Back in Munich I began to study my aria. I had already been visiting Signor Urbini for lessons in Italian diction, so now I started to work through Susanna’s song: “Deh! Vieni non tardar”. Word by word and note by note I studied it. The execution of each phrase, the taking of each breath was planned like a military manoeuvre. I lived my aria, I dreamt my aria, and, at last, I sang my aria – and knew that it was good.
After Mozart, Lieder. I began with the “Wiegenlied” of Brahms – the lullaby to the beloved child – and learnt to let the notes float from my lips, delicate and ethereal. I flew on the wings of song with Mendelssohn and I sang of the comfort music brings with Schubert. ‘Now you are ready for “Nachtigall”. You are dreaming, begin like a sigh – the memories surge back – crescendo, warmer, warmer – end with your legato in pianissimo – let your last chord fade away.’
But at “Stifle Tranen” Elsa Gehring was not satisfied. ‘You can sing it, Grafin, but you cannot feel it – you are still a child, so you could not smile if your heart were breaking, you could only weep. We will put it to one side.’ Instead she set me to learn the flowing rhythm of “Die Forelle”, and as I sang the trout flashed in the sparkling water before me, and Frau Gehring was pleased and praised my legato, so that after my lesson I walked through the streets of Munich as though I were ten feet tall.
Next lesson she had “Der Schmied” ready for me. I laughed at the thought of my singing a song of love for a blacksmith, and Elsa Gehring smiled slyly at me. ‘Perhaps this is too difficult for the Grafin to imagine? Her sweetheart a lowly working man hammering at his black furnace?’ But I loved the strong rhythm and the emphatic consonants; I became a peasant girl in my mind and saw the rippling muscles of my work-begrimed lover and felt radiant with pride at his strength. But that night I dreamt of my brave blond cavalry officer.
At the beginning of December, Guy’s letter brought bad news; he had to stay in London all through the Christmas holidays so he could not bring the twins to Munich. I gazed at the words, disbelieving – perhaps I could return to England instead? But no, Guy had already spoken to Mother about sending Fisher to fetch me, but Mother had said it was not worthwhile just for a few weeks – besides she would need her maid over the Christmas season, as she had so many engagements. So that was that.
I had already started my weekly letter to the twins. Now my tears dripped on to the paper and smeared the ink in ugly blotches as I wrote of my misery. The summer was so far away.
I went to my next singing lesson with a very long face. ‘Ach! Poor little Grafin – what sadness we feel when we are young. But take heart, Elsa will teach you to sing yourself through it.’ I gazed dully at her smiling face. ‘You will sing “An die Musik”.’ I sang, and heard the misery in my voice – but in the second verse I pictured happier times, and was comforted by the sweet harmony.
Elsa Gehring smiled. ‘You see, little one? How fortunate we singers are. You must not sit and fruitlessly weep, no, you must turn your sadness into song. It will help you to bear it.’ I understood, but I wept again for my brothers that evening.
Christmas was still more than a week away and I was practising at the piano in my sitting room, when the door burst open and Franzl appeared. ‘Grafin Helena, Grafin Helena – come down to the dining room, quickly, there is a surprise for you.’ His face was round and beaming. He turned and thundered down the stairs and I ran after him, but it was to please Franzl rather than for any hopes on my part – it would just be a package; Franzl adored packages. He flung open the door, I looked in – and there were my brothers.
I flung myself at them, laughing and crying. ‘Eddie, Robbie – you’ve come, you’ve come!’ I hugged them and kissed them, flying from one to the other like a dervish.
They submitted stoically to my frantic embraces. Eddie said ‘Calm down, old girl,’ but he grinned as he spoke, and they both looked very pleased with themselves.
I asked, ‘But Guy – did Guy get leave after all?’ I looked round, and it was only then that I realized there were two unfamiliar figures at the far end of the room.
But Eddie was explaining, so I turned all my attention on him. ‘You see we decided we didn’t need Guy to bring us – we are fifteen, after all – that’s thirty if you add us together, older than Guy if you look at it the right way.’ Robbie chipped in, ‘When we got your letter – all blotched like that, really Hellie, and you’re supposed to be our big sister! Well, I said…’ Eddie broke in, ‘No, I thought of it first…’
I interrupted quickly, ‘You both said – what?’
‘Oh, that we’d come out and see you ourselves. We didn’t tell anybody, of course, just made up our minds and when we got to Paddington we jumped in a cab and said, “Charing Cross”, instead of “Euston” – it was as simple as that.’ They smirked with satisfaction.
