Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

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ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

The Reluctant Governess
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT was late in the afternoon as the train left Hoffenstein and the thickly falling snow obliterated vision so that there was little beyond the misted windows of the small carriage to warrant any enthusiasm. The track wound continuously upwards, the lines of the pass sometimes disappearing beneath the white carpet of flakes until the heat of the iron wheels burnt their way through. And yet the steady rhythm of the wheels was soothing, and the softly falling flakes provided an adequate shield against what was beyond this journey. High above, the glaciers thrust their relentless peaks to the sky, looking down with what seemed icy disdain on the intruding pitiful vulnerability of the railway.

Victoria flicked through the pages of the glossy magazine on her lap and then, with determination, rubbed away the mist on the glass and peered out with concentrated effort, but there was little to be seen. She sighed, and thrust the magazine to one side, exchanging a smile with a rather harassed-looking elderly woman who had joined the train at Hoffenstein and who appeared to have been shopping from the enormous basket she supported on her lap. But as Victoria did not speak fluent German and the woman was obviously an Austrian she did not like to attempt any conversation even though she would have been glad of the chance to ask how much further Reichstein was.

Trying to quell the nervous tension that had gripped her since she left London the day before, Victoria tried to relax. But it was impossible to relax when every time she closed her eyes her mind ran wildly in all directions trying to find acceptable reasons for what she was doing. But acceptable to whom? she asked herself. Herself or Meredith? But why should she consider Meredith when he had shown so little consideration for her? And yet his image persisted in intruding, causing that nervous fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. She bit her lip. Had her actions been premature? Maybe if her godmother had not obtained this position for her they would have been able to work something out. Other people did.

Then she chided herself. Aunt Laurie had been only thinking of saving her unhappiness when she had made these arrangements, and the resentment Victoria was now harbouring was ungrateful, to say the least. It was no use, Meredith was married, and he had concealed that fact from her. She would not continue to go about with him in the face of this new knowledge. He must have known that when he concealed his marriage from her.

She sighed. He was bound to look for her when he discovered she had left London. Even now, he was probably using his power and influence to find where she had gone. And when he did find her he would come looking for her because he thought she was unable to resist him. That thought calmed her. She was not that involved. Their relationship had been enjoyable while it lasted, exciting at times, and he had indulged her extravagantly, but she had never been his plaything, and for that now she was thankful. Maybe that was why he had found her so absorbing. Until meeting her he had found little difficulty in devastating his conquests.

Victoria transferred her attention to the window again. Surely they must be nearing Reichstein. Of course, the train was running late with this terrible weather, but even so …

With a characteristic shrug, she gathered her belongings together and thrust the magazines she had bought for the journey into her bag. She might as well be prepared for arrival when it did come. Then she stood up and pulled on her sheepskin coat over the dark blue slack suit she was wearing. A glance into the compartment mirror assured her that her sleek chestnut hair was in order and although her lips were devoid of make-up she didn’t consider it necessary to appear glamorous when her occupation was to be that of governess to the daughter of the house. Her looks were something she had always taken for granted, for although she was not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, good health and good bone structure accentuated the slightly upward tilt of her eyes and the generous contours of her mouth.

She seated herself again, and drew on her gloves. It would be strange to be working again, she thought. Since her parents had died when she was in her early childhood and she had been brought up by Aunt Laurie there had been no necessity for her to acquire a regular job. Her parents had not been well off; her father had been a schoolteacher and her mother’s parents had disowned her when they discovered her choice of husband. But Aunt Laurie had gone to school with her mother and despite Victoria’s mother’s split with her own family had remained her dearest and closest friend. Of course, Aunt Laurie had done all the right things. Her husband, now dead too, had inherited a title, and Victoria’s status as the adopted niece of Lady Pentower had been a very comfortable one. Of course, she had missed her own parents badly at first, but after a while Aunt Laurie’s indulgence and attention had dissipated her earlier sense of desolation. She had been a bright child and after acquiring the necessary qualifications had attended university and attained a degree in English which she had wanted to use but which Aunt Laurie had merely scoffed at.

‘Plenty of time for wasting away in schoolrooms,’ she had stated firmly, when Victoria had suggested getting a teaching position. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself, then later, if you really want to teach, you can. You’ve worked hard all through school and now university. Don’t waste all your youth, Victoria!’

So partly to please her godmother and partly because she was young and vivacious Victoria had done as she had suggested and had a good time. Aunt Laurie had an apartment in town as well as a house in the Lake District and she had remained in London all spring and summer so that Victoria could be on hand for every kind of social occasion. In the early autumn they had gone on a cruise to the Greek islands where Victoria had steeped herself in romance and legend and she had come back to London ripe for an affair. Then she had met a young American, Meredith Hammond, and all their problems had begun …

Now Victoria opened her handbag and drew out the envelope containing the letter which had brought her to Austria. She read the letter again, thoughtfully, trying to discover something about its author from the practically illegible print. Its heading was the Schloss von Reichstein, and the signature at the end was Horst von Reichstein. A baron, no less, or so her godmother had informed her, for it was through Lady Pentower’s connections that Victoria had been offered this position. She gave a half-rueful smile, and looked out at her surroundings. She doubted very much whether the Baron von Reichstein found it particularly easy to get staff of any kind, much less a governess, in these days of high wages and shorter hours. And the surroundings, no matter how spectacular, meant little to anyone used to the life and activity of the city.

But at least she had not come here with any illusions about the seclusion. The Schloss von Reichstein was in a remote district of Austria and the most she could hope for in the way of civilisation was the nearby village of Reichstein where the train was due to halt any minute now. She shivered. She was apprehensive and she couldn’t help it. After all, who wouldn’t be? Her godmother’s connections with the von Reichsteins were limited to a childhood friendship with the present baron’s cousin, an elderly baroness of doubtful means, who spent most of her time staying in London and other capital cities, taking advantage of the generosity of her associates. The little she knew was not reassuring. The isolated position of the schloss inhibited communications, and although she was aware that her charge was a girl of some ten years who had recently suffered the rigours of a paralytic disease which had left her incapable of attending her usual boarding school the reports of the child herself were daunting to say the least. She was, apparently, the apple of her father’s eye, incapable of doing wrong, and in the three months since her recovery the Baron had been forced to employ a total of three governesses, which did not augur well for good relations.

An ear-splitting grinding of the wheels of the carriage brought Victoria to the edge of her seat and she looked rather fearfully at her travelling companion. The woman smiled and indicated ahead, saying simply: ‘Reichstein, fräulein!’ in guttural tones.

Victoria heaved a sigh, and nodded her thanks, standing up to remove her suitcase from the rack. Then she looked through the carriage windows expectantly, realising with a sense of dismay that darkness had already fallen while she was wrapped in her uneasy thoughts.

The station, when they reached it, was little more than a shelter, a glimmer of light from an office window indicating the presence of other human beings. Victoria swung open the carriage door as soon as the train ground to a halt, and jumping down turned to lift out her case. Her heavier luggage had gone ahead, although looking about her at the deplorable conditions she doubted very much whether it could have arrived. Still, she thought philosophically, it was no use feeling doubtful now. She was here, and here she must stay, at least until she was dismissed or dismissed herself. If the child was as objectionable as the fact of the departed governesses led one to believe, it might be a short stay.

