C8 Chapter 8

It was a while before Elisabet woke up to reality the next morning. You wake up with a feeling – either pleasant or unpleasant – that sits in the body from the day before. Elisabet felt a mixture of both. Her emotions were chaotic. Something was troubling her but it was also something wonderful, tempting, and it made her feel uneasy.

She opened her eyes. She heard a sound that she was not used to. A child crying.

She got up with a start and put on some clothes. She ran up the stairs, with a bad conscience and a pounding heart. How could she leave Miss Karin alone with the poor little newborn girl?

She stopped in the doorway.

A strange woman of about thirty-five was gently teaching Karin how to put a clean nappy on the baby. She was bound to be the wet nurse! Yes, of course. Now Elisabet remembered everything and she let out a sigh of relief.

When she entered the room, both looked up.

“Elisabet, come and see,” Karin said eagerly. “I’m changing little Sofie Magdalene, and she’s slept so wonderfully all through the night, the little darling. Right now, she’s a bit irritable because she’s hungry but this is something that Mrs Vaagen will attend to in a moment. Isn’t she sweet?”

“Yes, the baby is adorable,” Elisabet said. She had noticed that the confused sound in Karin’s voice was somewhat subdued and she seemed to be more self-confident.

“Do you plan to call her Sofie Magdalene?”

It was certainly a somewhat pompous name for a baby from the slum!

“Named after Her Majesty the Queen,” Karin said solemnly.

The Queen? Denmark-Norway had had at least three queens since Sofie Magdalene.

The enigma of Miss Karin became increasingly profound.

“We must get hold of some more things for Sofie Magdalene,” Karin said energetically. “Elisabet, please come with me while Mrs Vaagen feeds the baby. I would rather not watch her give the baby food because it makes me so envious. We must buy the finest blanket and an ointment for her sensitive skin and ...”

“Dr Hansen will be popping in at 2 o’clock,” Mrs Vaagen reminded Karin.

“Yes, we must be back before then,” Karin said. “I must discuss with him what is best for the child. He’s such an awfully nice person.”

As Karin seemed to be easier to get along with than usual, Elisabet seized the opportunity to ask: “Miss Karin, I’ve ... been invited out tonight. Do you think I can leave you for a while?”

“Yes, of course you can,” Karin replied absentmindedly as she tried to put a waving baby’s arm into a sleeve. “Mrs Vaagen is here and perhaps Dr Hansen would like to stay for a while.”

“Do you want me to leave the door open as usual?”

Karin looked up. “Open? Good heavens, no. Crazy people could walk in and Mr Vemund has his own key so there’s no need to leave the door open. Absolutely not! Now we have little Sofie Magdalene to take care of, you know.”

What a change in Karin! Elisabet did not quite know how to interpret it. Was it a step forward or a worsening of Karin’s mental state?

Anyway, Elisabet was careful not to mention a certain ridiculous nickname for a grown-up man. A man who no longer existed.

For the first time, Karin had the courage to venture out into the big streets where stalls and little shops with quaint signs outside tempted with all sorts of wares. She did not have a clue about money, and Elisabet, to whom Vemund had given a few coins to cover Karin’s needs and who had a few shillings herself, had to watch out that this did not turn into a crazy, frantic shopping spree. Elisabet agreed that the baby was to have the very best but not dozens of everything. Karin kept complaining how expensive everything was now, which showed that it was a long time since she had been out and about. Elisabet could make no sense of it all. How could Vemund, who was only twenty-five years old, have hurt Karin so much? Killed her fiancé? It must have happened not so long ago. This was the only explanation Elisabet could think of.

Although the shopping expedition tired Karin, it did her a lot of good. They walked home with lots of parcels, feeling enlivened and talking animatedly. Vemund Tark would probably disapprove of Elisabet and Karin being out without male company, but whom could they ask?

Karin virtually staggered into the house, and her first question was: “How is Sofie Magdalene?” Elisabet took this as a very big step forward for Karin!

Vemund came in good time in the evening. He seemed sharper and stricter in the way he spoke than normally and although he did not seem affected by it, Elisabet suspected that he had been drinking. He did not say very much in the coach and she felt no urge to talk. She sat with her hands folded in her lap while she looked grumpily out at the countryside.

When they were almost there, Vemund stopped the horses in the park.

