Authors: Eva Ibbotson
‘And all your pupils attend?’
‘Of course. Unless they are being punished.’
‘Then may I take it that you will receive Madame La Cruise at six p.m. on Sunday?’
‘So soon?’
‘That is the only day she has available, I’m afraid. I will let you have all the arrangements in writing. Now, if I could just see the recital room? Madame La Cruise is particular about the acoustics – and about draughts. Draughts are very bad for harps, as you know.’
‘Our acoustics are excellent,’ said Fräulein von Donner. ‘And a draught would not be permitted here.’
But she beckoned to her eel-like assistant, Mademoiselle Vincent, who took Emil to the round room on the first floor, which was reached by the wide flight of stone steps leading up from the main hall.
He did not catch so much as a glimpse of a single pupil in the silent building.
‘I expect they keep them underground,’ said Ellie when he told her this.
Which left the problem of getting a message through to Annika. ‘She’s got to know exactly what to do,’ said Professor Emil.
There was a long silence. Grossenfluss seemed as impenetrable as a castle full of ogres.
But even ogres need someone to cook and clean and shop for them, and the maid who was Ellie’s special friend had a sister who worked in the school.
‘I’m seeing her this afternoon,’ she said, ‘it’s her day off. I’ll ask her if she can help. But it’s no good giving her a note – they’re all terrified of Fräulein von Donner. You’ll have to tell me what she’s to say to Annika, and keep it very short. I’m sure she’ll do her best, but it can’t be a promise.’
But the chambermaid managed it. The message she gave Annika in a hurried whisper as she was turning down the beds was not very clear, but when she had received it, Annika realized she would not need to pretend to be sick. She felt sick already: with excitement, dread – and something she had not felt since she came to Grossenfluss. Hope.
They had managed to unload the harp case and trundle it towards the door. Professor Gertrude was trembling with nerves, but Stefan was dogged and calm. He had no faith in Professor Emil’s plan and could wish that Ragnar Hairybreeks was at the bottom of the sea, but he was going to get Annika out somehow.
He pulled the bell rope and the porter who came said that they were expected. Stefan looked carefully round the cold, dimly lit entrance hall. The big flight of steps leading up to the concert room was straight ahead: he could just make out the murmur of the girls’ voices through the open door. The cloakrooms were on the right, and to the left was an unlit corridor leading to the back of the building.
It was from the corridor that there now came the tap tap of a walking stick and Fräulein von Donner came towards them out of the dark. The glinting keys, the steel-tipped stick and the badge of the Order of the Closed Fist on the headmistress’s collar all filled Stefan with an instant loathing. This was an evil place run by an evil woman, and he realized that he would stop at nothing to rescue Annika.
Fräuelein von Donner greeted Professor Gertrude, and ignored Stefan.
‘The girls are ready,’ she said.
But before they could unpack the harp, the principal’s assistant appeared from behind her employer and asked Professor Gertrude if she would care to follow her to the staffroom to take off her coat and freshen herself up.
Mademoiselle Vincent not only spoke French, she
was
French – and since she had been told that the harpist was a fellow countrywoman, it was in her own language that she addressed poor Professor Gertrude.
The professor had learned French at school, but that was a long time ago. However, there was nothing for it and she allowed Mademoiselle Vincent to lead her away, leaving Stefan to look after the harp in its case.
Upstairs in the concert room the girls waited.
Annika was sitting near the big double doors, which were folded back to allow the entrance of the harp, and she was sitting next to Fräulein Heller. Normally Annika would do anything not to sit next to a teacher, but if she was to feel sick in the interval and ask to be excused it would be easier to get permission if she was close b y.
The maid who had given Annika the hurried message had said only that someone Annika knew was coming to give a concert, but she had mentioned one name to which Annika clung now like a drowning person clutching a lifebelt.
Stefan. The maid had mentioned Stefan’s name.
Annika closed her eyes, summoning up memories of her childhood friend. Stefan carrying his brothers on his shoulder; Stefan reaching a hand out to help her up when she fell; Stefan climbing a tree to bring down a screaming, panic-stricken child . . . Stefan was strong, he was true – if there was safety anywhere it lay with him.