She crossed the platform, looking about her for some sign of life, but there seemed none, and certainly no one else had alighted from the train at Reichstein this evening. She felt a lingering desire to run back to the warmth and brightness of the railway carriage she had just left, but that would have been silly, as she was well aware. Even so, it did not take long for the cutting wind that blew off the glaciers above to chill her to the bone, and with resignation she made her way to the lighted office. As she drew near, a man in porter’s uniform emerged and brushed past her, obviously intent on seeing the train on its way, and although she tried to speak to him he either did not hear her or chose to ignore her.

She shrugged. A glance at her watch showed her that the train was an hour late in arriving, and surely anyone used to this god-forsaken spot would not expect her to arrive on time. She reached the office and smelt the delicious aroma of percolating coffee together with the scented warmth of burning pine logs in a huge grate. The office was empty, and she sighed, feeling resentful that the porter should have ignored her like that. In his position, she would have been more conscientious about her job. Surely the few passengers he did get were entitled to deferential service!

Beyond the environs of the station yard she could see more lights, probably those of the village. The pass had widened, spilling out to form a plateau from where she was sure the view would be magnificent on a clear day. But right now the snow was persisting, and she was cold and tired and no longer in the best of tempers. Heavens, she thought with a trace of self-pity, she hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place, had she? Had no one a care that she was wet and freezing to death in these temperatures?

Suddenly she heard a strange sound. It was a queer, clanking, grating sound and she couldn’t imagine what it might be. Even so, the sound was drawing nearer, so it might be someone from the schloss. She almost smiled, recalling old horror movies she had seen where such an entrance heralded the arrival of the monster! But her spirits were lifted and when the porter reappeared she handed him her ticket cheerfully. He took it silently, his expression uncompromising, and Victoria wrinkled her nose at him indifferently. Refusing to ask for shelter, she emerged from the station yard to look about her expectantly. The sound was much louder now, echoing in the cold frosty air, and she was unprepared for the flurry of flying snow that swept up into her face as a heavy station wagon drew into the yard along-side her. Blinded by the stinging particles, she stepped back suddenly, tripped over her standing suitcase, and landed in a heap in a thick drift of snow.

Immediately, an angry feeling of resentment welled up inside her again as she struggled to get hastily to her feet. A man leapt out of the station wagon and came swiftly round to her side, but by the time he reached her she was on her feet, a trembling mass of indignation.

‘Your pardon, fräulein,’ he said, in low attractive tones, that were less guttural than others she had heard, ‘but,’ he continued, ‘you would have been well advised to wait in the office!’

Victoria stiffened her shoulders, surveying him angrily in the light from the lantern hung above the station entrance. ‘I was not invited to wait in the office,’ she stated coldly, brushing down her coat and the trousers of her suit. ‘Perhaps you would have been well advised to be here in time to meet me!’ Her dark eyes challenged him. She had no intention of allowing this—this chauffeur to attempt to put her in her place. Even so, her gaze fell before the piercing brilliance of his, and a faint smile touched his lips.

Victoria was infuriated by this response. Maybe it was because she had made such an ungainly entrance which was something she was unused to, while he was calm and assured and utterly unmoved by her impatience. He was attractive too, she acknowledged reluctantly; tall, and broad, and muscular with hair which she had thought at first was white but which she now realised was simply silvery fair. His brows and lashes were dark in comparison and the heavy lines that were etched beside his mouth added age and experience.

Shrugging, he bent and lifted her suitcase, and was about to turn away when she said: ‘Just a moment! What do you think you’re doing?’

The man straightened, his muscles rippling beneath the fur parka he was wearing. His eyes were narrowed now and he frowned.

‘You are Miss Victoria Monroe, are you not?’ he queried softly.

Victoria twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘And if I am?’

‘You are going to the Schloss von Reichstein. I am from there.’

Still Victoria hesitated. She had no doubt that he was indeed from the schloss as he said, but some streak of perversity would not allow her to admit it. Instead, she gave him a disdainful stare, and said: ‘How can I be certain of that?’

Just at that moment the porter appeared from the direction of his office, swinging his lantern, obviously disturbed by the sound of raised voices. He looked up at the man beside Victoria, and touched his cap with deference. ‘Es ist Sie, Herr Baron!’ he nodded politely, his attitude vastly different from the way he had treated Victoria, and while she experienced an awful feeling of dismay at his words, he went on in his own language, gesticulating at the weather as he conversed with her companion. Victoria’s cheeks burned. The Baron indeed! No chauffeur as she had vainly imagined, but her employer himself! Inwardly she was seething. Someone should have warned her that in Austria barons might be found meeting their employees off mountain trains! It simply wasn’t done! Her experience had given her an infinitely different impression of aristocrats. And anyway, if this man was her employer someone had been misled. He was thirty-eight—forty at the most, whereas her godmother had attended school with his cousin who was easily sixty!

As though allowing her time to recover her dignity the Baron continued to discourse with the station porter, and only when Victoria began to move her feet rather restlessly did he turn to her and say: ‘Perhaps you would get in the car, fräulein. Now that my—er—credentials have been shall we say vouched for?’

Victoria made no reply. She was half afraid even now that her unruly tongue might run away with her, and she was beginning to blame him for the position she was in. He should have introduced himself in the first place instead of allowing her to assume he was some kind of employee himself. And yet, she had to admit, their meeting had not been entirely conventional, and she had flared at him for being the cause of her accident. The Baron put her case in the back of the vehicle, and came round to climb in beside her, bidding the porter ‘Guten Abend.’ As well as the thick parka he was wearing thick trousers made of some kind of skin and knee-length leather boots. Only his head was bare and obviously he didn’t appear to feel the cold as she did. However, he handed her a rug from the back of the car to put over her knees, for which she was grateful. She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her sheepskin coat and was glad of its warmth and weight.

The station wagon moved away and again she heard that grating sound. She glanced swiftly at him, wondering whether the vehicle was in need of repair, and as though gauging her thoughts he said: ‘Chains, fräulein! I am afraid our roads are impassable without them at this time of year.’

Victoria nodded, said: ‘Oh!’ and then turned her attention to her surroundings. The snow partially illuminated the village as they drove along the main street. The chalets with their sloping roofs and smoking chimneys gave an impression of warmth and comfort that was far removed from the misted windows of the train. They seemed to rise in tiers up the sloping pastures of the mountain, and the realisation that people lived and worked here was warming. A feeling of exhilaration replaced her earlier resentment and she felt she had been unnecessarily ungracious.

As though attempting to reconcile her behaviour, she ventured: ‘I—I really ought to apologise, Herr Baron. I was completely unaware of your identity, of course.’ A smile tugged at the corners of the mouth.

The Baron von Reichstein looked in her direction for an intent moment, then returning his attention to his driving, he said:

‘Do I understand that that is how you treat people who are not your employers, fräulein?’ in infuriatingly sardonic tones.

