The River Maid Read online

  “Neither would Jutta.”

  She thought back to what Monsieur Gaspard had said. “Do you think it was an accident what happened to Jutta?”

  Her mother paused before she continued chopping the vegetables. “Herr Fleischer said there were bruises on Jutta’s arm.”

  “They think someone drowned her?”

  “I don’t know, but there are soldiers everywhere and so many ships pass the town every day. I want you to be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Her mother nodded. She threw handfuls of the vegetables into the pot. “Ernst said that he saw you speaking to the prince’s tutor after I left you.”

  That was the problem with living in a small town; there was always someone watching.

  “He saw the crowd and wanted to know what had happened,” Adrianna said.

  “I’m not sure I want you speaking to him.”

  “Monsieur Gaspard would never harm anyone.”

  “No, but I have seen you talking to him on more than one occasion. And lately you seem…different.”

  Monsieur Gaspard talked to her like she was his equal, not his inferior. He talked to her about philosophy and art. About the world. “Is it so wrong to want something more?” Adrianna asked softly.

  Her mother sighed and put the knife down. “I’m getting old, Adrianna. I won’t always be here. If anything were to happen to me, you would have no one. You would be entirely alone. You need to wed. It’s the only way to secure your future.”

  Adrianna stirred the broth so hard it sloshed over the sides and ran down into the fire with a hiss. “There’s no one for me here.”

  “Peter is a very handsome young man.”

  “I don’t like him.” It was hard. She knew her mother struggled to provide for them both. She had seen her mother wince when sewing, the joints of her hands causing her pain. It got worse in the winter. She struggled to see the stitches in the dim light and she had a cough that wouldn’t go away. If Adrianna married Peter, she would be able to take care of her mother and they would never have to worry about having enough food again.

  Peter was kind, but she didn’t feel anything for him. She looked at him and felt nothing. Perhaps there was something wrong with her; the other girls her age had wed. She was going to end up like Frau Brauer who had never married and lived her whole life with her elderly mother.

  “Peter is a good choice,” her mother said gently. “He might be your only choice.”

  Adrianna wanted to have a choice. If she married Peter, she would stay here in the town forever. She would never see anything more. But how could she be so selfish to want something more? Jutta was dead. She would never have a future.

  They continued preparing supper in silence. They argued so much lately. They seemed to disagree over everything.

  “That’s a pretty tune,” her mother said. Adrianna hadn’t realised she had been humming softly the song she had heard at the river. “Did you learn it from Jutta?”

  “Why would I have learnt it from Jutta?” she asked.

  “I remember hearing her singing something similar the day before she disappeared.”

  That was why the song had sounded familiar. She must have heard Jutta singing it. If only she could remember the words.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as they were out of the town, Christian slowed his horse to ride alongside Gaspard. “Did she say how the missing girl came to be in the river?” Christian asked. He had been listening discreetly to Gaspard’s conversation with the girl, but it had been difficult to hear from where he was stood.

  “No. After she went missing they assumed she had run away.”

  “So it could be a simple accident.”

  “In my experience, my friend, when a young beautiful girl is found dead, it’s rarely an accident. Especially when the countryside is overrun with deserters and thieves.”

  The horses picked their way up the steep winding path that took them around the back of the town and up to the castle. They needed to get back before nightfall. Christian didn’t want to risk his horse stumbling and breaking a leg in the dark.

  Sitting high on a rocky ledge above the town of St Goarshausen, the castle commanded a strategic position overlooking the river Rhine. A huge tower, called a bergfried, jutted up from the centre of the castle. Adjacent to it was the great hall. Katz Castle had been built by the Counts of Katzenelnbogen over four hundred years ago. A hundred years later the Katzenelnbogen’s had died out and, after much changing of hands, eventually the castle had passed into his family’s possession. That was until four years ago, when it had been seized by the French revolutionary army. As a gesture of goodwill, the local French authorities were allowing him and his mother to stay there. He supposed he should be grateful that the French hadn’t destroyed it as they had Castle Rheinfels, which lay on the other side of the river. But with the advent of cannon, the thick stone walls of the castle which had once been impenetrable were now vulnerable, and no doubt the French knew they could easily take the castle back if they had too.

