laughter and joy after it had all but disappeared for weeks, had made her heart sing. She smiled. They had sung their hearts out, all with a new favourite something to add. Without warning, exhaustion had quickly returned, so it was little surprise sleep had found them not long after tumbling into bed between crisp, clean sheets. She'd check on them later, but right now, there was only one thing on her mind.
Singing softly to herself, she returned to the large bathroom attached to the spacious guest suite. Reaching down, she swept her hand beneath the bubbles and froth, to the water below. It was warm enough to soothe her aching muscles, but not hot enough to scald. She reached across and turned off the chrome taps. Retracing her steps to the bedroom, she undid the loosely knotted belt, and peeled off her dressing gown. Draping it over the end of the bed, she was in too much of a hurry to sink into the bath, so didn't notice it slipping off the bed, onto the floor.
She half-closed the door to the ensuite and steadied herself on the edge of the claw foot bath, while lifting her legs over the side. Not caring how inelegant she might look, she was just desperate to wash off the boat trip across the Channel, and the memories of the past ten weeks. Looking around, still standing in the bath, she realised in her rush, she hadn't taken out an extra towel from the linen cupboard at the far end of the room near the wash basin.
Shrugging, she crouched down, picking up the towel from the floor and rolled it up. Sinking down beneath the bubbles, the water felt warmer on her body's soft skin, than it had on her fingers. For a few seconds, the shock of the hot water forced the air from her lungs while she grew accustomed to the temperature. Forcing herself to stay put, she reached over her head and placed the rolled-up towel against the edge of the bath and leaned back.
Closing her eyes, she let every muscle in her body relax. The children were safe and warm. It was all she cared about – everything else could wait until tomorrow. Fast asleep down the hall, it wasn't quite the same as being tucked up in their own beds, but much better than the cramped hotel room they'd all shared in Calais last night. There were so many other people hoping to flee across the Channel, most hotels had been full. Because their trip had taken many more weeks than planned, the money Georg had brought from Salzburg had dwindled to a few schillings. With few options, she'd squeezed into the double bed with the girls, while Georg and the boys had slept on the sofa and armchairs.
Georg…
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Slowly opening her eyes, a hand broke the surface of the water, and she held it up in front of her. Smiling at the wedding band, she ran her fingertips over the ring, twirling it slowly around her finger. A few weeks of regular meals, and it won't be quite so loose. Still playing with the ring, it was something she found herself doing, just to remind herself that something wonderful had happened in amongst this nightmare.
They were a family…
Still smiling, she dropped her hands back under the water and leaned back. Everyone else was downstairs, and it would be a while before anyone missed her. She sighed. A sigh of relief and content.
She was Georg's wife, and they were a family…
oOo
"…are you certain Leitner's a double agent?" Having debated the merits of John's black swan theory for some time, Georg decided it was best to change the subject. Holding out his glass, he met John and the near-empty decanter halfway across the space between their armchairs.
"Hard to wrap your head around, isn't it…" John muttered. "You think you know someone…"
"Funny thing, I wasn't so surprised when I heard he was working for the Nazis," Georg shook his head and settled back to take a sip of brandy. "That made more sense to be honest."
"Hmpf…" John had seen so much over the years, little surprised him these days. "Enough of Leitner… I'm looking forward to spending tomorrow with…"
His words were cut off at the sound of the door handle turning. Both men spun around from the fire at the opposite end of the library.
"Well, you two look like you've settled in for the night," Countess Whitehead smiled.
"Oh-ho!" Georg smiled. "I don't think I'll be able to last much longer…"
"I thought I'd just check on you both," the Countess walked over to stand between the two armchairs. She placed a hand on the back of her husband's chair, her fingertips brushing the back of his neck, just below his hairline. "It's been a big night, so I thought I might retire myself."
"Max wore you out with all his nonsense?" Georg asked with a smile.
"Oh, Max wore himself out!" Countess Whitehead laughed. "He's fast asleep on the sofa in the sitting room," she answered Georg's frown. "I've thrown a couple of rugs over him, but stoke the fire before you head upstairs, John, darling." Leaning down, she placed a kiss on the top of her husband's head. Turning to Georg, she noticed a stifled yawn. "Don't let him keep you up too long, Georg…"
"Good night, Aggie!" Both men responded together as they watched her turn to leave.
oOo
Head held high, she walked down the hallway, clutching the lapels of her dressing gown at the base of her throat and hugging her toiletry bag tightly against her chest. It would be nice to have her own bathroom – she wouldn't even complain if it wasn't attached to her bedroom – just a little something to call her own. Promising to never take it for granted again, she longed for the simple pleasure of lounging in the bath for hours, surrounded by silence and dreamy scents.