Victoria’s colour returned heatedly. ‘Of course not. I’m not a shrew!’

The Baron shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Nevertheless, you are quick-tempered, fräulein. I somehow do not see you and Sophie becoming the best of friends.’

Victoria controlled her indignation. ‘Sophie?’ she queried, pleasantly. ‘That is your daughter?’

‘Correct.’

Victoria digested this. So this man was the Baron von Reichstein. Certainly he was much younger than Aunt Laurie had suspected or she would not have been so eager to pack her goddaughter off to his isolated schloss in the dead of winter.

In an effort to begin some sort of conversation, Victoria tied a scarf over her hair, put up her coat collar, and said: ‘Is it far to your—er—house?’

The Baron hesitated. ‘Not too far,’ he said at last. ‘However, pehaps I should warn you, it is not a house. It is a schloss, a castle, in fact!’ He glanced her way. ‘Are you a sturdy female, Miss Monroe? The Schloss von Reichstein is no place for greenhouse plants.’

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Only for hardy annuals, perhaps?’ she muttered, almost under her breath, but he heard her, and a faint smile touched his lips.

‘Indeed, Miss Monroe. We are all hardy who live in these mountains.’

Victoria sighed. They were leaving the village behind now and the road was beginning to wind through forests of pine trees thickly laden with snow. It was very quiet, very still, and as the snow was no longer driving against the windscreen she could see stars beginning to twinkle in the dark sky over-head. Clouds were rolling back to the west and the chill wind which had gripped her in the station yard became a howling gale out on the bare mountain. The station wagon progressed steadily, grinding over the frozen surface that was lightly powdered with snow. Victoria wondered if sleighs were still used in these remote districts, or were they simply a tourist attraction? Somehow she couldn’t imagine the Baron von Reichstein driving a vehicle that jingled as he went.

When it became necessary to break the uneasy silence which had fallen, she said: ‘How old is your daughter, Herr Baron?’

‘Sophie is nine, almost ten,’ he replied. ‘Are you used to teaching children of that age?’

Victoria considered his question. ‘Well, I haven’t actually done any teaching before,’ she confessed at last. ‘However,’ she added, hastily, ‘I do have the qualifications. I simply haven’t used them before.’

There was another long silence and when she glanced across at him, half afraid of his reactions to this statement, she found he was shaking his head rather resignedly.

‘Is—is something wrong, Herr Baron?’ she asked, only remembering to add his title as an afterthought.

The Baron looked at her. ‘Nothing,’ he said, with emphasis. ‘It simply seems that Sophie is doomed to be educationally sub-normal!’

Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever do you mean? She forgot his title in her indignation.

The Baron lifted his broad shoulders indolently. ‘You are the third governess she has had,’ he explained patiently. ‘The first was a woman of perhaps fifty years. Experienced with children but unable to stand the isolation, or so she said. She left without attaining her first month’s salary.’ He sighed. ‘The second was a girl like yourself. With three years of teaching two older children behind her she should have found Sophie an easy task. But no! Her nerves would not stand it, that was her excuse. She left also.’ He glanced her way sardonically. ‘And now there is you, fräulein. Your first teaching position. You admit that until now you have had no cause to work. From this one gathers you have been living a socially active existence. How do you imagine you will stand up to the rigours of life at Reichstein when two experienced governesses have failed?’

Victoria bit her lip. ‘From what you say, I gather the others left because of the isolation. I’m not afraid of isolation, Herr Baron.’

‘No?’ He looked sceptical. ‘Not even when this is your first teaching post? Do you not perhaps think you will require some kind of light relief after working all day with Sophie? We do not even have television at Reichstein, fräulein.’

Victoria gave him an irritated stare. ‘One would almost imagine you did not want a governess for Sophie,’ she commented, with daring.

The Baron frowned. ‘You do not know me very well yet, fräulein. One should never jump to conclusions.’

Victoria bent her head and said nothing, but the ready indignation was very near the surface when dealing with this man.

Presently they reached the summit of a steep incline and now Victoria could see a valley below them. Moonlight illuminated it eerily while on the far side of the valley, above the surging waters of an icy stream, stood a fairy-tale castle, its turrets silhouetted against the backcloth of dark pines. Victoria gasped, and the Baron’s attention was drawn to her once more.

‘Picturesque, is it not?’ he queried, half mockingly. ‘An enchanter’s castle!’ He put the car into a lower gear and began the steep slope down into the valley. ‘Unfortunately, no one should judge things, any more than people, by their outward appearance.’

Victoria frowned. ‘You are cynical, Herr Baron. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

‘But beauty, real beauty, is not a one-dimensional quality,’ he observed bleakly. ‘Beauty has depth and feeling. That is not in the eye of your beholder. That is inherent in the thing one beholds.’

Victoria tried to understand what he was saying. It was strange to realise how complex their conversation had suddenly become. Somehow there was more to his words than mere cynicism and curiosity gripped her for a moment. But as they reached the valley floor and began to climb the frozen track to the schloss a feeling of awe filled her being. It was incredible to accept that she was here, in Austria, miles from London and everything she had known all her life, and almost ready to begin life again as someone’s employee.

They entered the schloss through a turreted gateway into an inner courtyard lit by lanterns. Obviously in days gone by, this was where the horses were stabled and where the servants had their quarters, but now it looked deserted, the windows blank and shuttered and unlit. Victoria glanced at her companion, but he did not look her way before thrusting open his door and climbing out. He stretched for a moment, and then turned to reach for her case.

Victoria hesitated only a moment before getting out also and looking about her. She was aware that the Baron was looking at her now, gauging her reactions, and before she could speak, he said harshly:

‘Is something wrong, fräulein? Did my cousin Theresa omit to inform you that her cousin the Baron von Reichstein is almost as impoverished as his poorest tenant?’

At once Victoria was defensive. ‘I can’t believe that a man who can afford a governess for his daughter is a pauper, Herr Baron,’ she countered, quickly.

He smiled. ‘You think not? Very well, fräulein, we shall see. Come! You are cold, I can see it. At least I can promise you a good fire and a hot supper.’

Victoria was impatient of his self-mockery and walked ahead of him when he indicated that she should cross the courtyard to the entrance. As she did so, she looked up at the tall mass of the building. It was not a large castle compared to those she had seen in England, but it was considerably larger than an average-sized dwelling. There were one or two lights in the lower windows, but the greater part of the building was in darkness and chillingly desolate beneath the eaves of snow.

They reached an iron-studded door and the Baron leant past her to thrust it open. For a moment his body was close to hers and she smelt the warm heat of his skin and a faint odour of tobacco, and an awful sense of breathlessness enveloped her. Then he moved back again, and the feeling left her.

They entered into a wide hall, lit by electric candelabra. It was a nice touch, although Victoria was amazed that there should be electricity here, so far from the city. The ceiling was high and shadowy, but an enormous log fire burned in a huge grate and two wolfhounds rose at their entrance to amble across to greet their master. They sniffed Victoria’s clothes suspiciously, and she remained perfectly still, terrified that they might attack her, until the Baron saw her frozen features and adjured the beasts to get back to their position in front of the fire.

