The Benefactress
Copyright© 2024 by Elizabeth Von Arnim
Chapter 17
Axel Lohm was in the hall, having his coat taken from him by a servant.
“You here?” exclaimed Anna, holding out both hands. She was more than usually pleased to see him.
“Manske had a pile of letters for you, and could not get them to you because he has a pastors’ conference at his house. I was there and saw the letters, and thought you might want them.”
“Oh, I don’t want them—at least, there is no hurry. But the letters are only an excuse. Now isn’t it so?”
“An excuse?” he repeated, flushing.
“You want to see the new arrivals.”
“Not in the very least.”
“Oh, oh! But as you have come one minute too soon, and happened to meet me outside the door, your plan is spoilt. Are those the letters? What a pile!” Her face fell.
“But you are looking for nine more ladies. You want a wide choice. You have still the greater part of your work before you.”
“I know. Why do you tell me that?”
“Because you do not seem pleased to get them.”
“Oh yes, I am; but I am tired to-night, and the idea of nine more ladies makes me feel—feel sleepy.”
She stood under the lamp, holding the packet loosely by its string and smiling up to him. There were shadows in her eyes, he thought, where he was used to seeing two cheerful little lights shining, and a faint ruefulness in the smile.
“Well, if you are tired you must go to bed,” he said, in such a matter of fact tone that they both laughed.
“No, I mustn’t,” said Anna; “I am on my way to Herr Dellwig at this very moment. He’s in there,” she said, with a motion of her head towards the dining-room door. “Tell me,” she added, lowering her voice, “have you got a brick-kiln at Lohm?”
“A brick-kiln? No. Why do you want to know?”
“But why haven’t you got a brick-kiln?”
“Because there is nothing to make bricks with. Lohm is almost entirely sand.”
“He says there is splendid clay here in one part, and wants to build one.”
“Who? Dellwig?”
“Sh—sh.”
“Your uncle would have built one long ago if there really had been clay. I must look at the place he means. I cannot remember any such place. And it is unlikely that it should be as he says. Pray do not agree to any propositions of the kind hastily.”
“It would cost heaps to set it going, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, and probably bring in nothing at all.”
“But he tries to make out that it would be quite cheap. He says the timber could all be got out of the forest. I can’t bear the thought of cutting down a lot of trees.”
“If you can’t bear the thought of anything he proposes, then simply refuse to consider it.”
“But he talks and talks till it really seems that he is right. He told me just now that it would double the value of the estate.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“If I made bricks, according to him I could take in twice as many poor ladies.”
“I believe you will be happier with fewer ladies and no bricks,” said Axel with great positiveness.
Anna stood thinking. Her eyes were fixed on the tip of the finger she had passed through the loop of string that tied the letters together, and she watched it as the packet twisted round and round and pinched it redder and redder. “I suppose you never wanted to be a woman,” she said, considering this phenomenon with apparent interest.
Axel laughed.
“The mere question makes you laugh,” she said, looking up quickly. “I never heard of a man who did want to. But lots of women would give anything to be men.”
“And you are one of them?”
“Yes.”
He laughed again.
“You think I would make a queer little man?” she said, laughing too; but her face became sober immediately, and with a glance at the shut dining-room door she continued: “It is so horrid to feel weak. My sister Susie says I am very obstinate. Perhaps I was with her, but different people have different effects on one.” She sank her voice to a whisper, and looked at him anxiously. “You can’t think what an effort it is to me to say No to that man.”
“What, to Dellwig?”
“Sh—sh.”
“But if that is how you feel, my dear Miss Estcourt, it is very evident that the man must go.”
“How easy it is to say that! Pray, who is to tell him to go?”
“I will, if you wish.”
“If you were a woman, do you suppose you would be able to turn out an old servant who has worked here so many years?”
“Yes, I am sure I would, if I felt that he was getting beyond my control.”
“No, you wouldn’t. All sorts of things would stop you. You would remember that your uncle specially told you to keep him on, that he has been here ages, that he was faithful and devoted——”
“I do not believe there was much devotion.”
“Oh yes, there was. The first evening he cried about dear Uncle Joachim.”
“He cried?” repeated Axel incredulously.
“He did indeed.”
“It was about something else, then.”
“No, he really cried about Uncle Joachim. He really loved him.”
Axel looked profoundly unconvinced.
“But after all those are not the real reasons,” said Anna; “they ought to be, but they’re not. The simple truth is that I am a coward, and I am frightened—dreadfully frightened—of possible scenes.” And she looked at him and laughed ruefully. “There—you see what it is to be a woman. If I were a man, how easy things would be. Please consider the mortification of knowing that if he persuades long enough I shall give in, against my better judgment. He has the strongest will I think I ever came across.”
“But you have not yet given in, I hope, on any point of importance?”
“Up to now I have managed to say No to everything I don’t want to do. But you would laugh if you knew what those Nos cost me. Why cannot the place go on as it was? I am perfectly satisfied. But hardly a day passes without some wonderful new plan being laid before me, and he talks—oh, how he talks! I believe he would convince even you.”
“The man is quite beyond your control,” said Axel in a voice of anger; and voices of anger commonly being loud voices, this one produced the effect of three doors being simultaneously opened: the door leading to the servants’ quarters, through which Marie looked and vanished again, retreating to the kitchen to talk prophetically of weddings; the dining-room door, behind which Dellwig had grown more and more impatient at being kept waiting so long; and the drawing-room door, on the other side of which the baroness had been lingering for some moments, desiring to go upstairs for her scissors, but hesitating to interrupt Anna’s business with the inspector, whose voice she thought it was that she heard.
The baroness shut her door again immediately. “Aha—the admirer!” she said to herself; and went back quickly to her seat. “The Miss is talking to a jünge Herr,” she announced, her eyes wider open than ever.
“A jünge Herr?” echoed Frau von Treumann. “I thought the inspector was old?”
“It must be Axel Lohm,” said the princess, not raising her eyes from her work. “He often comes in.”
“He comes courting, evidently,” said the baroness with a sub-acid smile.
“It has not been evident to me,” said the princess coldly.
“I thought it looked like it,” said the baroness, with more meekness.
“Is that the Lohm who was engaged to one of the Kiederfels girls some years ago?” asked Frau von Treumann.
“Yes, and she died.”
“But did he not marry soon afterwards? I heard he married.”
“That was the second brother. This one is the eldest, and lives next to us, and is single.”
Frau von Treumann was silent for a moment. Then she said blandly, “Now confess, princess, that he is the perilous person from whom you think it necessary to defend Miss Estcourt.”
“Oh no,” said the princess with equal blandness; “I have no fears about him.”
“What, is he too possessed of an invulnerable heart?”
“I know nothing of his heart. I said, I believe, adventurers. And no one could call Axel Lohm an adventurer. I was thinking of men who have run through all their own and all their relations’ money in betting and gambling, and who want a wife who will pay their debts.”
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