“Relax,” he said sharply. “You’re like a coiled spring. There! Now you can walk the rest of the way!”

“Aren’t you coming along as well?”

Could he avoid hearing her tone of voice?!

“You know perfectly well that I’m not joining you,” Vemund said.

Elisabet looked somewhat disappointed. “Yes, of course,” she said.

“You’ll have to walk home because I’ve no idea how long they’ll keep you. But you must give me an account. Or Lillebror might drive you home. No farther than to my house, remember!”

Elisabet suffered. “Vemund, do I have to?” she whispered.

“Now you mustn’t make a fuss! I want Lillebror to move away from here and take responsibility for you and Elistrand. What’s more, you won’t lose anything by doing so,” Vemund said.

Elisabet said: “Perhaps not in a material sense. Do you want me to come to your house this evening?”

Vemund replied: “Yes, of course! I want to know everything! Even if it’s late.”

That sounded better. She was not to be left entirely to her own devices. She did not hear the carriage turn as she walked up to the house. But she was too timid to watch ...

A maid opened the door for her and everything got started. Elisabet was shaking with nerves. Lillebror walked up to her in the hall and helped her off with her coat. She fumbled and dropped her gloves on the floor. She hoped that her emerald-green dress was appropriate. It was now autumn, when it was best to avoid bright colours. But then, she could hardly dress as if she was going to a funeral, and who would know that this was in fact where she was going? A spiritual burial of her freedom ...

Lillebror was more dapper and debonair than she remembered him. Occasionally, she felt that his demeanour bordered on weakness, but he was so young, after all. He was so handsome that he almost made you lose your breath. He was far more handsome than Vemund.

Elisabet had reason to be happy.

“The lovely people”, as she called everybody at Lekenes, greeted her kindly. Mr and Mrs Tark were dressed in their finery because it was a solemn occasion, and there was a very chubby man who introduced himself as Mandrup Svendsen. He was Mrs Tark’s cousin. He must also have been handsome in bygone days but now you had to search for his features in the dark-red, glistening face.

She fought her way through a lavish meal with questions and answers: “My mother is fine, thank you; no, I haven’t read that book but I would like to; yes, my employer is a very nice lady who doesn’t press me too hard; yes, the weather has been awful ...”

Despite their light conversation, Elisabet felt that she was being observed, evaluated and questioned. Mrs Emilie Tark, who was just as charming as her mother, Tora, had said she was, smiled affably and kindly at Elisabet, saying all the right things, but she did not allow anybody to get too close. Behind her kindness was a noli me tangere – don’t touch me – attitude. Lillebror admired her unreservedly.

Elisabet wished that she could become like Emilie Tark one day: just as serene and articulate – and just as beautiful. But that was, of course, a hopeless, wishful dream.

Emilie’s husband was equally worldly and polite, but Elisabet noticed the glances that he gave his wife all the time in order to get her approval before he said anything. Emilie was the one with natural self-confidence. Arnold was an upstart who was fumbling his way through the secret passages of etiquette among the nobility.

Mandrup was unsure in his own way. Vocal, boastful and talkative. Elisabet gathered that he was not supposed to have been there that evening. He had dropped by without notice, dressed in everyday clothes – and they had been forced to invite him into the festive circle. Mrs Emilie looked rather harassed when her cousin interrupted and boasted too openly. It was a pretty stressful dinner. Afterwards they all retired to the small drawing room. Elisabet and Mrs Tark were each served a glass of something sticky and sweet and the men got something a good deal stronger. Mandrup Svendsen drank his in one gulp and a discreet servant immediately refilled his glass.

Mrs Tark, the brothers’ mother, gave her husband an inviting glance and he cleared his throat.

“Well, young Elisabet, of course you know why we’ve asked you to come. Our dear son would like to marry you. Yesterday, his brother Vemund revealed that he had already asked for your hand on behalf of his brother, Lillebror, and that your parents ... don’t object.”

Elisabet bent her head and tried not to tear her handkerchief into pieces. She held her arms straight and had them on her knees. Her terrible shyness, which she was never able to control, was pressing her throat so that she was unable to answer. She felt Lillebror’s warm gaze on her. It had been obvious throughout the dinner that he had nothing against marrying her – yet Elisabet was so unsure of him. Could she trust him? Would she be able to win his love so well that he would always stick to her? Or would he take mistresses like so many other men? Elisabet would not ignore infidelity. That required a totally different type of woman, and Elisabet was not one of them.