These days, she was reduced to carting her few basic items – even her toothbrush – backwards and forwards, like a damn gypsy.
She stood in front of one of the dozen or so nondescript doors, this one exactly the same as all the others with its chipped paint and scuff marks just above the musty carpet, indicating where impatient feet had pushed it open.
The carpet… She always tried not to think too much about the stains in the few sections that weren't threadbare.
Dread rising, she fumbled in the pocket of her dressing gown. Her heart sank a little further. Not again… Lifting the damp towel draped over her arm, she slung it over her shoulder. Rummaging through the toiletry bag, she sighed with relief when her fingers found the key. Experience told her the front desk downstairs would be unattended at this hour, and it would take all kind of effort trying to access the spare.
Turning the key in the lock, she struggled with the door handle, then pushed against the door with her shoulder, eventually feeling it release from the frame. She'd learned early on, the door had warped, or perhaps the old, rundown building had shifted over time. Removing the key from the lock, she closed the door behind her. Using her weight, she pressed her back against the door, forcing it the final half inch. Finally, it rested against the door frame, the lock clicking into place. She turned and lifted the chain of the door guard, sliding it into place along the plate bolted to the back of the door.
No one had as much as knocked on her door in all the time she'd been here, so it was probably unnecessary, but you never know. She shuddered to think who might be lurking outside in the hallway in the dead of night. Especially, when it was obvious some of the women on her floor were working girls.
Throwing the towel over the back of the chair at the tiny table, she placed her toiletry bag down. This was the time of the day she hated the most. Those hours in between – the sun had set, and it was far too early to retire for the evening. Glancing around her, she wondered what could possibly fill in the next two hours.
The room was so modest, apart from the small table with its hard, wooden chair, there was a single bed, a side table, a lamp that buzzed and flickered when you turned it on, and the wardrobe with its double doors. She couldn't even make a cup of tea unless she took herself to the shared kitchenette beside the bathroom. As the evening drew on, that wasn't an option. She'd only run into someone, and she wasn't in the mood to deflect their questions. Why should they care where she came from and where she might be going? After all, she couldn't care less about them.
Walking across to the small window, she went to close the drapes, but stopped. If she stood to the right edge of the window and looked at the far edge of the left-hand pane, beyond the ugly apartment blocks, she could catch the bare tops of the trees at the tiny park on the end of the narrow street.
The Berlin skyline…
It would never be known as one of Europe's pretty cities. Perhaps, it was unfair to judge when she had to settle for a cheap apartment in the rough part of town. She sighed. There was still a little dusk left in the day, so she left the drapes open.
Walking over to the small table, she turned over the newspaper she'd purchased that morning from the street vendor down the road. Ignoring the headlines about the Anschluss, she ran her finger down the left-hand column, forcing her eyes to focus in the dim light. The evening was closing in and she should really turn on the lamp, but that would cost money she didn't have.
All this squinting wasn't good for her eyes. Stopping a third of the way down the page, she ran a finger along the rows of copy.
The Reinholdt's Garden Party: an afternoon event, with special guest the Polish ambassador and his wife.
True, she didn't have an invitation – but that was the least of her concerns.
Walking over to the wardrobe, she opened both doors at the same time. She'd been forced to travel light, so not a lot to choose from. She rifled through the dresses, stopping at one of her favourites. Lifting the hanger from the rail she held it out in front of her - a sky blue, long sleeve dress perfect for the cooler days. Not that she'd packed any of her summer dresses. By the time summer returned, she'd be back on her feet. Oh yes, she would show them all!
Draping the dress across the narrow bed, she took a few short steps to the small window. Reaching out, she caught the edges of the dusty drapes. She did miss the Vienna skyline. Huffing, she pulled the faded drapes together. She'd even prefer Salzburg to this depressing city. God knows, that was saying something.
Salzburg…
She always tried her best to keep it at the back of her mind, but it had a way of sneaking up on her, seeping into her thoughts. She sighed again. If it wasn't for that damn governess, she'd still be there. She could have convinced Georg to accept that commission with the Germans. The children would have thrived in boarding school, given half a chance. And she'd be Baroness von Trapp.