I gazed at them adoringly. Then a practical thought intruded. ‘But Robbie, Eddie – you never have any money left by the end of term.’
‘Oh we borrowed some from Staveley here – he’s rolling in it.’ Eddie nodded over his shoulder to a thin, fair boy half-hiding behind him.
I ran forward, hand outstretched, ‘How kind of you – how very very kind!’ He smiled shyly and uttered an inaudible reply.
‘Then Stavey’s Uncle Gerald caught up with us at Dover – well, Stavey was with him, actually – so he treated us the rest of the way.’ I looked round and noticed almost for the first time the tall fair man standing in the shadows by the fireplace. I was overcome with shyness at the thought of my boisterous greetings being witnessed by a grown-up stranger; as he came forward with hand held out I dared not look at him. I touched his fingers briefly and whispered, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Staveley.’
An amused voice said, ‘You’d better introduce me to your sister properly, young Girvans.’ Eddie stepped forward, put his hand to his waist and with an elaborate bow announced: ‘Helena, may I present Captain Lord Gerald Prescott, of the First Life Guards? Lord Gerald, my sister, Lady Helena Girvan.’
At ‘Prescott’ my head had jerked up of its own accord. Now I stared straight into the clear blue eyes of my cavalry officer.
He said pleasantly, ‘I only discovered on the boat that this precious pair were absent without leave; I suppose I should have packed them off back again on the next steamer.’
I gasped, ‘Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t!’
His smile was indulgent. ‘After the welcome you’ve just given them I’m rather glad of that myself! I sent a cable from Ostend, of course, so your parents know where they are. I do hope Lady Pickering won’t miss them too much over the festive season.’
‘She won’t,’ I said firmly.
Eddie added, ‘I daresay she’ll be glad of our room – there’s always a houseful of guests this time of year – we’ve done her a favour, really.’
Robbie sounded more doubtful. ‘But she still won’t like us disobeying her – she’ll be livid.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘Well, we won’t be there to see it, will we? We’re here now, and we’re not going back.’
‘No.’ I clung to his arm; I could not believe they were real: my twins. And my cavalry officer. Suddenly I remembered my manners and felt the blush rise in my throat as I turned and stammered, ‘L – Lord Gerald, perhaps you would care for some coffee and Kuchen?’
He smiled but reached for his hat. ‘No, thanks very much, Lady Helena. Stavey and I are on our way to Carlsbad; my sister-in-law’s spending the winter there. We just dropped off at Munich to deliver these two sinners – and to find out whether you really wanted them.’ Wanted them! Of course I wanted them. He looked down at me. ‘I can see the answer to that in your face – but hadn’t you better check with your landlady – the pension might be full?’
My landlady had obviously been lurking in the hallway; she arrived at once. I said quickly, ‘Please, Frau Reinmar – they can sleep on the floor of my sitting room – we could put down cushions.’ She pursed her lips, so I added anxiously, ‘Or they can have my bed, it’s big enough for two, and I will sleep on the floor. I like to sleep on the floor.’
I heard a laugh from the man behind me. He broke in in slow, pedantic German: Frau Reinmar was reassured. I blushed as money discreetly changed hands – I would have to write and beg Papa to pay our debts – but the matter was soon settled, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Frau Reinmar offered refreshment, but Lord Gerald was determined to leave.
I felt terribly bereft as his tall slim figure strode out of the room. Then Robbie’s voice recalled me to the miracle of the twins’ arrival.
We had a wonderful Christmas. Lord Gerald had left a fistful of notes with Eddie, and Fraulein was gracious in accompanying us to operas and plays; she even sat uncomplainingly beside me in the ornate dining room of the Café Luitpold while my brothers played billiards with Franzl in the next-door room. I sang my new Lieder, but my brothers preferred the songs we had learnt with Miss Ling – Robbie thumped them out on the piano in the salon while the old ladies smiled and clapped their hands. As casually as I could I extracted from my brothers all they knew about “Stavey’s Uncle Gerald”: it was not much, but at least they were sure he was not married. My heart soared.
One morning a letter lay by my plate – with a Carlsbad postmark; I opened it with shaking hands. It was a short note from Lord Gerald himself to say that, if I were agreeable, he and his nephew would wait on me on their way back to England: they would stay overnight in a hotel in Munich and then escort my brothers back home. After endless false starts and torn-up attempts I penned him a reply. His own letter I carefully wrapped up in tissue paper and locked away in my writing case: I would keep it always. I day-dreamed of his clear blue eyes and sleek blond hair. My brothers teased me mercilessly, but I knew they would not betray my secret.