Down in the hall, Professor Gertrude returned with Mademoiselle Vincent, looking very shaken. Emil had had some stupid ideas in his time, but why had he told them she was French? Why not Portuguese or Finnish or South African? Mademoiselle Vincent had spoken to her incessantly and rapidly in the kind of French that is never taught at school, and Gertrude did not feel that she had given a convincing performance as Madame La Cruise.
‘Shall I take the case to the cloakroom now?’ asked Stefan, and Professor Gertrude nodded and followed him into a tiled alcove with five doors discreetly closed. Like everything else at Grossenfluss, the cloakroom and the lavatories would have housed a tribe of giants.
Stefan opened the harp case, and Gertrude lifted the instrument out, and tenderly removed the silken shawl which covered it.
‘We shall need help,’ she said to Fräulein von Donner. ‘Two strong girls, reliable ones.’
‘Go and fetch the Messerschmidt twins – Brunnhilde and Waaltraut,’ ordered the principal.
But Mademoiselle Vincent, usually so humble and obedient, did not go upstairs at once. She had been hovering round the headmistress and now she leaned forward urgently and whispered something in her ear.
Fräulein von Donner frowned. ‘Well, that should be easy to check,’ she said. She detached the smallest of the keys from the chain round her neck and stumped off down the corridor, while Mademoiselle Vincent went upstairs and returned with the Messerschmidt twins: large, solid-looking girls who curtsied and asked what they should do.
Gertrude handed the shawl and a sheaf of music to Brunnhilde and told Waaltraut to help hold the pillar of the harp in front. Stefan, at the back, steadied the instrument and prepared to take most of the weight.
Slowly, they made their way across the hall and began to ascend the stairs.
In the concert room, Annika took a deep breath and then another. She wasn’t imagining it: the smell was real, stealing into her nostrils. Lavender water. Professor Gertrude was here – and it was all she could do not to get up and rush out of the room. At the same time she felt that if anything went wrong now and she had to stay in Grossenfluss then she would quite simply die.
On the stairs, the harp carriers climbed steadily.
‘Careful – oh, careful,’ said Professor Gertrude on every other step. ‘You’ve no idea how valuable it is. Gently. Slowly.’
There was no choice about the slowness. The harp was not only weighty but cumbersome and top-heavy. Just keeping it balanced took all Stefan’s skill and he was noting every obstacle in their path, alert for anything that could damage the instrument.
But when danger came, it came from below.
‘Stop, stop!’ cried Fräulein von Donner, hurrying to the bottom of the staircase. ‘Stop at once! These people are impostors. I have telephoned the princess and she knows nothing about them or about the Duchess of Cerise!’
‘They are anarchists,’ shrieked Mademoiselle Vincent, emerging from behind the headmistress. ‘Assassins! Murderers. Stop them, STOP!’
The harp was now two stairs from the top and from the landing in front of the concert room. The cries from below caused utter confusion. Stefan said, ‘Go on, keep going,’ and the twins said, ‘No no, we must stop.’
Brunnhilde dropped the pile of sheet music she was carrying and Gertrude’s foot slipped on ‘Slay and Smite if God Demands It’.
‘Go on, go on,’ urged Professor Gertrude.
‘Stop them!’ came Fräulein von Donner’s shriek from below. Her foot was on the bottom stair. She heaved herself up and began on the next one.
In the concert room Annika’s heart seemed to stop. It wasn’t going to work. They were going to be turned back.
Stefan and Professor Gertrude were alone now in carrying the harp. The twins, terrified by Fräulein von Donner’s shrieks, had let go, but there was only one stair left to climb. At least whatever happened they could carry the harp to safety.
They had reached the top. Stefan steadied the instrument, setting it on its pedestal. It was poised at the top of the stairs like a great golden swan with its curved neck.
‘Let me,’ said Stefan, coming round to stand beside Professor Gertrude. He took hold of the pillar of the instrument and gratefully she relinquished the weight to her trusted helper.
‘They must be stopped!’ yelled the headmistress from down below.
Stefan and the harp now blocked the top of the staircase.
The principal took one more step.
No one knew exactly what happened next. It seemed as though Stefan was trying to pull the harp backwards on to the safety of the landing.
But the harp did not obey him. Rather it seemed to move the other way – forward – to the very edge of the flight of stairs.