‘Are you scared of animals?’ he asked roughly.

Victoria gathered her scattered wits. ‘Of course not, at least not in the normal way. They—they are rather large, aren’t they?’

The Baron gave her an exasperated look and then strode across the polished wooden floor shouting: ‘Maria! Gustav! Ich bin hier!’

Victoria hovered by the doors, unwilling to approach the fire even though she would have appreciated the warmth. She looked about her apprehensively as she waited for some sign that they were not the only inhabitants of this fairy-tale castle, noticing the shields on the walls, the swords and hunting spears, a tapestry of animals and men locked together in a grim battle for survival. It was medieval, she thought in amazement. People actually lived among such things. She turned her attention to the furniture. The only concession to comfort was a high-backed settle by the fire. The long wooden table and chairs were stark and practical. There ought to be reeds on the floor, she thought with an attempt at lightness, not these rugs, although as some were animal skins maybe they were appropriate after all.

The Baron was shedding his heavy parka; flinging it over a chair and excusing himself, he strode through a heavy door to the right of the staircase which wound into the upper regions. As Victoria’s eyes wandered up the staircase she saw that there was a gallery at the top of the first flight, and even as she looked a shadow moved there, in the gloom.

An icy shiver ran up her spine, and she took a step towards the door through which the Baron had passed only to be halted by the raised heads of the two wolfhounds and an unmistakable growling in their throats. Sheer panic struck her and she closed her eyes, striving for control. The night, the weather, her unhappy experience at the station, and now this strange and deserted castle were all combining to create within her a kind of nightmarish horror, and for several moments she felt petrified.

But the moment passed, as all moments eventually do; the dogs were not growling any longer, the fire burned brightly, and there were no shadows when she looked again at the gallery.

With determination, she began to move towards the fire. If she was to have any kind of a life here at all she must get used to these great hulking creatures. She was not naturally afraid of dogs although she had never had anything to do with them before, and who was it who had said that the larger the animal the gentler it was? She swallowed hard. Obviously they must have been talking of domestic animals, for who could consider a rhinoceros a gentle beast? And after all, these were domestic animals, not ravening wolves from the upper slopes of the Rockies. They looked up again at her approach, but at least they did not growl now and she wondered if that was a good sign.

The heat from that cheerful blaze was penetrating and in no time she was loosening her coat and jacket and feeling her fingers tingle with warmth. She was shrugging out of her sheepskin coat when there was a sound behind her, and turning she confronted an elderly woman dressed all in black, her skirts almost reaching her ankles. Her grey hair was secured in a bun, but there were roses in her cheeks and she looked friendly enough.

‘Guten Abend, fräulein,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Come! You would like to see your room, yes?’

Victoria was so relieved that the woman spoke English that she nodded enthusiastically. ‘My—my luggage—--’ she began, but the woman shook her head.

‘Gustav will attend to that, fräulein. Come! All is prepared.’

Victoria collected her coat and bag, cast a thoughtful glance at the wolfhounds, and then followed the older woman. To her surprise they did not climb the staircase from the hall, but went instead through the door the Baron had used earlier which Victoria now found led into a wide passageway. At the end of the passage there were lights and the smell of cooking, and she guessed it was the kitchen area. But a little further along the passage was a door which when Maria, as Victoria supposed the woman to be, opened it revealed a winding staircase.

They followed this spiral staircase up two flights to a narrow landing. There were three doors opening on to the landing and Victoria was tempted to ask who else used this section of the castle but she restrained herself in time. Maria flung open one door and indicated that Victoria should enter. She did so, not without foreboding, for she was not yet rid of that unreal feeling she had experienced, and she had an awful premonition that Maria might thrust her inside and lock the door. But despite her ridiculous fears, nothing unforeseen happened and in fact she found the room quite attractive. In the passageway and coming up the stairs she had not felt the cold, she had been too engrossed with her own imagination, but now she was glad of the glowing logs in the hearth at the far side of the bedroom and moved towards them compulsively, holding out her hands.

‘The bathroom is downstairs,’ remarked Maria, with a trace of reluctance, as though she considered it unnecessary to discuss such matters. ‘There’ll be a meal ready for you in fifteen minutes if you come down to the kitchen, fräulein.’

‘Thank you.’ Victoria managed a smile. ‘Tell me, when will I meet the—er—Baroness and—and Sophie?’

‘You haven’t seen Sophie yet?’ queried Maria, with a shrug. ‘Ach, ach! The child is somewhere about. You will see her in good time.’ She turned to go.

Victoria took a step forward. ‘And—and the Baroness …’ she prompted.

Maria frowned. ‘Baroness von Reichstein isn’t here,’ she muttered, with even more reluctance.

‘Not here?’ Victoria frowned. ‘Then—who is here?’

Maria’s features softened. ‘You are here, fräulein, and I am here, and Gustav is here, and the Herr Baron is here.’

Victoria was aghast. Her godmother would be horrified to discover that apart from Maria there was to be no other woman in the house. Heavens, thought Victoria wryly, she was aghast herself. No wonder the other governesses had found the place isolated. Who would there be to talk to? The Baron? Maria? Or Gustav? Or the child, Sophie? She swallowed hard, and as she did so she realised that since leaving the train at Reichstein she had not once thought of Meredith Hammond!

‘Is that all, fräulein?’ Maria was waiting to go.

‘Oh—oh yes, thank you.’ Victoria nodded, unable to assimilate these new facts immediately. ‘I—I’ll come down when I’m ready.’

‘Jawohl, fräulein!’ Maria smiled and withdrew, and as the door closed Victoria sank down rather weakly on to the bed. As downstairs, the lights were electric, but as she sat there they flickered rather unsteadily for a moment and she shivered again. The journey, her arrival, her surroundings, and most of all the lack of people was unnerving to contemplate, and she had the most ridiculous desire to bury her face on her pillow and cry her eyes out. But that would never do. She was not a defeatist, was she? Surely she was allowing everything to get out of hand. At least the bed felt superbly comfortable and after a night’s sleep surely everything would look brighter …

CHAPTER TWO

VICTORIA rolled over restlessly, gathering the bedclothes closer about her as her movements caused a slight chill to invade the warmth beneath. She was dreaming and the dream was frightening in its clarity. She was running down a steep, snow-covered slope, pursued by hounds whose bared teeth and slavering jowls were inches behind her. They made awful sounds of heavy breathing, panting in her ears until she ran so fast that she felt her lungs would burst. And then she lost her footing and tumbled headlong down the slope, slipping and sliding, and grappling for something to save herself from certain death. Panic penetrated her being, biting particles of snow blinded her, and she tossed about frenziedly, seeking escape from the disaster ahead of her, and then an explosion somewhere outside her realm of fantasy aroused her to a real awareness of her surroundings.

With a gasp, she sat up abruptly in the bed, pressing a hand to her throat to still her racing pulse, and remained absolutely still for a moment, recovering from the shock of her awakening. As full consciousness invaded her mind, she realised that the room was no longer dark as it had been the night before. Light was penetrating the heavy velvet curtains, the brilliant sun-on-snow light that was eloquent of the mountains.

