Magic Flutes

‘Oh, you do love him! I thought you didn’t, but now I can see you do. You’re really looking forward to the wedding, aren’t you?’ said Heidi eagerly, clutching at Tessa’s hand. If Tessa was happy, she could bear it all.

Tessa bent down and kissed her friend’s hot cheek. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice light and lilting. ‘I’m looking forward to the wedding very much indeed!’

For two days after Guy’s departure, life at Pfaffenstein continued exactly as before. Parcels continued to arrive with wedding gifts. Magnificent meals were served to Nerine and her family, and every provision made for their comfort. Then on the third day, most mysteriously, the footmen were withdrawn, as were the gate-keepers and the innumerable dirndl-clad maids who had scuttled respectfully along the corridors.

Thisbe Purse, looking harassed, tried to explain the new state of affairs to her employer’s fiancée. ‘These are Mr Farne’s orders, Mrs Hurlingham. I’m very sorry. There’s just to be a skeleton staff. Meals will go on being served of course, but the staff are only to come up by the hour. I’m afraid there may have been some kind of trouble, but we must just keep calm.’

Then on the next day the men came.

They came in three pantechnicons, driving into the courtyard without a by-your-leave and thrusting their way into the castle. Men in bowler hats and brown overalls with pencils stuck behind their ears, swarms of them, flicking with their fingers at the porcelain bowls, lifting up ornaments . . . And bursting into the blue salon where Nerine sat with her family.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to inconvenience you but we have orders to remove the contents of this residence.’

The man who spoke was clearly the boss: a tall fellow with a yellow complexion and a theatrically curving South American moustache.

‘Are you mad? What do you mean by this? How dare you barge in here? Nerine had risen and confronted him furiously, while all about her came cries of, ‘What is it?’ ‘What has happened?’ from the Crofts whose German was vestigial.

‘We’re only doing our duty, gnädige Frau. It’s to pay Herr Farne’s debts. He’s rolled up, poor gentleman. Here’s our authorization.’ He thrust a sheaf of papers, alarmingly splashed with red sealing wax, in Nerine’s face. ‘You lot start next door,’ he ordered three of his underlings. ‘And you two start in the hall. The marble statues are fixtures, more’s the pity, but we’ll take the rest. Stefan, Georg, Isidor, you stay here with me.’

‘No! No! No!’ Nerine was as white as a sheet. ‘I don’t believe it, it’s a lie!’

Impervious to her distress, the men got to work. Ropes were brought from the lorries with rolls of hessian padding and crates. Moving with incredible speed and the unmistakable air of men thoroughly accustomed to the job, they stripped the walls of pictures, carried out chairs, coffee tables, ormolu clocks and began to roll up the Aubusson carpet.

‘I told you so, I told you so!’ screamed Mrs Croft as the sofa she had been sitting on vanished from behind her. ‘Not just a piece of sacking but a piece of sacking in Newcastle upon Tyne!’

Only Martha remained unruffled. ‘Ee, hinny, you don’t have to take on so,’ she said in her quiet voice to Nerine. ‘Even if Guy’s in a bit of trouble, he’ll come round again. You stand by him and you’ll see.’

Nerine turned to her. ‘Don’t you see,’ she said furiously, ‘that I cannot? I simply cannot be poor, I have no right.’ Her hands flew to her face. ‘Oh God, what shall I do?’

One man only, out of all the bailiffs, seemed to have some degree of pity for the lovely widow: a small, portly man whose long, blond beard and blond locks issuing from the brim of his bowler hat contrasted strangely with his black and soul-filled eyes. ‘You want to watch your personal possessions, gnädige Frau,’ he whispered as he passed her with an armful of petitpoint cushions. ‘Jewels and suchlike. They’re forfeit, too, by Austrian law if an engagement exists.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Nerine was totally beside herself. Her jewels! The diamonds Guy had given her, the pearls . . . her furs!

‘Excuse me.’ One of the men had brushed past her and was lifting the first of the mirrors off the wall, then the second, the third . . .

‘No! Not the mirrors! Not the mirrors!’ screamed Nerine.

Then she turned and ran for the door.

19

Tessa had the compartment to herself and as the train steamed out of Spittau, she put her hand into the pocket of her loden cloak to draw out the ancient leather casket once more, and gaze at its contents.

Yes, she had been right in what she had said to Guy. It was not like other jewels, the Lily of Pfaffenstein. The beaten silver was dark, almost dull, so deeply was it marked by time, but the delicate marvellously wrought petals, the proud curve of the stem, exuded an unmistakable air of majesty. If ever there was an ornament carved out of the very soul of the unknown craftsman, it was this symbol of fidelity and love.