The day Lord Gerald and his nephew were due to arrive I insisted on staying in the salon. The twins wanted to go out and skate on the frozen meadows, but I would not go with them. They took Franzl instead and I sat in the pension, my heart thumping, springing to my feet and rushing to the window every time I thought I heard a cab slowing down outside.
But my brothers were back again before he arrived, and when he did, all my carefully rehearsed phrases flew from my head – I stumbled over a few stupid words about the weather, agonizing over my own dullness until Eddie butted in, ‘Stavey, how about coming skating with us tonight? It’s tremendous fun on the ice in the dark!’
I held my breath until Lord Gerald gave his consent and then, greatly daring, whispered, ‘Perhaps you would care to come too?’ He smiled down at me, and accepted.
I could not eat any dinner that evening; I kept saying silently to myself – ‘I will see him tonight, I will see him tonight.’ Even if I died tomorrow, life would have been worth living.
We swooped and glided over the frozen fields; I laughed with Franzl and the shy-faced Lord Staveley as my brothers cannoned into each other and skidded ridiculously past us, bottoms on the ice, feet in the air. Then Eddie found a chair on runners, carved and painted like Lohengrin’s swan: ‘Come on, Hellie – time to catch the next swan to Maximilian Platz!’ I climbed in and the pair of them pushed off; I jerked and swayed dangerously from side to side.
Lord Gerald came skating over the ice towards us. ‘Your steering’s hopeless – out of the way, you two.’ His strong hands gripped the back of my chariot and we skimmed over the great shining sheet of ice, away from the flares and the bustle and into the starry velvet blackness beyond. Then, without a break in the rhythm, he swung me into a great curving arc, and we sped back. My legs were trembling as he helped me out and set me on my feet. ‘Come along young Stavey – it’s time we were in bed, we’ve got to make an early start tomorrow.’
I sat in the Fiaker in a daze, and nearly forgot to murmur my thanks as we were put down in the Schellingstrasse. My brothers were to meet him at the Central Station in the morning, but I would not see him again.
Frau Gehring said I could choose which Lied I would like to study next. I searched the music shops and found the poem of Klaus Groth, which Brahms had set to music: “Dein blaues Auge”. I pored over it, and sang fervently of the blue still eyes into whose depths I gazed. Like the poet I too had been scorched by a pair of burning eyes and as I sang “Es brannt mich ein gluhend Paar”, Conan’s devilish face flashed before me for an instant – but now I would be healed by Lord Gerald’s clear, cool blue ones.
When I had finished, Elsa Gehring laughed. I felt my face fall, but she reached out a quick hand. ‘That was very good, my Grafin, you sang accurately but also with feeling. Why do I laugh? Because I think you are in love, are you not?’ My cheeks glowed. ‘Come, that is good – you will not sing Lieder well until you love. Now I can choose more widely for you.’
So I learnt “Im Friihling”, “Der Nussbaum”, and, finally, she allowed me to begin to study Schumann’s romantic, beautiful “Frauen Liebe und Leben” – the story of a woman’s life and love. I sang of how, since I had first seen him, his vision had blinded me to all else, nothing mattered but his image in my dreams. I sang of how wonderful and brave he was, and yet so gentle and kind. With more difficulty than the poet I accepted that only the best of women would be worthy of him, and I would bless her – but then I rejoiced when he chose me. As I sang
“Du Ring an meinem Finger,
Mein goldenes Ringelein”
I glanced down at my own left hand, then sang fervently of how I would serve him and love him for ever. In my mind the flowers were strewn before his feet, it was our wedding day; and wearing my wreath of myrtle I was going to him – half gladly, half fearfully.
My eyes filled with tears as I whispered to him in song of the new joy which lay under my heart, and of how his dear image would soon smile up at me from the cradle beside my bed. I sang of the bliss of nursing his son at my breast – my joy, my delight. Then finally, with painful voice, I sang of his desertion – as he slept the sleep of death, and I, left alone, folded into myself, my whole world at an end.
When I had finished I stood trembling and shaken beside the piano in Frau Gehring’s big empty studio. Elsa Gehring rose and came to me. ‘Good, little Grafin, good. But do not cry, your brave lover still lives, and who knows what the future will hold for you? And now it is time for you to laugh again – we will study the “Song of the Flea”!’
At first I was indignant, but then I could not keep from laughing at the tale of the king who so loved his flea that he dressed him in silk and satin and made him a minister.