A shiver engulfed her and swiftly she reached for the quilted housecoat she had laid on the end of the bed the night before. Thrusting her arms into it, she saw that her fire was dead, the ashes not even glowing in the hearth, and the room was as chill as a refrigerator. With hasty movements, she fastened the housecoat and slid out of bed, brushing her hair out of her eyes with an unsteady hand. She was still very much aware of the nightmare world of the dream and the remembrance of the explosion which had woken her seemed altogether more substantial than all the rest.

Shivering once more, she pushed aside the velvet curtains and looked out. Last night the landscape had been a white wilderness, but this morning the brilliance of the panorama hurt her eyes. Her window overlooked the rear of the castle, and towering above were the high reaches of the mountains. Closer at hand the pines were loaded with snow beyond a walled garden in which some attempt at cultivation had obviously been achieved. Away to the right the surging waters of the stream could be glimpsed, and she wondered with incredulity how it remained unfrozen in such low temperatures. The surroundings of the valley might account for some shelter, but even so it was very cold.

As normality asserted itself, Victoria turned and lifted her watch from the table by the bed. It was only a little after eight, but she decided she would be well advised to put on her clothes and go and find some heating. She was pulling on thick trousers when a sound at her bedroom door brought her swinging round to face it, grabbing her sweater to hide her chest. The door creaked, halted, creaked again, and finally gave inwards to allow a small face to appear round it.

Victoria heaved a shaky sigh of relief, and swiftly donned her sweater as the girl, for this must be Sophie, came reluctantly into the room. She had the feeling that Sophie had expected her to still be asleep and had not expected to be seen.

‘Guten Morgen, Sophie,’ she said, with a smile, congratulating herself on remembering the simple words, but the girl merely regarded her silently, neither answering her nor attempting to offer any words herself.

As this was Victoria’s first glimpse of her charge she decided to give her a few minutes to get used to her and began to make her bed. The previous evening had been disappointing in the respect that she had seen neither the Baron nor his daughter after her arrival, and when she had ventured down to the kitchen after unpacking her case she had found herself expected to eat at the scrubbed kitchen table with Gustav, Maria’s husband. It had all been part of the strange, unreal quality of the schloss, but this morning she refused to be downhearted. After all, the food though plain had been excellent, and she was little more than a servant when all was said and done. Even so, it was patently obvious that the schloss was no luxury country home and apart from Gustav and Maria there were no other servants. Victoria had plagued her brain with questions long after she had retired and had come to the conclusion that either the Baron was eccentric, or he really was as poor as he had maintained. Of course, if she had had any sense at all she would have suspected something was wrong. Three governesses in as many months, her godmother had said. And that poor creature, the Baroness Theresa; she would hardly live that hand-to-mouth existence if her relatives were rich landowners. Victoria smiled to herself as she spread the coverlet evenly across the width of the bed. Aunt Laurie had had no idea what she was letting her goddaughter in for. She would never have countenanced the idea had she suspected the Baron’s circumstances. And yet, for all that, Victoria found the prospect of her task challenging, and it would do her no harm to have to rough it for a while. She looked across at Sophie’s solemn little face. Well, she thought with insight, it was certainly to be no sinecure.

When the bed was made she straightened and came round to the girl. She was small for her age, with hair several shades darker than her father’s, which she wore in two plaits. She was dressed in a thick woollen dress and cardigan, black tights keeping her thin legs warm. She was not unattractive, but the plain clothes gave her a waif-like appearance.

Victoria rubbed her cold hands together, and said: ‘It’s chilly up here, isn’t it? Shall we go down?’ in a brisk voice. She knew the child understood English. Before her illness she had attended a good boarding academy where English was the second language.

Sophie continued to regard her steadily, making no move towards the door. When Victoria was beginning to feel impatient with her, she said, quite clearly: ‘Do you intend to stay here?’

Victoria was taken aback. ‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘Why not?’

Sophie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Did I say you shouldn’t?’ she asked cheekily.

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Don’t you want me to stay?’

Sophie’s eyes flickered. ‘You won’t, anyway,’ she replied depressingly. ‘You’ll be like the others. Your nerves won’t stand it!’

Victoria felt a trace of annoyance. ‘My nerves have never troubled me before,’ she asserted calmly. ‘Now, shall we finish this useless conversation, and go down?’

Sophie ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘If you like.’ But she still made no move to leave. Instead she walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up a flagon of perfume that belonged to Victoria. Without asking permission, she removed the stopper and sniffed it suspiciously. Then, with what Victoria afterwards realised were deliberately fumbling movements, she attempted to press the stopper back in place, allowed the flagon to slide through her fingers and drop to the floor. It did not break, it was plastic, but its contents spilled out over the polished floor.

With an exclamation, Victoria rushed across the room and snatched up the flagon with trembling fingers before all its contents could be lost, and turned to Sophie with angry eyes. It was a favourite perfume of hers and obviously it was impossible to replace here, miles from anywhere.

Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, before Victoria could speak. ‘It—it was an accident!’

Victoria opened her mouth to remonstrate with her, and then suddenly closed it again. Of course, that was what Sophie wanted. She hoped Victoria would lose her temper and get angry. It would prove that she was susceptible and capable of being aroused quite easily. And maybe she wanted to find out just how angry Victoria could become.

So with an immense amount of fortitude, Victoria suppressed her annoyance, replaced the stopper on the flagon, and put it back in its place. Then she turned to the girl. ‘That’s all right,’ she said calmly, more calmly than she felt. ‘Accidents will happen. Do you like perfume, Sophie?’

Sophie screwed up her face. ‘No,’ she said violently. ‘I hate it!’

Victoria inclined her head. ‘Indeed. Well now, shall we go?’

Sophie looked mutinous for a moment, and then she turned and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she turned back. ‘You won’t stay, you know,’ she said derisively. ‘You’ll be too scared!’

Victoria took a step forward. ‘What do you mean, Sophie?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘You’ll find out,’ she retorted, and slammed out of the room.

After she had gone, Victoria found that, she was trembling. Certainly she had never come up against such a strange child before, and while her anger over the perfume remained she began to wonder exactly what motivated Sophie’s deliberate antagonism. With a sigh, she combed her long thick hair into place, secured it with combs, and left the room.

Down the winding staircase she smelt the delicious aroma of baking bread, and when she opened the kitchen door a wave of heat hit her. The kitchen was huge, dominated by the long, scrubbed table and wooden forms round it. Strings of onions hung from the rafters, gleaming pans adorned the shelves, and on the wide fireplace a huge kettle simmered constantly. Maria was busy taking a tray of bread rolls out of the oven beside the fireplace, but she smiled as Victoria entered the room.

‘Guten Morgen, fräulein,’ she said, putting the tray on the scrubbed table. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Victoria relaxed. ‘Danke, yes,’ she nodded. ‘It’s much warmer down here than upstairs.’

Maria folded her arms. ‘It is cold in your room? The fire is gone out?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Do—do I light it?’

Maria shook her head. ‘Gustav will do it later, fräulein.’ She turned away to where a coffee percolator hummed on another stove. ‘You would like some coffee? Or tea?’