She concentrated on listening to the father of the brothers, but he was not a dominant figure and his words had no expressive power. They were nothing but words.

“We’ll probably have to plan the wedding if it is to be a success,” Mr Tark said. “There has to be a certain balance between the participating families. I’m sure you appreciate that. As you know, we’re not poor ...”

Mandrup Svendsen stretched out his sausage-like fingers and took another crafty swig from his glass. He gave Elisabet a swift, sly glance, which also contained something else. Was it horror? Angst? Or was it merely judgmental?

Mr Tark went on: “We know, of course, that your father, Ulf Paladin of the Ice People, owns the well-kept Elistrand and that his private fortune is not to be sneezed at.”

How did you get to know that? Elisabet thought suspiciously.

Mrs Tark seemed to notice her indignation and came to her rescue. “Dear child, of course we don’t want to tire you with these boring matters. My husband will visit your father in order to discuss your future. But before that, there are a few things the gentlemen would like to have confirmed.” She gave Elisabet an apologetic smile; Mrs Tark seemed not to agree with the way in which the men were proceeding. But she let her husband do the explaining again. “We gather that you’ll also inherit Graastensholm and Linden Avenue one day,” Arnold Tark said cautiously.

“That’s not at all certain,” Elisabet said swiftly. “They belong to another branch of the family: the Linds of the Ice People.”

“Yes, but they live in Sweden,” Lillebror said, having sought his mother’s approval with a glance. “Their farm is the hunting lodge at Mörby.”

“Not any longer,” Elisabet said. She was beginning to be irritated because they all seemed so well informed. “Count Göran Oxenstierna is at Skenäs in Vingaaker, and my relative, Daniel, has travelled there with him as his aide-de-camp, and taken along his family.”

There was yet another glance at the mother before the next question: “They have their own farm, don’t they?”

“Yes, they bought a new one near Skenäs,” Elisabet replied.

Mrs Tark spoke again and everybody listened instinctively. She was the true authority. “Dear Elisabet, you must excuse our curiosity,” she said gently. “But we’ve been told that your relative Daniel is very settled in Sweden.”

There was a quick, motherly clap on Lillebror’s arm. He beamed.

“Who told you that?” Elisabet blurted. Now she was really angry and had difficulty controlling her indignation.

“Your mother, dear Elisabet.”

“My mother is building castles in the air. Daniel has two children, Sölve and Ingela. It’s quite possible that one of them will take over Graastensholm and Linden Avenue.”

The men looked at one another with inscrutable expressions on their faces. Mrs Emilie gave her son a gentle, calming look. “You’re also heiress to Gabrielshus in Denmark,” he said softly.

“Good heavens, no,” Elisabet laughed nervously. “It went to the Danish crown during the lifetime of Tristan, my grandfather’s grandfather.”

He leaned back again. “Are you sure? You’re actually the principal heiress. You can redeem it from the crown at a concessionary price. It’s settled money to the family, isn’t it?”

Lillebror’s doglike worship of his mother was beginning to irritate Elisabet intensely, which might cause problems when she was her mother-in-law! Not that Elisabet thought that Mrs Tark would pose a problem, but Lillebror would.

“Why on earth would I want Gabrielshus? I wouldn’t know what to do with it. What’s more, I’m not the only heir. Tristan’s sister, Lene, has relations in Scania. There’s a boy the same age as me. Ôrjan Grig’s son, Are.”

“Well, anyway. That’s something we can settle with your father,” Mrs Tark said lightly. “You’re bothering Elisabet. Can’t you see that? She’s our guest and tonight we’re to have a pleasant time!”

“Yes, of course,” Mr Tark said, smiling apologetically. “But you must understand, my little friend, that Elistrand is a bit too small. The same goes for Linden Avenue. But you’re titled. You’re a margravine, which compensates quite a lot.”

Elisabet was seething with rage but she managed to keep a straight face.

Mandrup said: “Let me explain the question of Gabrielshus. We should be able to redeem the estate now since you’re the heiress. Then you’ll have to bring a case against your relatives in Sweden regarding Graastensholm and Linden Avenue.”