  “You could have asked her yourself, you know,” Gaspard said, interrupting his thoughts. “Instead of sending me.”

  “They wouldn’t talk to me. Not properly.” His rank and position made that impossible.

  “You are at least German. They don’t speak to me unless there’s no other choice.”

  Christian looked up surprised. “That girl seemed willing to talk to you.”

  Gaspard smiled fondly. “She’s the only one. Adrianna isn’t like the others in the town. She wants to learn, unlike some people I know.”

  Christian smiled at the remark that was directed toward him. He enjoyed his lessons with Gaspard, but still having a tutor at nearly nineteen was beginning to wear on him.

  “She makes me think of my daughter,” Gaspard went on softly. “She would have been the same age had she lived.”

  Gaspard rarely spoke about his family. From what his mother had told him, Christian knew that Gaspard’s wife had been killed during the French Revolution, but he hadn’t known Gaspard had lost a child as well. It had been sixteen years since the revolution that saw the end of the French monarchy. That would have made Gaspard’s daughter only one or two years old when she had died.

  Grooms came out to take their horse as they clattered into the courtyard of the castle. Christian straightened in the saddle and schooled his face. He was no longer relaxed, but stiff and formal. They were only servants, but he had been taught since birth the correct way to behave.

  “Your mother is going to be furious with us. We were supposed to be back hours ago,” Gaspard said as he dismounted.

  “You mean she will be furious with me.” Christian swung down and handed the reins to a boy. “Perhaps she will stop me going riding as well as sailing.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  At that moment, his mother came out. She was dressed for dinner in a white muslin gown with long white gloves. Her dark hair was twisted and pinned up in the new classical style that was currently popular. She smiled serenely at them, but Christian could tell when his mother was displeased.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” Christian said.

  “It wasn’t Christian’s fault,” Gaspard broke in. “There was an incident in the town.”

  Christian suppressed a smile. Gaspard was always trying to protect him.

  “Did something happen?” his mother asked, raising an elegant brow.

  “A girl drowned in the river,” Christian said.

  “How terrible. I will have the cook send down some food for the family.”

  He wondered why she was dressed so formally. She waited for the groom to lead the horses away before she spoke again. “General Ducasse is here,” she said as soon as the boy had left. “He arrived an hour ago. I had no choice but to invite him to stay for dinner.”

  “The General was only here a month ago,” Christian said. “Why has he come back so soon?”

  “The French authorities obv
iously wish to keep an eye on us. You need to change. We’re waiting for you.” His mother swept away to return to her guest.

  Although the French revolutionary army had seized the castle, this part of the Rhineland was not under French rule; at least not yet.

  “What do you think he wants?” Christian asked Gaspard. “Surely the French do not consider me a threat?”

  “I don’t think it’s you the General has come to see,” Gaspard replied.

  Christian frowned. “Who else would he come to see?”

  “I doubt very much it’s me. That leaves only one other person.”

  Realisation dawned on Christian. “You mean he’s courting my mother?”

  “Your mother is quite beautiful. As a princess, she’s also connected to many of the royal families in Europe.”

  “We should hurry and change. We cannot keep the General waiting.” He quickened his pace, overtaking Gaspard. The sound of Gaspard’s laughter followed him inside.

  His valet was waiting in his bedroom, the clothes for that evening already laid out. Christian stripped off his riding clothes and quickly washed his face and arms in a bowl of water. He remained still while his valet dressed him, moving only as necessary. His evening attire consisted of cream breeches tucked into black boots, a white linen shirt with a stock and cravat, a cream waistcoat and last a black coat that was cut to the waist at the front, but hung to the tops of his boots at the back. Christian held out his hands to allow the servant to pull on his gloves and do up the buttons.