‘Coffee would be fine,’ replied Victoria gratefully, seating herself near the roaring fire. ‘Is it always as cold as this?’

Maria spooned sugar into a cup without asking Victoria’s preference, and shrugged, pulling a face. ‘In May the warm days come,’ she said.

‘May!’ Victoria shivered. It was still only March. May seemed a very long way away.

‘You will soon get used to it, fräulein,’ asserted Maria, comfortably, handing the girl a cup of strong black coffee. ‘Wrap up warmly and you will find it is invigorating.’

Victoria sipped her coffee with some satisfaction. At least it was good coffee. She was beginning to feel hungry, too, and the sight of those golden brown rolls was very appetising.

Maria put the rolls on to a wire tray, and began to set a place near Victoria. She put out some of the white earthenware plates they had used the night before, together with a dish of yellow butter and a jar of home-made conserve. Then she indicated that Victoria should sit at the table, and Victoria did so with gratitude.

‘The—er—Baron?’ she began, as she buttered a roll and added some conserve.

Maria frowned. ‘Yes?’ she said uncompromisingly.

Victoria sighed. ‘Does—doesn’t he eat here?’

Maria sniffed. ‘The Herr Baron breakfasted two hours ago, fräulein,’ she retorted, with some disparagement.

‘I see.’ Victoria sank her teeth into the roll and savoured its flavour with real enjoyment. It was strange, you simply didn’t get bread like this in England.

Maria hesitated by the table. ‘Have you seen Sophie yet, fräulein?’

At the mention of the child’s name, some of Victoria’s contentment vanished.

‘Yes, I’ve seen her,’ she replied carefully. ‘She came to my bedroom earlier.’

Maria still hovered beside her. ‘What did she say?’

Victoria frowned. ‘Very little,’ she answered honestly.

Maria twisted her hands together. ‘It is wise not to take too much notice of what she says,’ she said unhappily, ‘Sophie is a strange child. No one can get near to her. She makes up—what you would call—fantasies!’

Victoria looked at Maria curiously, and then the woman’s words found an echo in something she remembered from earlier this morning.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘could I have heard an explosion this morning? I—I believe something like that woke me.’

Maria’s eyes flickered. ‘An explosion, fräulein?’

‘Yes.’ Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘Like a shot, for example.’

Maria looked relieved suddenly. ‘Oh, perhaps,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Gustav was out early with his rifle.’

Victoria digested this, but Maria turned away, apparently willing to let the conversation end there. Victoria ate two rolls, felt pleasantly full, and accepted a second cup of coffee. She was in the process of drinking the second cup when the heavy door at the far side of the kitchen opened and her employer came in.

This morning he was dressed in thigh-length boots, and a thick fur-lined overcoat. A fur hat resided on his head, but he drew this off as he came in and threw it to one side as he unbuttoned his coat, and unzipped his boots. Victoria gave him a fleeting glance, and then returned her attention to her coffee, unwilling to appear too inquisitive as he divested himself of his outer garments. Maria welcomed him eagerly, offering him coffee, and he patted her shoulder warmly, and said: ‘Ja, good and strong, Maria!’ before transferring his attention to Victoria.

‘Good morning, Miss Monroe,’ he nodded, running a hand through the thickness of his fair hair. ‘I trust you have spent a good night.’

Victoria found herself colouring under his brilliant blue gaze like a schoolgirl, and was angry with herself for doing so. In consequence, her tones were sharp, as she replied: ‘Thank you, yes, Herr Baron.’

The Baron’s brows drew together slightly, and he studied her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: ‘It will be necessary for us to talk this morning, Miss Monroe. I suggest you wait a moment while I have my coffee, and then we will go to my study.’

Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘As you say, Herr Baron,’ she answered swiftly.

The Baron gave her another studied look before turning back to Maria and taking the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. Warming his hands round its width, he came back to the fire, standing, one foot raised to rest on the settle at one side of the fire, as he stared into the flames. In black vorlagers and a black sweater he was an infinitely disturbing figure, and Victoria couldn’t help wondering where his wife might be. Had Sophie been more forthcoming she might have asked her about her mother, but the child had not been helpful in any way. It was possible, of course, that Sophie missed her mother and that that was why she behaved so badly. But would any woman be able to stand the isolation here all winter long? Had the Baroness merely gone to where there were lights and people and simple luxuries like central heating, for example?

Victoria ventured another look at her employer. He might not be an easy man to live with; there was a touch of ruthlessness about him as well as that sardonic cynicism, and yet she was aware also of a gentleness that showed whenever he spoke of his daughter. He turned suddenly and found her eyes upon him and she quickly looked away, but not before she had encountered the disturbing penetration of those naked blue eyes.

He finished his coffee and put the cup on the bench beside a deep sink, then turned to Victoria. ‘Are you ready, Miss Monroe?’ he asked briefly, and Victoria got obediently to her feet.

At that moment the kitchen door opened again, this time from the hall which led to Victoria’s room, and Sophie came in almost jauntily. Victoria had been wondering where the child was, and now she thought there was about Sophie an air of satisfaction that had not been there before.

‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, when she saw her father, and rushing across to him she wrapped her arms round his hips extravagantly. ‘Wohin gehen Sie?’

‘English, Sophie,’ said her father gently, disentangling himself from her clinging arms. ‘I am going to my study. Miss Monroe and I need to discuss your tuition.’

Sophie turned in her father’s arms and wrinkled her nose at Victoria, but as only Victoria saw her the Baron did not remonstrate with her. ‘I don’t want to do lessons, Papa! I want to come out with you. Can I, Papa? Can I?’

The Baron held her at arm’s length, looking at her teasingly. ‘Would you have it said that Sophie von Reichstein was unintelligent, uneducated, illiterate, Sophie?’ he chided her gently. ‘Don’t you want me to be proud of you?’

Sophie pouted. ‘Of course I do, Papa. But you can teach me all I need to know.’

The Baron shook his head, straightening. ‘No, Sophie.’

Sophie’s face crumpled. ‘Why?’

‘I do not have the time, Sophie.’ The Baron sighed. ‘Miss Monroe will be an admirable teacher, I am sure. Try to be good, to learn! It is no use railing against the inevitable.’

Sophie sniffed, and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t care about me!’ she accused him.

Victoria felt uncomfortable and glanced across at Maria. The old woman was looking anxious and Victoria had the feeling that this was a scene she had seen many times before.

The Baron frowned at his daughter. ‘That is not true, Sophie, and you know it. I simply cannot devote myself solely to your education. There is much to do about the schloss as you know. It is impossible for me to be your tutor. Besides, it is better that you have the services of a—qualified teacher—--’ He cast a bleak glance in Victoria’s direction, and she felt sure he had hesitated there deliberately. He had intended to remind her that she was not experienced.

Sophie rubbed her eyes with both hands. ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you any more.’

The Baron regarded her for a long moment, then he turned and with a gesture indicated that Victoria should precede him out of the room. Victoria did so, unhappily aware of Sophie’s eyes on her back as they left.