Elisabet thought: never, ever. Now she had pulled back in wounded silence.

Mrs Tark noticed it, because Elisabet had a strong personality.

“Never mind,” Mrs Tark said kindly. “Money is unimportant. I’m sure that Elisabet is the right one for Lillebror, don’t you all agree?”

Her husband nodded with an uncertain smile. Lillebror gave Elisabet a very loving glance. With permission from his mother ...

But Elisabet interpreted Mandrup Svendsen’s look as absolute determination. And greed. The other farms had to be won. He was the real businessman among them. She had heard that Mandrup ran the business in Vemund’s absence.

Suddenly, Elisabet realized why Vemund did not fit in here. He was altogether different from the other family members. He was a Tark; with his appearance he could not deny it, but otherwise ...

Elisabet was in a devil-may-care mood. Should she be brave and ask who Karin Ulriksby was?

No, she would not. She had promised Vemund that she would keep quiet. Besides, the question might turn into a terrible scandal. Maybe they had never heard of Karin? After all, she was Vemund’s problem.

Elisabet was relieved when they indicated that it was time to leave. She got up and politely said goodbye. No definite engagement had been agreed, but as of today she could count herself as Lillebror Tark’s fiancée. They hoped that she would come back as soon as possible. She regarded Lillebror, her possible future husband, secretly, and felt pretty unsure. He was certainly nice in every way and very handsome ... If only she was not so uncertain. He wanted to accompany her home in the coach, which was waiting. The mere thought made her panicky. With her head lowered, she whispered that it was too late in the evening and she had to think of her honour. The family graciously accepted her word. She took a particularly cordial leave of Mrs Tark, who was the only member of the family who was understanding. Nevertheless, the great lady intimidated Elisabet somewhat because she had never liked feeling like a nonentity. Despite Emilie Tark’s kindness, that was exactly how Elisabet had felt the whole evening.

Her future mother-in-law said: “You and I are certain to get along very well, Elisabet,” and she clearly meant what she said. But Elisabet was in a sullen mood and took it as a threat. Now I must pull myself together. She waved shyly to the handsome family on the steps of the beautiful house and managed to give them a lacklustre smile. They waved back very kindly. Then the coach rolled away carrying Elisabet.

She jumped out at Vemund’s house and sent the coach and horse back to Lekenes. She couldn’t care less what the driver might think about that. Elisabet straightened her back and took a deep breath. What was she to report back to Vemund? Should she lie and say that everything went splendidly? Or should she tell him everything? The door was open.

My word, Elisabet thought. He’s certainly not afraid of burglars! She knocked on the open door. Not a sound could be heard from inside the house. She walked slowly indoors. “Vemund?” Nobody answered. She went farther inside into a room where she had been once before. A single light flickered. A door was open to a side room and a light was also burning in there. Vemund Tark lay sprawled on the bed in a very awkward position, looking alarmingly masculine. He was sleeping with his arm covering his eyes. Elisabet moved closer, hesitating and not knowing whether she should wake him or leave. But he had said that she was to come ... Then she caught sight of the decanter and the glass on the table; both seemed almost empty, and she noticed the unmistakable smell of spirits in the room.

She retreated quickly but not fast enough. Vemund stretched out his hand, grabbing her by the wrist. For a moment, both stared at each other without a word.

“Well, how did it go?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Elisabet grimaced. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Hell, yes. Of course I’ve been drinking. How was I going to stand it if I hadn’t? Now tell me!”

“Everything went according to plan. They accepted me – albeit with some doubt.”

“Doubt? What do you mean?”

“Oh, never mind.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist. What? What kind of doubt?”

“They would have preferred that I also owned Graastensholm and Linden Avenue,” she said in a pathetic voice. “And Gabrielshus as well.”

“They’re damned bloodsuckers! It was Mandrup, wasn’t it?”

“I ... I got the impression that they were all of the same opinion, and well, yes, Mandrup was the most eager among them. Your mother didn’t altogether agree with them – she seemed to think that they were not behaving themselves well.”

Vemund put his arm over his eyes again. “Oh, I’m so very tired. I can’t take any more!”

