“But if it really was the forester, Mamma—really and truly!—I can’t lie to you that it was someone else. Who else could it have been?”
“This is impudence!” cried Frau von Prackwitz breathlessly, trembling with rage. She controlled herself, however. “You are to go up to your room, Violet, and write out yesterday’s French lesson ten times, and without a mistake.”
“Even if I write it out a hundred times, Mamma,” said Vi, white with rage, “it was the forester!”
The door slammed: she was gone.
The Rittmeister had listened to this dispute in silence. Only by the twitching of his face had he indicated how painful it was to him. A quarrel between others he always found distressing. But he knew from experience that his wife, on the rare occasions when she was angry, had to be handled with extreme care. “Aren’t you being a little hard on Vi?” he therefore asked cautiously. “It might really have been the forester. Hartig is just a gossip.…”
“It wasn’t the forester. He says so now, but he can’t tell me why they went into the staff-house instead of the forest.”
“Hubert says they went to see whether there were any more cartridges for Vi.”
“Nonsense! You must excuse me, Achim, but don’t let those two make a fool of you. Räder knows as well as Vi that the cartridges are in your rifle cupboard.”
“They say they didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Disturb me! My light was on till after twelve—and Vi’s never yet been considerate. If she’s got a pimple on her neck she wakes me up at two in the night to have it rubbed with ointment.… All stupid lies!”
“But really, Eva, who could it have been, then? A stranger whom Hartig doesn’t know? And going with Vi at night to the staff-house?”
“That’s the worst of it, Achim: that’s why I can’t sleep. If it had been some young fellow from the district, someone we know, a farmer’s son or something like that—he would never be dangerous for her. A harmless flirtation which we could put an end to at once.… But it’s a stranger, a man of whom we haven’t the faintest inkling. She went with him to the staff-house; she was alone with him during the night. For Räder was in bed. That’s not a lie. Armgard confirms it, and she’d never lie for Hubert.”
“You really think, then, that something could have happened? I’d kill the fellow.”
“Yes, but you don’t know who it is. Who can it be, for all of them to be afraid to speak about him—to lie so desperately? The forester, Amanda Backs, Räder—and Vi! I can’t imagine.”
“But, Eva, I’m convinced you are worrying yourself like this for nothing. Vi’s still a mere child.”
“That’s what I also thought, Achim—but my eyes have been opened. She’s no longer a child, but she pretends to be one, very impudently, and a child who knows all about things.”
“Eva, you are exaggerating.”
“No, unfortunately not. She isn’t as clever as all that; sometimes she gives herself away. It’s sickening, Achim, to have to spy on one’s own daughter.… But I’m horribly afraid something may have happened to her. I searched her room to see whether a letter was lying around somewhere, some note, a picture of him—Vi’s so untidy, you know.”
She broke off and looked in front of her with dry, burning eyes. The Rittmeister stood at the window with his white hair and brown face. He did what all husbands do when embarrassed by their wives’ emotional outbursts. He drummed with his fingers lightly against the window pane.
“I thought she hadn’t noticed anything. I was ashamed and took care to leave everything lying as it was.… But yesterday she came into her room very quietly just when I had her album in my hand. I was very embarrassed.”
“And?” The Rittmeister was now very intent.
“And she said to me maliciously: ‘No, Mamma, I don’t keep a diary, either.’ ”
“But I don’t understand.”
“Oh, Achim, that showed me she understood quite well what I was looking for, that she was making fun of me. She was really proud of her cunning! … And that’s the same girl, Achim, who asked you only three weeks ago about the stork. You told me so yourself. Inexperienced? She’s crafty. She’s been corrupted by these cursed times!”
The Rittmeister now stood there in a different way, expectant. His brown face looked gray—all his blood flowed to his heart. He made an angry step toward the bell. “Räder shall come here,” he murmured. “I’ll break every bone in the fellow’s body if he doesn’t confess.”
She stepped in his way. “Achim! You’ll spoil everything by that. I’ll find it out, you’ll see! I tell you they are all mortally afraid of him; there’s some secret. But I’ll find it out and then you can take action.”
She forced him against a chair and he sat down. “And I thought she was still a child!”
“It’s all bound up with little Meier somehow,” she said broodingly. “He must know something. It was certainly very clever of Herr Studmann to get rid of him so quietly, but it would be better now if we knew where he was. Don’t you know what he had in mind?”
“No—he wanted to get away, he was suddenly afraid.” The Rittmeister became animated. “But that’s just what you were saying! Meier, too, was mortally afraid.… Sacked by Studmann? No! He didn’t want to stay! He pleaded with Studmann to let him go, to give him a little money for his fare. Studmann gave it to him.”
“But why was Meier afraid so suddenly? He went off in the middle of the night, didn’t he?”
“With Amanda Backs. Amanda went with him to the station. The thing was like this—wait, Studmann told me about it—everything was so topsy-turvy in the first few days, I hardly paid any attention, and I must confess I was glad that Meier had gone; I never could stand him.…”
“In the night, you were saying,” prompted Frau Eva.
“Yes. In the night Pagel and Studmann were still in the office, looking at the books—Studmann’s thoroughness itself. Meier was sleeping in the next room. He’d handed over the money in the safe to me and Studmann in the evening, not a penny missing.… Suddenly they heard him scream, frightfully, in mortal fear; ‘Help! help! He’ll kill me! …’ They jumped up, dashed into Meier’s room—he was sitting up in bed, as white as a sheet, stammering: ‘Please help me! He wants to shoot me again!’ ‘Who?’ asked Studmann.… ‘There, at the window—I distinctly heard him. He knocked. If I go, he’ll shoot! …’ Studmann opened the window, looked out—nothing.… But Meier insisted he was there, that he wanted to kill him.”
“But who?” asked Frau von Prackwitz, very excited.
The Rittmeister rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Who? … Well, listen. Meier insisted so firmly that someone had been at the window to shoot him that at last Studmann sent Pagel outside to have a look. In the meantime he calmed Meier down a bit. The chap began to dress himself, and Pagel came back with a girl he had found in the bushes—Amanda Backs.”
“I see,” said Frau von Prackwitz, disappointed.
“Amanda Backs admitted straight away that she had knocked at the window. She said she had to speak to her friend. When Studmann saw it was only a love affair he left the two alone and went back to the office, with Pagel.”
“If he had questioned them properly, he might have found out everything.”
“Perhaps. After a while Meier came to the office with Amanda and said he must go away, at once. Studmann didn’t want to let him. Studmann is exactitude itself. He said it was impossible without notice; he must first ask me. Meier was very quiet and diffident, which is usually not like him; he said he had to go away now, but he would like to have the wages due to him, as fare money.… Finally Amanda Backs pleaded that Meier must get away, otherwise a calamity would happen.… And Studmann didn’t like to ask any more questions. He thought it was a case of love and jealousy. In the end he agreed because he knew I’d be glad to get rid of Meier, and the two went off.”