Stefan lunged out to save it – and missed. For a terrifying instant the instrument seemed to hesitate as if it was a living creature fearful of the descent.
Then it toppled . . . and fell.
It fell slowly at first . . . then faster and faster still . . . and as it fell it cried out – a tragic glissando of sound . . . There was a series of explosions as the base of the pillar struck the tread of the marble stair and the sounding board began to break. The wooden frame started to crunch and the strings stretched and sprang free, shrieking their outrage . . . and all the time the harp thundered and rushed and hurtled on . . .
Fräulein von Donner stood at the bottom of the stairs. She was rooted to the spot, staring upwards at the great juggernaut as it came down. Her pince-nez glittered in the light of the chandelier and she raised her stick like the prophet Moses willing back the waves.
But Fräulein von Donner was not Moses. Suddenly it was too late. The harp crashed down the last few steps and, in its death throes, it let out a final reverberating growl of pain . . .
The principal tried to step back, and stumbled.
The next minute she lay felled and quite unconscious beneath the splintered instrument.
In the concert room the girls heard the crash and jumped to their feet. A terrible cry came from Mademoiselle Vincent down in the hall.
‘She is dead –
Mon Dieu
, she is dead!’
‘Come back – come back at once,’ the teachers ordered the girls who were streaming from the room. No one took any notice. The landing and the stairs filled up with excited girls.
Now Professor Gertrude’s hysterical sobbing was added to the pandemonium.
‘My harp! My harp – I cannot bear it!’
The teachers had abandoned the girls and joined the throng staring in horror at the headmistress, buried beneath wire and splintered wood. The harp had pushed her down the last two stairs – she lay spreadeagled on the stone flags of the hall. One foot stuck out between the strings. It was very still.
‘A doctor, a doctor,’ cried Mademoiselle Vincent. ‘Quick, quick. A doctor . . .’
‘Yes, yes, a doctor,’ wheezed Fräulein Zeebrugge. She bent over the headmistress, saw the blood on her forehead – and fainted.
The porter came.
‘If I’m to telephone for the doctor I’ll have to get the key from round her neck,’ he said.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Fräulein Heller. She began to move aside pieces of splintered harp.
‘No, no – don’t touch her,’ someone shouted. ‘She mustn’t be moved.’
‘Is she really dead?’ the girls asked each other, their faces full of hope.
‘I’ll have to go for the doctor in the carriage,’ said the porter, and made his way to the front door.
Annika had surged out of the concert hall with the other girls. She passed Professor Gertrude sobbing on the stairs, but the professor did not see her and she ran on down.
She had to find Stefan. If she could find Stefan there was still hope. But there was no sign of him in the milling crowd.
‘Smelling salts – we must have smelling salts.’
‘No, burnt feathers are better.’
‘Iodine,’ shouted a tall girl, ‘there’s some in matron’s room.’
The servants came hurrying out from the back.
‘God be praised, the harp has eaten her,’ cried one of the scullery maids.
‘Oh, the
blood
,’ moaned Mademoiselle Vincent. ‘There is so much blood!’
The headmistress’s foot was still pointing upwards. It had not moved.
‘We must go to the chapel and pray for her soul,’ said one of the girls, and she ran off down the corridor, followed by two of her friends.
In the confusion and noise there were two people who only sought each other. Annika looked for Stefan, Stefan looked for her.
There was no sign of him in the hall, but the front door was open. Girls were beginning to run out into the dark and none of the teachers attempted to bring them back. They stood as if hypnotized over the remains of their headmistress. The golden pillar of the harp had fallen on her chest. Could she still be breathing?
‘Oh, where is the doctor?’ cried Mademoiselle Vincent.
Fräulein Zeebrugge groaned, coming round from her faint, and was pulled out of the way by her legs.
Annika was getting desperate. If Stefan had gone . . . if he had already been turned away . . . Then she remembered that she was supposed to say she felt sick and make her way to the cloakroom, but when she reached it, there were girls ahead of her, gulping cold water from the tap, talking excitedly.
But now a figure stepped out from behind a pillar.
‘Oh, Stefan!’ she sobbed.
And he put his arms round her and said, ‘It’s all right, Annika, it’s all right.’