  “Thank you,” Christian said, after his valet was finished.

  He met Gaspard in the hallway. The Frenchman was dressed exactly the same, except his waistcoat was a deep blue.

  “Be careful what you say tonight,” Gaspard said as they made their way down the stairs. “Do not forget the General is French. His loyalties lie with France.”

  “I understand.”

  Gaspard never spoke of who he had been before the revolution, but from his knowledge of etiquette and intrigue Christian guessed he had been at Versailles before the demise of the French royal court, though in what role he did not know.

  A footman stepped forward to open the doors to the drawing room as they approached. His mother sat on the sofa, her hands neatly clasped in her lap, while General Ducasse stood before the fire.

  The General was in his early forties. Physically imposing, with broad shoulders, the general wore the dark blue jacket of his regiment complete with gold braid to signify his rank. His face was tanned and weathered from being outdoors and his blue eyes stood out in contrast to his dark skin. His black hair, which had likely been dyed, was slicked back with pomade.

  “General, you remember my son and Monsieur Gaspard,” his mother said as they entered.

  “Of course.” General Ducasse bowed. “Your Highness.”

  Christian and Gaspard bowed in reply. “General,” Christian said.

  At that moment, the gong sounded to signal dinner. His mother rose. “Shall we go in?”

  The General offered her his arm. She placed her hand on his and they led the way into the adjoining room. The table had already been laid out with silver cutlery and fine china. Behind each chair stood a footman. As they took their places, in unison the footmen stepped forward to push in their chairs.

  “I thought you would be with the army General,” Christian said as the first course was brought out.

  “I’m on my way to Paris. I have some business to settle there before I rejoin my regiment,” Ducasse replied.

  “Gentlemen, surely you’re not going to talk about the war?” his mother asked.

  “Of course not,” Ducasse said, inclining his head in deference to her.

  Christian would have liked to talk about it. He was following the war between France and the rest of Europe through the newspapers. He had maps spread out in the study with tokens to mark the position of the various armies. He and Gaspard would often discuss military tactics and strategy. It was the only lesson he looked forward to.

  “I’m surprised you’re not bored here, Your Highness,” the General said as a footman filled their glasses with wine. “A young man of your age. War is raging across Europe, while you sit here safe in your castle. Everything is changing. All the men wear uniform now at court and military rank is more important than who your father was. Being a prince doesn’t count for much anymore.”

  “Then its fortunate we’re not in France,” Christian said, picking up his glass.

  “Other German princes have declared their support for Napoleon and have been rewarded. If you wait too long, the Emperor’s generosity might not extend as far.”

  “From what I’ve read in the newspapers, little has changed in France,” Gaspard said, interrupting the General. “They have simply swapped one ruler for another. I’ve heard that the Emperor even has his own court now at the Tuileries.”

  “I forgot that you’re French. Tell me, what was your family’s name? I don’t believe I caught it.” The General’s tone was friendly, but there was an edge of suspicion to his voice.

  “I was no one of significance,” Gaspard said dismissively.

  “I see.” The General regarded Gaspard for a moment, before turning his attention back to Christian. “It is different now,” he said. “Napoleon chooses his commanders based on merit. A man can work his way up through the ranks. I started off as nothing more than a simple soldier. The rich cannot depend on money to buy their way to positions of power anymore. Now, they have to earn it.”

  Christian agreed with the principle; that he should be judged by his actions instead of his social position. But, he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the other German princes who had declared for Napoleon cared about that. They supported Napoleon because it benefited them.

  “You should come with me to Paris,” Ducasse said. “I could introduce you at court.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Christian replied, knowing his mother would never allow it.

  “Or get you a position in the army if you prefer.”

  His mother and Gaspard exchanged worried looks.

  “We thank you for the offer, General,” his mother said, smiling at Ducasse above her glass of wine. “But Christian has responsibilities here.”

