Roots of Evil(33)

At the centre of it all was Nina herself, lying on a chaise-longue in the upstairs drawing-room, sobbing and fretfully pushing away all the offers of laudanum or bromide in warm water, her hair in a snarl, and the delicate gloves and silk sandals she had been wearing tossed petulantly to the floor. Her mother sat at one end of the chaise-longue, wringing her hands ineffectually, saying that no one had ever been able to soothe Nina when she got into one of her nervous states, and oh dear, what were they to do, and think of the scandal…In front of the fireplace her papa and her brother were conversing in low voices.

Alice had hoped to creep unobtrusively to her room, but she was pounced upon, hauled into the drawing-room, and offered to the assembled company to be suitably dealt with. As she looked round, the thought that came uppermost in her mind was not her own plight, but that in Miss Nina’s situation she hoped she would have had more self-control than to indulge in a spoilt-child tantrum before everyone.

They fell silent as soon as they saw her; even Miss Nina sat up straight, and forgot about crying. The words shameful and guttersnipe hissed round the room; Alice had learned a little German by this time – she had, in fact, learned rather more than a little – and she could recognize those words very well indeed.

In the end, it had been Miss Nina’s brother who had ordered her from the house, his eyes meeting Alice’s in sly triumph. He adopted a prim shocked tone which Alice thought the greatest absurdity of the whole situation, and said she was to go immediately, they could not have such a creature under their roof. And then, possibly mindful of the need to appear considerate before guests, despite the circumstances, amended this to first light. She was to go at first light: she would be allowed to take her belongings with her – they were not thieves in this family, he added righteously. But after tomorrow they did not want ever to see or hear from her again. He glanced at his parents as he said this, and apparently receiving tacit approval, added, in a final burst of spite, that one day he hoped to see her reduced to begging in the streets for what she had done to his sister.

Alice said loudly, ‘Well, it is no worse than what you have done to some of your mother’s maids,’ and saw his face flush with embarrassment. He glanced uneasily at the listening people, and in a burst of bravado Alice added, ‘You tried to do it to me as well, but I fought you off.’

This time it was not embarrassment that flooded his face, it was glaring fury, and he took a step towards her, his fists clenched so that she thought he was going to hit her. But then Nina – by now Alice had ceased to think of the pampered little goose as ‘Miss’ – pettishly threw her shoes across the room at Alice, and followed them with a little cut-glass scent bottle. None of the objects hit Alice, but the scent bottle shattered and spilt its contents all over the polished floor, threatening to tip the scene from tragedy to melodrama, since grand passions do not play well against an overpowering aura of lily-of-the-valley perfume, and the gentlemen of the party had to discreetly cover their mouths and noses with their handkerchiefs.

Alice did not care. She did not care that she was being turned from the house and threatened by Nina’s brother; she said defiantly that she would go now, rather than wait until the morning.

She must suit herself about that, they said, and smugly told one another that at least no one could accuse them of turning her out into the night.

Alice whisked from the room, and tumbled her few possessions into the locked box that she had brought with her from England. Carrying it, she set off down the sweeping carriageway to the high road, and embarked on the long walk across the city to the tall old house near St Stephen’s Cathedral.

It was a much greater distance than she remembered. By the time she had walked through the sprawling suburbs with the great houses and the parks, and had entered the city proper, Vienna had emerged from its sinister night-persona to become a bustling place of bright daylight, and of workers bound for their daily employment, and milk-carts and street-sweepers, and alleycats foraging for scraps after their night’s adventuring. Sunlight trickled over the stones and the walls, and the scents of good coffee and freshly baked croissants drifted from the houses and the cafés. The servants’ breakfast would be being served about now; if Alice had not left she would have been in her usual place at the long table. But what’s done is done, my girl, and you’ll survive a few hours without breakfast. In any case, he would give her breakfast. She visualized steaming coffee that he would have brewed himself, and warm rolls stuffed with ham and thin cheese, or buttered eggs. And his eyes regarding her across the small table that had stood in the window of the piano-room…

Using the cathedral spire as guide, she entered the maze of little streets and cobbled alleyways surrounding it, and began to look for the tall old house. It was then that the nightmare began.

Last night she had been too far gone in longing to take note of exactly where they were, and she had certainly not looked at street names. But surely she would recognize the place again. She began to walk around the streets, eagerly looking at the houses, craning her neck to find a familiar corbel on a window ledge or a stonework carving above the entrance to an alleyway.

The morning wore on, and the sun began to be high and hot. People came out of their workplaces and bought rolls and paté and fruit to eat in the little squares. Alice began to feel hungry and thirsty; her feet were starting to blister and her arms ached from carrying the box with all her possessions. She had only a few schillings, but there was enough to buy some coffee and a wedge of rye bread with cheese. She ate it sitting on a bench in the cathedral’s shadow.