In the hall, the Baron went ahead, leading the way to the enormous banqueting hall which they had first entered on their arrival. Here there was another huge fire and Victoria reflected that at least there was no shortage of wood to stoke the flames. Only one of the wolfhounds lay before the blaze and at a command from the Baron he did not trouble them as they crossed the hall to another heavy door leading into the east wing of the schloss. Victoria had wondered if the east wing were used at all, but apparently it was and this was where the Baron’s apartments were situated. Here the floors were just as bare, but when the Baron halted before an arched doorway and opened the door into a comparatively small room, Victoria saw that at least here there were some signs of comfort.

The room was lined with books so that it was more like a library than a study, but an enormous desk, littered with papers dominated the central area, and before and behind this desk were two comfortable armchairs of buttoned green leather. The floor was strewn with rugs, and again a comfortable blaze burned in the hearth. Victoria wondered however such a place could be heated without the presence of the pine forests. To imagine such hearths filled with fuel of a harder quality was to imagine untold riches.

The Baron closed the door behind them and indicated that Victoria should take the chair nearest the fire. Then he himself perched on the corner of his desk and reaching into a carved wooden box he produced a thick cigar which he proceeded to trim and light before speaking.

The windows of the study overlooked the side of the schloss and from her seat Victoria could see the tumbling waters of the stream and the frosted panorama of trees and hillside. It was a very attractive room and Victoria began to relax in the warmth and comfort of her soft chair.

When his cigar was lit to his satisfaction, the Baron gave her a thoughtful stare. ‘You are surprised, Miss Monroe,’ he remarked, half mockingly. ‘Did you imagine we had only wooden chairs to sit upon and stark walls to stare at?’

Victoria felt annoyed. ‘If I did, it was only what you expected me to think,’ she replied carefully. ‘Or should I say, that was what you wanted me to think?’

‘Touché!’ he murmured, with a slight smile. ‘Perhaps I have been a little hard on you. But then it is always better to believe the worst to begin with. If I had misled you in an entirely different direction, you would have been horrified afterwards, do you not agree?’

Victoria’s mouth lifted slightly. ‘So you let me believe you were a barbarian, Herr Baron?’ she countered.

‘Oh, not that, surely,’ he protested. ‘However, it must be obvious to you even now that what we have to offer here is not what you are used to.’

Victoria frowned. ‘You don’t know what I am used to, Herr Baron.’

‘No?’ he shrugged. ‘I have not spent all my life here, at Reichstein, fräulein. I can recognise cashmere when I see it, in your sweater, for example. And your trousers are not made of inferior yarns.’

‘You can’t judge a person by their clothes!’

‘No, I accept that. That is why I am willing to give you a trial. Nevertheless, I venture to say that your predecessors were perhaps a little more prepared than you are for the task ahead.’

Victoria felt affronted. ‘How can you say that,’ she exclaimed unthinkingly, ‘when neither of them succeeded in their efforts?’

The Baron raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You see, fräulein,’ he said, ‘you begin to prove my point already!’

Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Why? Because I am without deference?’ she asked stormily.

The Baron’s eyes darkened. ‘We will leave the matter of my position alone, fräulein,’ he stated harshly, and for a moment Victoria felt completely deflated.

‘As you wish,’ she murmured uncomfortably, and he slid off the desk and walked behind it, lifting a letter which Victoria immediately recognised as being written in her godmother’s flowing hand.

‘Why did you wish to leave London, fräulein?’ he asked suddenly, startling her.

Victoria linked her fingers together in her lap. ‘Is that of any consequence, Herr Baron?’ she asked politely.

The Baron flicked the letter with his thumb. ‘I think so. After all, if your reasons for coming to Reichstein are to escape from something—unpleasant, perhaps, I should be aware of its nature.’

‘Why?’ Victoria looked up at him.

‘If the impossible happens and you are accepted here I should not like to think you would leave us again if whatever it is you are running away from resolves itself.’

Victoria controlled her temper. ‘How do you know I am running away from anything?’ she protested.

‘Your godmother’s letter is vague, and yet one gets the impression that what is implied is worth more than what is actually said. However, as you seem loath to commit yourself, I must assume it is a personal matter and trust that it is nothing which might reflect unhappily upon us.’

Victoria’s nails bit into the palms of her hands, but she said nothing. Let him think what he liked. It was of no matter. Time would prove that she was as equal to the task as her predecessors, and if she had anything to do with it he would have nothing to complain about. Even so, it was startling to realise that already her life in London was receding in significance and her presence here at Reichstein was the reality. Whether it was because it was all so vastly different from what she had imagined she did not know, but certainly her anxiety at parting so abruptly from Meredith had become of less importance than succeeding at this task. Of course, she had deliberately refused to think about him last night or maybe she would have felt those awful pangs of conscience, but even so, it was reassuring to know that her heart was by no means as bruised as she had believed it to be. The memory of Meredith’s betrayal was still painful, but now that her pride was in no danger of being destroyed here, miles away from anyone who had known about their association, she could face the future less emotionally. In that, at least, her godmother had been right. She had said that Victoria had been hurt more by the knowledge that she would look a fool than by real heartbreak.

Now the Baron came to lean against the mantel, looking down at her intently. ‘About Sophie,’ he began. ‘I should warn you, she is not an easy child to get along with.’ He spread a hand expressively. ‘As no doubt you are aware after that small fracas earlier.’

‘Yes.’ Victoria continued to study her fingernails, unable to confront that piercing gaze.

‘No doubt you consider my attitude sadly lacking in dicipline, fräulein?’

Victoria sighed. How was she supposed to answer that? ‘I—I think Sophie is a lonely child,’ she ventured, uncomfortably.

‘How very diplomatic,’ he commented dryly. ‘No, my dear Miss Monroe, it is not just loneliness! When Sophie was ill she was given every attention. Her slightest wish was my command. She is very dear to me. Naturally I spoilt her, and now this is the result.’

Victoria bit her lip. ‘How old was Sophie when she became ill, Herr Baron?’

‘Eight years of age—a little over eighteen months ago. She was in hospital for many months, and her recovery from the paralysis was nothing short of a miracle.’ He flicked ash into the flames. ‘You can have no conception of the relief her recovery gave to me. For a time it seemed impossible that she would ever be a normal child again.’

Victoria hesitated, but the question had to be asked: ‘And—and your wife, the Baroness—--’

He straightened. ‘We will not discuss Sophie’s mother, Miss Monroe,’ he said harshly. ‘And now—if we can decide upon a syllabus—--’

Victoria coloured and then allowed him to direct their conversation into educational channels, putting forward her opinions only when asked for and receiving his instructions in return. It was his suggestion that they should conduct the lessons here, in his study, where there was a desk and ample reference facilities in the book-lined shelves. He already had textbooks in both German and English from which Victoria was able to gauge Sophie’s ability and the other equipment necessary for providing writing materials and paper was present in the ample drawers of the desk. When he had completed his instructions about Sophie, Victoria rose to her feet, ready to take her leave, but he stayed her with a gesture and she sank back into her chair again.

‘It is necessary now that I outline what free time you have available and how you may spend it,’ he said consideringly. ‘Also, if you would prefer to eat in your room, I can arrange for a tray to be provided.’