  The General smiled. “I see.”

  Christian drank down his wine to stop himself replying. The shame of having his mother answer for him burned his cheeks. He could see the derision in the General’s face.

  If only the General knew how much he wanted to be out there, fighting. When he was younger, he always assumed he would join the army. He would study at one of the military colleges and then buy his way in. He was the younger son and free to do as he pleased. Then his brother had died and he became the heir and he was no longer free to go off and risk dying in battle.

  He wished he could do as he wanted for once. He wanted to join the army and distinguish himself, to prove his worth and command respect for his actions, not just his title. But that choice and any choice over his life had been taken away from him the minute he had been born a prince of the House of Hesse-Kessel.

  Chapter Three

  Adrianna floated. She lay on her back in the river, the sky blue and cloudless above her, the current gently carrying her along. Green hills rose either side of her. Somehow, she knew she was on the Rhine, but there were no towns or castles in sight. She was entirely alone. The song drifted softly, carried by the wind and woven into its whisper. She could hear it clearly despite the water blocking her ears. It wrapped around her, filling her with a deep sense of peace. She felt content to drift forever.

  Suddenly, she was pulled under. Water filled her mouth. She struggled desperately to stay afloat, but someone or something pulled her down. Unable to breathe, her body went limp. Down and down she slowly sunk, into the river’s dark depths. She watched the light fade further and further away. With a jolt, she came to rest on the riverbed. She couldn’t move her head, but out of the corner of her eye she could see J
utta lying still next to her, her eyes open and unblinking, her body swollen and misshapen and her skin mottled grey. Suddenly, Jutta turned her head and her white lifeless hand reached out for Adrianna.

  Adrianna opened her eyes and sat up, her heart racing. Relief washed over her as she took in the familiar surroundings of her tiny bedroom. It was just a dream, she told herself, pressing a hand to her chest and taking in slow, deep breaths, as she tried to calm her racing heart. Just a dream. But it had been so vivid. She could still feel water filling her mouth and nose, choking her as she tried to breathe. She lay back down and pulled the blankets up to her chin and tried to go back to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Jutta’s white hand reaching out for her.

  In the end, she threw back the covers and climbed out of her narrow bed. She shivered at the chill as her bare feet hit the cold floorboards. She needed to hurry and get downstairs to the fire. In the room below, she could hear her mother moving about, already up. She poured water from the jug on the nightstand into a bowl and splashed water onto her face. Her eyes felt gritty and dry. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Woven through her dream had been the song she’d heard by the river, the same song her mother had heard Jutta singing before she disappeared. In her dream she had known the words so clearly, but now they eluded her. There was something about a maid…

  Drawing the curtains, she threw open the wooden shutters. Dawn had threaded its fingers through the sky streaking it red and amber. The town was stirring, the men already up and heading out to the fishing boats. She spotted Peter amongst them with his pale blonde hair. He glanced up at her window as he passed, but she drew back before he could see her. She waited a moment for him to pass and then lifted the corner of the curtain and peered out at his retreating back. She wished she felt something for him. He was not unattractive, but she looked at him and felt nothing.

  With a sigh, she straightened the blankets on her bed. She was fortunate to have a room to herself. Most of the girls in the town had to share a bed with their sisters. Wanting to get down to the fire, she tried to dress quickly, but her fingers were cold and stiff and she struggled with the buttons at the back of her brown dress. She finally managed to do up the last one and then she began unbraiding her long hair. She brushed out the knots and tangles and then went to work rebraiding it into a heavy rope that reached down her back. That was one thing she would have liked a sister for; to help her with her hair. Her mother didn’t have time to do it for her; she was too busy with the chores. She wrapped the thick braid around her head and secured it with pins and then carefully carried her chamber pot downstairs and took it outside to empty. She shouldn’t care how her hair looked anyway, she thought. There was only Peter to admire it and she didn’t want him to think she was making an effort to please him.