evening that followed, a mocking little rhyme seemed to beat in her brain with the same monotonous cadence as the train wheels on the previous night: Miranda Brand had blood on her hand… Miranda Brand had blood on her hand… Miranda Brand… >-‘< ? i
The sky was a clear spring blue full of small white clouds, and the sun was shining as Robert drove the car down Bundes Allée, and turned left into the long sweep of the Herr Strasse.
On either side there were widely spaced houses standing back from the road; some of them set among pine trees and the pale green of new spring leaves, and others - a good many others only ruined shells standing among a wilderness of stunted bushes, weeds and tangled briars.
‘Not bombs-Russians,’ said Robert in answer to a query from Miranda. ‘They burnt them. “Houses of the bloated enemy capitalists” and all that sort of thing. Or so I am told.’
He turned the car off the Herr Strasse, and after crossing one or two parallel and smaller streets, pulled up in a quiet, tree-lined road before a red-roofed house flanked by budding lilacs and approached by a short flagged path.
‘Here we are: bundle out. I’m late. See you at lunch.’ He kissed Stella, released the brake and went on his way to the barracks which lay some half-dozen miles distant.
The house, though sparsely furnished, was comfortable and not without charm. A white painted staircase led up from a wide hall to a narrow landing that ran round three sides of the stairwell and gave access to four bedrooms. A large drawing-room and a smaller diningroom looked out on half an acre of garden that lay at the back of the house and consisted mainly of a lawn surrounded by a hedge and more lilac bushes and ending in a high reed fence. There were two pine trees in the garden, a few cherry trees and some sad, sandy-looking flowerbeds. A single almond tree provided a gay
splash of colour and the cherry trees were already in bloom.
A shallow alcove off the hall held a telephone, and to the right an archway and a short passage led to the kitchen quarters and the back staircase. There was a small study for Robert and a smaller cloakroom.
The cellars are about the largest part of the house,’ said Stella. ‘A ghastly waste of space, as there’s nothing down there but a boiler and piles of coke and coal. But thank heavens we have two bathrooms! This is your room, and Robert and I are in here and Lottie next door to you. Mademoiselle’s in there. There’s another bathroom and two servants’ rooms in the attic, but only the housemaid sleeps in; she seems a nice woman and mercifully can speak quite good English. My German is pretty rusty. When you’ve gone, I’ll turn your room into a schoolroom-cum-playroom for Lottie, but until then she’ll have to use that little room downstairs. Robert will never really use it.’
A woman wearing a starched white apron passed along the landing carrying a pile of clean linen, and Miranda caught at Stella’s arm:
‘Who’s that?’
That’s Friedel.’
‘Madam?’ The woman turned, thinking she had been addressed.
‘Es ist nichts, Friedel, ‘ Stella waved a hand in dismissal. ‘What is it, ‘Randa?’
‘I’ve seen that woman before. She was at the hostel yesterday.’
‘Was she? Probably collecting her papers or a reference or spmething. She used to work there once. Now I’m going to leave you to your unpacking while I go down to wrestle with the cook. What’s the Deutsch for “braised”?’
Stella ran down the stairs to the hall, but Miranda stood gazing into space. There was no reason why Stella’s explanation of the woman Friedel’s presence in the hostel should not be the right one. It seemed obvious enough. And yet standing there in a square of bright spring sunlight in Stella’s house, Miranda had a swift and fleeting impression that she was looking at part of a pattern.
89
,t It was as though everything that had happened since she had left
The sky was a clear spring blue full of small white clouds, and the sun was shining as Robert drove the car down Bundes Allée, and turned left into the long sweep of the Herr Strasse.
On either side there were widely spaced houses standing back from the road; some of them set among pine trees and the pale green of new spring leaves, and others - a good many others only ruined shells standing among a wilderness of stunted bushes, weeds and tangled briars.
‘Not bombs-Russians,’ said Robert in answer to a query from Miranda. ‘They burnt them. “Houses of the bloated enemy capitalists” and all that sort of thing. Or so I am told.’
He turned the car off the Herr Strasse, and after crossing one or two parallel and smaller streets, pulled up in a quiet, tree-lined road before a red-roofed house flanked by budding lilacs and approached by a short flagged path.
‘Here we are: bundle out. I’m late. See you at lunch.’ He kissed Stella, released the brake and went on his way to the barracks which lay some half-dozen miles distant.
The house, though sparsely furnished, was comfortable and not without charm. A white painted staircase led up from a wide hall to a narrow landing that ran round three sides of the stairwell and gave access to four bedrooms. A large drawing-room and a smaller diningroom looked out on half an acre of garden that lay at the back of the house and consisted mainly of a lawn surrounded by a hedge and more lilac bushes and ending in a high reed fence. There were two pine trees in the garden, a few cherry trees and some sad, sandy-looking flowerbeds. A single almond tree provided a gay
splash of colour and the cherry trees were already in bloom.
A shallow alcove off the hall held a telephone, and to the right an archway and a short passage led to the kitchen quarters and the back staircase. There was a small study for Robert and a smaller cloakroom.
The cellars are about the largest part of the house,’ said Stella. ‘A ghastly waste of space, as there’s nothing down there but a boiler and piles of coke and coal. But thank heavens we have two bathrooms! This is your room, and Robert and I are in here and Lottie next door to you. Mademoiselle’s in there. There’s another bathroom and two servants’ rooms in the attic, but only the housemaid sleeps in; she seems a nice woman and mercifully can speak quite good English. My German is pretty rusty. When you’ve gone, I’ll turn your room into a schoolroom-cum-playroom for Lottie, but until then she’ll have to use that little room downstairs. Robert will never really use it.’
A woman wearing a starched white apron passed along the landing carrying a pile of clean linen, and Miranda caught at Stella’s arm:
‘Who’s that?’
That’s Friedel.’
‘Madam?’ The woman turned, thinking she had been addressed.
‘Es ist nichts, Friedel, ‘ Stella waved a hand in dismissal. ‘What is it, ‘Randa?’
‘I’ve seen that woman before. She was at the hostel yesterday.’
‘Was she? Probably collecting her papers or a reference or spmething. She used to work there once. Now I’m going to leave you to your unpacking while I go down to wrestle with the cook. What’s the Deutsch for “braised”?’
Stella ran down the stairs to the hall, but Miranda stood gazing into space. There was no reason why Stella’s explanation of the woman Friedel’s presence in the hostel should not be the right one. It seemed obvious enough. And yet standing there in a square of bright spring sunlight in Stella’s house, Miranda had a swift and fleeting impression that she was looking at part of a pattern.
89
,t It was as though everything that had happened since she had left
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