The snows melted in the mountains and spring came to Munich in the emerald-green waters of the Iser. I would beg Fraulein to take me down to the Luitpold Bridge, and stand there fascinated by the wild abandon of the river as it rushed beneath me.
Frau Gehring told me she would be teaching another English girl. She said firmly, ‘Your father is rich, Grafin,’ and I thought of Papa’s loud complaints that income tax was now so high he would be ruined – but then I remembered the coal mines, the slate quarries, the Girvan estates in north London and the endless carefully planned investment, and knew Elsa Gehring was right. ‘I make the rich pay dear, so that I can help the poor – I am a Social Democrat, you see, but do not tell the Kaiser!’ She laughed. ‘This girl I do not charge – she has saved every Pfennig she has earned to come to Munich. Madame Goldman recommends her highly – she lives in Manchester – do you know Manchester, Grafin Elena?’
‘Why yes – Hatton is quite near to Manchester, Frau Gehring.’
‘Good, good. When you leave Munich you will study with my friend Madame Goldman – we often sang together when we were younger; she is contralto, as is this girl, “Waltraute Jenkins” – is not that a good name for a contralto?’ I stared at Frau Gehring, disbelieving. ‘I do not tell a lie, Grafin, there, look.’ She held out a letter: it was signed in a strong clear hand: “Waltraute Gladys Jenkins”.
‘Pa really loves his Wagner, but they call me Wally at home,’ Miss Jenkins explained. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with a squashed snub nose and a wispy bun of mouse-coloured hair. Her toothy smile was engaging; her manner so open, that I took to her at once. Everybody liked Wally Jenkins; even Fraulein unbent a little when we met her at Frau Gehring’s studio. Wally was twenty-three and strode through Munich in her sturdy black boots with her shabby coat flapping as if she feared nothing. She stood in the pit through the longest of operas, refusing politely but firmly my offer that she accompany Fraulein and myself as our guest. ‘Thank you kindly, Lady Helena, but I prefer to be independent.’
Wally had a deep, rich, contralto. Elsa Gehring taught us a little duet, and we sang it together at the students’ concert. I was grateful for her company as we waited in the wings, but once on stage my fears melted away. Frau Gehring had taught me well: I knew how to sing.
Mother insisted that I travelled back to London that summer in time for the Coronation. I watched her step gracefully down the staircase at Cadogan Place, swathed in cloth of gold, her coronet perched on her shining dark hair, Fisher holding up the heavy ermine-trimmed velvet behind her. Papa, resplendent in knee breeches and all his decorations, held out his arm, and the two coroneted heads ducked carefully into the gilded state coach, and drove off to the Abbey.
This summer I did make the hot dusty journey out to the streets of west London to see Miss Ling. Her tired face lit up as the little maid-of-all-work ushered me into the stuffy back parlour. My maid slipped away to the kitchen, and for a moment I felt dreadfully shy, but Miss Ling’s interest in all the doings of our family was so familiar, so genuine, that the last two years slipped away, and I chatted to her as easily as ever.
Papa had become very friendly with a businessman called Benson. Alice said to me, ‘He’s never averse to the nouveaux riches. Especially when they are rich,’ she added tartly. The Bensons certainly were rich. Alice and Hugh had been to stay with them at their place in Surrey: ‘Quite palatial, Hellie - totally vulgar, of course, but personally I’ve nothing against gold taps when the water that comes out of them is piping hot. And do you know, they have six bathrooms, just fancy that! With two more just for the servants. And when we were there just after Christmas the whole house was warm! Mother sniped at Lucy Benson and told her how unhealthy central heating was, but I notice she’s been sending for catalogues ever since. Don’t get too optimistic, though, she’ll never install radiators at Hatton, she’s far too mean. That’s one of the reasons why the Girvans are “anciens riches” – that and Papa’s unfashionable obsession with making even more money.’
I said, ‘But Papa insists that this new Liberal Budget will ruin him – I’m sure he means it, he looks quite drawn.’
Alice snorted. ‘Wait till you want to get married, Helena, and he has to discuss settlements – then you’ll see how drawn he can look when he tries! Hugh told me he got his handkerchief out at one point: he thought Papa was going to break down and sob in the middle of the library. Still, he did cough up in the end, thank goodness – it’s bad enough as it is, having to live in London all the year round.’ She looked discontentedly round her pretty drawing room. ‘I do wish Hugh could get some nice fat briefs.’