‘Oh no. That is—--’ Victoria bit her lip. ‘I don’t mind eating in the kitchen. I—I prefer—--’ She halted. She had been about to say she preferred the company to the isolation, but to do so would be to play right into his hands. However, before she could think of an adequate substitute, he said:

‘I understand, fräulein. Do not imagine I am without feelings. I, too, need the company of—others, sometimes.’

Victoria’s eyes dropped before his, and a disturbing quiver rippled along her spine. Why did this man create this awareness in her? Almost all the men she had known were wealthy, sleek, sophisticated; they drove fast cars, holidayed in the Caribbean or the South Pacific, wore the latest clothes and knew all the best restaurants. The Baron von Reichstein should have been like them, but he was not, and his only concession to the present trends were the long sideburns which grew down to his jawline. His clothes were good, but practical, and there had been reinforcing leather patches on the elbows of his coat. His transport was a mud-splashed station wagon, and he was used to eating wholesome soup out of earthenware dishes at a scrubbed kitchen table. Why then did she notice every minute detail about him from the hard strength of his broad body to the sensual curve of his full lower lip?

‘Now to the matter of free time.’ The Baron was speaking again, and Victoria gathered her composure. ‘Naturally, you will be free every day after lessons are over, which should be a couple of hours after lunch. However, I should be grateful if for a further consideration you would consider yourself Sophie’s companion for some part of the day.’

Victoria coloured. ‘There is no need to make that concession, Herr Baron,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m quite willing to treat Sophie as a friend so long as she is willing. And as to free time, if and when I need any I could always tell you.’

The Baron frowned. ‘Nevertheless, I feel it is essential that you should not feel continually on duty. Your suggestion is appreciated, but you may find assuming a kind of family situation rather tiring.’

Victoria got to her feet. She was quite a tall girl, but the Baron was over six feet in height and dwarfed her. ‘Well, we shall see,’ she said, rather awkwardly, and leaving him she walked towards the door. However, as she was about to turn the handle, he said:

‘Your hair—is it very long?’

The question was so unexpected that Victoria leant against the door in astonishment, putting up a tentative hand to the french roll she invariably wore. ‘Why—er—yes,’ she murmured, flushing.

The Baron turned his back to her, staring into the flames. ‘There are no beauty salons around here, fräulein. You may find it simpler to wear your hair short.’

Victoria frowned. ‘Is that a request—or a command?’ Her voice was slightly uneven.

‘Neither,’ returned the Baron bleakly. ‘It was an observation, that is all, fräulein.’

Victoria straightened. ‘I am perfectly capable of washing my hair myself, Herr Baron,’ she said sharply. ‘Is that all?’

‘That is all, ja!’ His tones were harsh, and with a faint shake of her head, she went out of the door.

What a strange man he was. What possible importance did her hair have for him?

With a puzzled lift of her shoulders, she began to walk along the passage towards the great hall. As she entered that huge apartment she saw the wolfhound stare round at her, and for a moment her heart quickened. Then, with determined nonchalance, she crossed the hall, and as she closed the door behind her she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

She walked to the kitchen, intending to find Sophie at once and speak to her about their arrangements, but only Gustav and Maria were there, Gustav drinking a mug of coffee and smoking his pipe. He was a giant of a man, with thick grey hair, and gnarled brown features. He nodded pleasantly at Victoria, and she returned his smile. Then she said to Maria:

‘Where is Sophie? I thought she might be here.’

Maria sighed. ‘I think she has gone out, fräulein. After you left with her father she put on her long boots and her furs and you may find her in the stables, with Otto und Else.’

‘Otto and Else? Who are they?’ asked Victoria in surprise.

Maria smiled. ‘Horses, fräulein,’ she said gently. ‘There are only two now.’

‘Oh!’ Victoria nodded. ‘I see.’ She looked down at her shoeclad feet. ‘Perhaps I should get my boots and go and find her.’

‘Ja, fräulein,’ said Gustav, nodding comfortably by the fire. ‘Est ist kalt, aber der Schnee ist schän!’

Victoria was lost after the bit about it being cold, but she agreed with him and went out of the kitchen again to go up to her room to put on her warm clothes.

She ran up the staircase, reflecting as she did so how thick the walls of the schloss must be. No sound penetrated up here from down below and she half wished she had brought her transistor radio for company. On her landing she halted breathlessly, looking out for a moment from the circular window that gave a sight of the length of the valley. In summer the pastures would be green and verdant, laced with the tiny alpine flowers that grew in such profusion in the welcome heat of the sun. Maybe there would be cows to graze on the pastures and sheep to climb the slopes of the mountain. Would she still be here then?

A strange sound coming from one of the other rooms which opened on to the balcony brought her round suddenly and a ripple of apprehension slid along her spine. She had thought herself the only occupant of this small tower and knowing the whereabouts of all the other members of the household made her instantly uneasy. There was no one else in the castle so that any sounds she heard could only be made by mice—or rats! Unless, her pulses slowed a little, unless it was Sophie, trying to frighten her.

The noise came again, a weird, scratching kind of sound, and a faint panting as though whatever it was that was making the sound was breathing quickly, as she was.

Victoria’s blood ran cold. She had not been long enough in the schloss to form any real opinions about it, and it was easy to imagine the regiments of ancestors who must have lived and died here in years gone by. Although she had never encountered any ghosts in her short life, she had a healthy respect for the supernatural, and the remoteness of the schloss and this tower in particular was not lost on her.

Then she chided herself impatiently. It was broad daylight. Spirits simply did not manifest themselves in broad daylight, at least not to her knowledge. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her trousers. She was being altogether too susceptible, allowing her imagination to run away with her. Heavens, all she had to do was run downstairs and get Gustav to come up with her and open the door!

The sound came yet again, harder this time, as though whatever, or whoever, was making the noise was getting tired of waiting for her to respond to it. It must be Sophie, she thought impatiently. There was no one else. It couldn’t be the Baron, and she had just left Maria and Gustav. That only left one person. And if she did succumb to temptation and go downstairs and fetch Gustav up here there was every chance that the child would escape in her absence and thus make Victoria look a complete idiot when it was discovered that there was nothing and no one in the room. Of course, her imagination persisted, she could go down and bring Gustav up here and find nothing there and yet still find that Sophie was outside as Maria had said. And if that happened, then whatever it was that was behind that door would have every opportunity of returning later, after dark, when the schloss was as silent as the grave, when no one would be about to assist her.

Victoria trembled, her palms moist again. It was no use. Whatever it was, she must discover it for herself or she would have no peace afterwards.

On slightly uncertain legs, she crossed the landing to the door and put her ear against the panels, listening intently. Immediately there was a loud sniffing and a scuffling behind the door and a long-drawn-out wail. Horrified, Victoria took a step backwards and bent forward to turn the handle and thrust the door inwards. She didn’t know what awful fate she expected to befall her, for a brief heart-stopping moment she was without hope, and then she was limp and clinging to the doorpost as a huge furry body flung itself joyously upon her, licking her face with an enormous pink tongue.

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