Instead, of being stuck here in this Hellhole…
She needed to re-establish herself, re-invent herself. What better place to do that, than Berlin. Now the centre of political power in Europe, politics had a way of attracting powerful men. Just the type of man she needed. She just had to be patient, make the right connections, find the right man.
She didn't need Vienna, didn't need all those cruel people who'd never really cared for her. In the end, her downfall – such an ugly word – had been swift. In the blur of scandal, the ostracising, the banishment, she'd lost all her connections, all her friends, everything. Even Hannah and Walther had refused to take her calls.
The innocent victim of a vindictive campaign, she'd been blindsided. Someone with a cruel vendetta had poisoned the mind of her first husband's daughter. What was that girl's name, again?
Susannah, Sonia, Sophia… Sophia, that was it!
They'd contacted the girl, launching and funding some misguided quest for revenge. The girl had never had a schilling to her name, so why should she care about money now. It was people with deep pockets. How else would they convince the courts to investigate Christoph's will? After all these years, it made no sense. And now, she couldn't spend a schilling of her own hard-earned money. How much longer would everything be frozen and tied up with solicitors? She sighed, knowing it would probably be years.
Realising she'd closed the drapes long ago, she turned away from the window. Looking down the length of the cramped bed-sit. Even in the dark, the walls felt like they were closing in and suffocating her. That woman would pay for the suffering she'd inflicted.
Reaching down, she switched on the lamp. It came to life with its usual crackle, finally settling down to buzz and flicker the evening away. Her eyes circled the tiny, stark reality of her room, the tightness in her throat signalling this was going to be another long evening. It wasn't fair, she didn't deserve any of this…
Her eyes started to sting, but she refused to give in. Needing to look her best for tomorrow's garden party, the last thing she wanted was puffy eyes and a headache from too many tears. Instead, she took a deep breath and forced her shoulders back. She'd make that evil old witch pay for this!
But that would have to wait. First, she had to find her feet.
Oh yes, one day, Countess Whitehead would pay dearly…
oOo
His footsteps were soft and hesitant as he walked along the darkened hallway. Stopping at one of the doors, he quietly turned the door handle and let himself in. Closing the door with just a soft click, he turned towards the bed. His eyes fell on the bundle under the blankets. Soft footsteps took him over to the bed, toward the soft light from a lamp on the bedside table. He smiled down at the angelic face, dark lashes resting on flushed cheeks.
Brigitta's fingers were clutching the spine, her thumb wedged between the closed pages of a book she'd found earlier in the library. He reached down and brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face. Carefully, he prised the book from her fingers. She protested a little, stirring and muttering something to herself.
"Shhh, sweetheart…" he murmured.
Placing the book gently on the side table, he turned back to pull the covers over his daughter's arms and under her chin. Bending down, he placed a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep tight, little one," he whispered.
He turned to leave, but something made him stop. He turned back.
"Papa…?"
He smiled. She was sound asleep, probably off in dreamland, but the sound of the name the children used to call him, made his heart almost burst. He leaned down and placed another kiss on her forehead before turning to leave.
Back in the dark hallway, it wasn't long before he was cursing the confusing layout. It was more like a rabbit warren than the manor house of a country estate. After walking around in circles, he'd eventually found the children's rooms. At least now, he'd be able to tell Maria they were all fast asleep. That's if he ever found his way back to their room.
Coming to a stop at the end of an almost dark hallway, he looked around. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Whoever designed this place, must have been drunk! Spinning around, he headed back in the direction he came. Just before the hallway met the expanse of the upstairs landing, there was another hallway to the left. He took that, more out of frustration, than having any clue where he was.
Stopping at the first door, he smiled. The soft glow of light spilling under the door told him this must be it. He opened the door carefully, then shut it behind him with a soft click. Turning to the bed, he paused. In the soft light of the lamp, he could see her lying under the throw rug. He frowned, hoping she wasn't cold. After John's roaring fire in the library, there was certainly a chill in the air upstairs. He stared at her, unbuttoning his jacket, and loosening his tie.
He heeled off his boots and strode into the adjoining dressing room. Shedding the jacket, he tossed it over an armchair. The tie quickly followed. Unbuttoning the shirt, he smiled, recalling his conversation with John. He'd always enjoyed the company of Agathe's father, and like so many things, hadn't realised what he was missing out on at the time. Draping the shirt over the other arm of the chair, he unbuttoned his trousers and stripped them off.