Elisabet stood there for a little while. Then she said: “Vemund, do I have to marry Lillebror?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, drawing her down so that she had to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re the only one who can save Lillebror. There’s much good in him and I have a great responsibility for him. He needs to go to Elistrand and be responsible for himself, his home and family. And Elisabet ... if you could take Karin with you ... I know it’s a lot to ask but I’m desperate.”

Elisabet said pensively: “Karin ... Nobody knows what will happen to her now that the little girl has come into her life. She’s changing so much ... day by day ... right before my eyes. But it’s quite possible that we could take her with us to Elistrand. We’re used to people who are wounded in one way or another. We always have been.”

“Oh, God, if only you could,” he whispered, exhausted. “Then all my sorrows would be over.”

“But what about you, Vemund?”

“Me?” he said with closed eyes. “Then I can finally be allowed to die.”

Elisabet stiffened. “What are you saying?”

“I only need to finish two tasks. Seeing to it that Lillebror and Karin get decent lives, and that’s that. I just can’t cope with living with the shame any longer.”

“What about the business, Vemund?”

“To hell with it!”

Her heart was beating. “You can’t die! I won’t allow it!”

“Oh, come on! What you say means nothing!”

Elisabet was struggling to hold back her tears and grew angry. “I think you’re inconsistent. Why on earth do you insist on marrying Lillebror off to me? If you honestly want to commit suicide – which is the most pathetic thing I’ve heard – then Lillebror can run the business and Lekenes and the whole lot. Why do I have to be involved in it all?”

“You’re emitting sparks,” Vemund muttered. “Your voice is thick and I believe you’re sniffling. You haven’t become sentimental all of a sudden, have you? Because this is not at all like you.”

Then he sat up in bed. “I want Lillebror away from here, can’t you get that into your thick head? And the business ... I’ll leave it to its own devices. And Lekenes, that frightening ghost castle? That’s not to say that ghosts walk restlessly around the place. I mean that it’s all rotten and hollow!”

“Phew, you’ve really been drinking. You smell awful,” Elisabet said, pulling back a little. “Now try to act like a man and not as a miserable little dog!”

“For heaven’s sake, you don’t understand anything! I can’t live with the certainty. Don’t you understand? Do you imagine it’s going to be easier to live now when I know you’re going to marry my own brother?”

Elisabet wiped away a few treacherous tears. “But I don’t want to get mar ...”

Then she stopped and said stupidly: “What did you mean by that?”

“I ... No, forget it, Elisabet! I’m drunk and then I tend to say a lot that I shouldn’t say.”

His hands unconsciously squeezed her upper arms. His face was so close to hers that she could see the colour of his eyes. Blue – and pretty bloodshot.

“Vemund,” she said, her lower lip trembling: “It hurts when you hold me like that, and you literally stink of drink. I don’t want you to die. Everything will become meaningless without you, and I don’t want to marry Lillebror.”

“I don’t want you to marry him either,” Vemund said in a thick voice, drawing her down to him so that he fell back against the pillow. He held her in a firm embrace and all Elisabet could do was to put her cheek against his shoulder and lie there holding her face away from his. After all, there were limits as to how much she would accept!

“Stay with me, Elisabet,” he murmured in her ear. “Everything’s so wonderful right now. Don’t let me drown in the hell around me!”

“You’re not making it at all easy for me,” she whispered. Her hands were against his shoulders and she moved her fingers slowly over his muscles, which played under his skin. “I’m not the one who has asked for permission to marry Lillebror.”

One single, deep sob made his chest shake. “Oh, God, I just don’t want to die!”

“Why do you have to then?” Elisabet asked.

“I can’t live with this daily shame. You must understand that.”

“But what if Karin gets well? Then you’ve died in vain!”

“That’s impossible. A woman as sick as she is will never get well.”

Elisabet tried to lift her head and look at him but the stench of the drink had become too much for her and she lay down again. “Vemund, I still don’t understand why you’re so despondent. What happened that time? I know that Karin had a fiancé and was to be married ...”

Vemund had become tense. “I see. You’ve found that out!”

“I couldn’t avoid it, you pig-headed fool! I’m guessing that you killed him accidentally. By mistake.”

Now he was the one who lifted her up so that she was forced to look at him. “What are you saying?”

“That was easy to figure out!” Elisabet answered.

“Oh, it was, was it? You’re not right in the head. I haven’t killed anybody! Karin’s fiancé is in the best of health!”