Mother told me Mr Benson had been very useful to Papa, and I must entertain Pansy Benson, who was just a year younger than I was. ‘It’s time you made a girlfriend, Helena, you spend far too much of your time with your brothers.’ Pansy – how could I make a friend of a girl called Pansy! I decided to be very cool.
But it was impossible to dislike Pansy Benson. She was sweet and silly and kind, and she gazed at me in awe when Mother told her I was studying music and singing in Munich. ‘How brave – I could never go abroad without Mumsy. Oh, you must sing for us, Lady Helena. Do say you will.’
I took her off to the music room and sang my aria, while her eyes went wider and wider in admiration. ‘You must meet Lance, Lance is so musical.’ Lance was her only brother; she adored him. But she told me that she thought my brother the handsomest, cleverest, bravest man in the whole world – after Lance, of course. ‘But’ – blushing – ‘Lord Muirkirk is so different.’
Guy came into the drawing room soon after, and Pansy’s round blue eyes followed his every move. He came over to speak to us, and she blushed and stammered inarticulately; I felt a wave of fellow feeling. Guy treated her like a child, but Pansy did not seem to mind; she gazed at him adoringly, even when he was obviously flirting with Eileen Fox. I decided Pansy was like the girl in the second part of “Frauen Liebe und Leben”, who looked so humbly at her loved one that she could promise to bless his chosen bride many thousand times. But I hoped Eileen would not be Guy’s bride: she was not half nice enough for him.
Pansy’s brother Lance arrived. He had the long serious face of a scholar, and he was an excellent pianist; he was soon acting as my accompanist. Plump, kindly Mrs Benson asked me to sing every evening; Mother smiled with her mouth and agreed. The other guests drifted in and out of the music room, but Lance and I were happy with the Steinway. He was exactly the same age as I was: we would both be eighteen in September. He wanted to visit Germany or Austria to study music now he had left school, but Mr Benson was insisting that he go on to Sandhurst. He said to me quietly one day, ‘I don’t want to be a soldier, Lady Helena, but Father is adamant.’ He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile. ‘If I’m not brave enough to stand up to my own father – how will I ever lead a charge against the enemy?’ He turned his attention back to the piano. ‘I don’t think my cadenza was quite right in this piece – will you listen and correct me?’
Then suddenly everyone was talking about an international crisis – over Morocco, of all places. We British were very angry with the Germans – the Chancellor of the Exchequer made a speech at the Mansion House – I knew it was serious because Papa actually had a good word to say for Mr Lloyd George. ‘Time these Germans were put in their place – who do they think they are, trying to compete with the British Navy?’
The twins became very excited and talked of war. I told them not to be so silly. ‘We’d never fight against Germany – besides, you would have to shoot Franzl – you wouldn’t want that, would you?’
Eddie put down the billiard cue he was aiming at the stuffed stag’s head and said that girls just did not understand.
I went back to Munich as usual at the beginning of August. Nobody seemed at all interested in Morocco; instead the whole town was abuzz with the story of how Herr Mottle had collapsed in the middle of conducting a performance of Tristan, and on his very deathbed had married Fraulein Fassbender, the famous soprano. ‘How sad,’ ‘Such a terrible loss,’ ‘Ah, he was dedicated to Wagner – it was as he would have wished.’ I slipped easily back into Fraulein’s steady routine as if I had never been away.
Papa told Eddie and Robbie they were old enough now to come by themselves to Munich, so for the third Christmas we went to the theatre and frequented the cafés and skated on the frozen meadows. I begged them for news of Stavey’s uncle – they told me he had run down to Windsor on the previous Fourth, with Lady Staveley, Stavey’s mother – he had asked after me – but it was hopeless; they could not remember the exact words he had used. They said Stavey thought a lot of him, and he had been no end of a swell in South Africa; he hunted in the Shires every year, was a good sort – and that was all.
I shed tears when the time came in March for me to say goodbye to Munich. I clung to Franzl, and Gretchen, who had maided me; I embraced Frau Reinmar and kissed all the old ladies of the pension; Elsa Gehring hugged me and told me not to forget to practise every day, and even Fraulein unbent to kiss my cheeks before she waved me off from the Central Station.
As we sat back in our compartment at Dover, Fisher said, ‘You’ll be looking forward to your first Season now, my lady.’ It was a statement, not a question, but suddenly I was not sure. For a moment I longed to return to the safe enclosed world of Munich. Once I was Out there would be no going back: my girlhood was over. But then I thought of Lord Gerald, and excitement rippled through me.