Naked, he looked around. Too tired to care, he found a robe of some description and decided it would have to do. Stopping at the doorway, he flicked the lights off, the switch making a loud clunking sound in the silence. Tossing the robe on the chair beside his side of the bed, he walked around to Maria.
Crouching down, he smiled. Lying on her back, her head had fallen to the side, and her cheek was pressed into the pillow. Her breathing was slow and heavy. He reached out and tenderly brushed her tousled hair back from her face. It had grown long over the weeks, much longer than she usually wore it. At his touch, she frowned first, then protested, muttering something he couldn't understand. Her head rolled back to the middle of the pillow.
"Is that you, Georg…?"
"You were expecting someone else, my love?"
She smiled, then slowly shook her head. "What time is it?"
"Late…"
"I only meant to lie down for a minute…" she explained softly, trying to force her eyes to stay open.
"I know," he bent down and kissed her forehead, surprised at how cold her skin felt under his touch. "You'll have to get under the blankets, or you'll catch a chill…"
She nodded and forced herself to sit up. "The children…" she whispered. "I should go check…"
"Sshhh…" he murmured softly. "I've just come from their rooms," he brushed her hair back from her face. "Sleeping soundly…"
With the experience that comes from coaxing sleepy children to bed, he soon had her under the covers. Turning off the bedside lamp, he walked around to the other side of the bed and slipped under the blankets between starched cotton sheets. He went to reach for Maria, but she rolled into his arms. Having taken the opportunity to get rid of her dressing gown, he smiled at the touch of her bare skin against his. His smile grew at the feel of her cold feet running up and down his lower legs.
As she nestled against his chest, he kissed the top of her head. "Night, my love…"
He waited for her response, but it never came. Debating whether she'd drifted off to sleep, he wasn't sure whether he heard her sniffle first or felt the wet tears tickling his chest. His hand left her waist and found its way from under the covers to her hair.
"What's wrong, Maria?" he whispered. "Why the tears?"
"Oh, Georg…" she sniffed. "Don't mind me…" she buried her head against his chest. "They're happy tears…"
"Happy tears?"
"I'm being silly…" she swiped at the tears after freeing a hand from under the blankets.
"Silly?"
"I'm just so happy, we're safe… the children aren't cold and hungry tonight…" she sniffed again. "And here I am, in your arms…"
"I love you so much, Maria," Georg bent down and caught her lips in his. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and held her close, whispering and murmuring soothing words against her hair. Within minutes, her breathing had slowed, her body relaxing into his.
"My little Black Swan…" he whispered, half-asleep.
"Hmmm…?" she murmured dreamily against his chest.
"Totally unexpected, truly life-changing…" he whispered into her hair.
– THE END –
A huge THANK YOU to everyone for your support and encouragement throughout this story – of course, it was never supposed to be this long, but here we are a ridiculous 49 Chapters later!
It goes without saying, recent years have been tough for most of us, so I hope this story has lifted your spirits during a difficult moment or added a little brightness to an otherwise dark day.
Personally, life hasn't been easy over the past three years – serious family illnesses, the passing of close family and friends, nasty separations (thankfully, not my own), the spiteful legal battles that follow, the pandemic – all in amongst the usual challenges thrown up by everyday life. Throughout the many dramas, thank you for letting me lose myself in the magical world of TSOM, either as a writer, a reader of your wonderful stories, or through the messages and laughs we've shared. You've helped me escape and remain sane.
Throughout the writing of 'A Black Swan' and amongst all the other madness, someone continued to falsely accuse me of posting reviews to this and other stories, as a 'guest' as well as under more than ten accounts. They insist these accounts belong to me, despite most being names we're all very familiar with. I have only ever used one account: IDontKnowYourSignal. So, for most of last year, my TSOM world felt like the twilight zone – some days, it still does. Meanwhile, in the real world, families are being bombed in their homes, millions are displaced, children are starving, the lives of many women and girls resemble house arrest, and ordinary people are homeless and hungry, or struggling mentally, emotionally, or financially. There's no shortage of worthy and important causes demanding our energy and attention. Sadly, whatever the motivation, some choose to heap more negativity, pain and misery onto the world. They certainly did on mine…
So, a massive thank you to every single reviewer to 'A Black Swan' and all my previous stories – all of you are very much real, very individual, truly special, and definitely, absolutely, categorically NOT me.
Your support and friendship through our shared love of TSOM, especially during some difficult days, has been priceless.
In the words of our favourite Baroness, "I do thank you for that!"
I don't own TSOM and will stop having a lend for the moment…
"Immerse your soul in love"