"Over the hills and far away."
—John Gay
I threw my corsets into the upper reaches of the Rhine, and watched them bob up and down in our wake, their strings trailing behind like the tentacles of an octopus.
It was strange to feel a cotton shift next to my skin instead of thinly covered whalebone, even stranger to know I could wriggle about without restriction. I had worn stays or corsets ever since I could remember—probably five or six years old—and the only relief had been at night when I could curl up in my nightdress and rub away the marks left on my skin. But over the years I had grown so used to lacing myself up each morning that it had become as automatic as brushing one's hair or teeth.
I shivered a little—not from cold, for I had plenty of layers of wool on underneath—but from my daring. No lady went around without her corsets. I wondered if that had led to the term a "loose woman."
Toby joined me at the rail, handing me a cup of coffee and a hunk of garlic sausage on rye bread. The corsets were still in sight.
"Cor! Me mam wears them!"
"Those . . ."
"Those, then. Bet they was—"
"Were."
"Were uncomfortable. Pinchy. Me mam was always getting bits of her stummick stuck in the laces . . ."
"Yes, well . . ." I shivered again.
"You chilly, miss? Can't've been that warm . . ."
"No, they weren't. Just feels strange without them."
"Better, I hopes, seein' as they's gone forever. Less you wants to swim for 'em that is."
I gave up trying to correct him. Usually he was very good, but if something unusual happened he tended to slip back into Cockney.
"No, no swimming . . ." I wouldn't have lasted two minutes in that water anyway. Thin sheets of ice broke off against the sides of the string of slow-moving barges as we chugged up the narrowing river, soon to reach the limit of navigable waterway.
It was now mid-December, and we had had a mixed journey. We had slipped easily through Holland, watching the windmills with their slow-moving sails, imagining the flat fields blossoming with tulips in the spring and admiring the ingenious Dutch in their efforts to keep the ever encroaching North Sea at bay. Our transport had been comfortable, with good food and clean linen, but unfortunately that part ended at Koblenz. Apparently the ferry ran no farther at this time of year, a fact that the firm that booked us had omitted to mention.
We complained and protested (through Ky-Lin) that we had paid to be carried farther, but the captain just shrugged his shoulders and referred us to our tickets which only specified transport up the river, "according to the usual rules and regulations." So we would have to find something a lot cheaper, to make up for the money we had lost. Thus the barge we were on now.
We had switched from one mode of travel to another, as and when we could find it, but mostly by river transport, although a couple of times we went along the bank by wagon, cart or stage, rather than waste time waiting for a barge or ferry. The trouble was, it was all too slow for our purpose. True, there was time to admire the wonderful scenery and marvel at the fairy-tale castles perched impossibly high on the cliffs above the river, but I was conscious all the time of how swiftly time was passing.
"We take to the road tomorrow," said Ky-Lin, appearing from my pocket. "Then we should travel faster. Don't give up yet!"
He seemed to be able to read my thoughts, was always encouraging and had been invaluable in translating our wants; he would perch on my shoulder, hidden by scarf, and make my requests in my own voice whispering the reply so only I could hear it! All I had to do was pretend I was talking and try to synchronise my actions. Magic as good as I had ever seen.
Both Claude and Danny, knowing nothing of Ky-Lin, were amazed at my linguistic prowess. Although I was still "Miss," we were now on Christian-name terms. This had come about after we had crossed the English Channel for they had both been as sick as dogs in spite of the calm sea, and all pretence of male superiority went overboard together with their suppers, and "Miss Lee" had disappeared in "Please help me, Miss Sophy!" and "Mr. Cumberbatch" in "Shut up, Claude, it's not as bad as that!" and "Mr. Duveen" became "Serves you right for making such a pig of yourself, Danny!"
"How will we travel?" I asked Ky-Lin.
"Well, there will be some public transport—coaches and the odd railway—but I think it might be better to hire a coach partways."
"But surely that will cost the earth!"
"Not necessarily. Much more convenient and we can travel by a more direct route; there are plenty of posting-houses between here and the Danube, and that is our next target."
It started to snow, great blobs whirling out of the grey sky, and we slipped and skidded on the icy deck as we made our way to our cabins. Claude and Danny were in the saloon, a polite term for the place where we ate as well. They were playing cards, Danny wrapped up to the eyeballs in coat, cloak, scarves and mufflers, while Claude, who seemed to have developed a permanent sniff and a drip on the end of his nose, was complaining bitterly about Danny's winning streak. I suspected that the latter cheated, but there was no way of finding out.
We retired to my cabin, where I continued as best I could with Toby's education, with Ky-Lin's help. He knew more about everything than I did, anyway.
The following day we disembarked at a small town called Schwarzberg, which Ky-Lin said meant Blackhill, after the mountain behind; although it belied its name, being now covered with last night's snow. We visited all the livery stables, but found there was no private transport to be hired, so we repaired to an inn by the quay for luncheon, and to discuss our next move.
Toby was gazing out the window at the barge unloading when he suddenly made a rather crude exclamation, which I didn't bother to try and understand, but obviously he had been struck with some idea.
"Look out there, folks: what do you see?"
"Barges unloading," said Claude, wiping his nose for the umpteenth time. "Why?"
"Yes, but what's waiting to be loaded up?"
Danny craned his neck. "Looks like logs of wood to me . . ."
"Exactly!" Toby was obviously bursting to impart his theory. "And what did we bring on the way up?"
"Sugar, dried fruit, flour, toys, barrels of wine, hunting rifles and ammunition, thick eiderdowns . . ." I was beginning to see which way his mind was working.
"Exactly," he said again. "Don't you see? They brings up what they needs up here, stuff they can't make themselves, and vikky-verky—sends back their wood in exchange."
"So?"
Toby was still patient. "So, Master Claude, just where does all that stuff from the barge go to?"
"Sure it goes into the shops here, I suppose." said Danny.
"Place ain't big enough. And what about all those parcels and packages they was carrying?" I let him tell it his own way, though by now I was smiling.
"There must be lots an' lots of small towns and villages round here what wants the goods, and someone got to take them there, and that is why we couldn't hire no transport!" He was flushed and bright-eyed. "So all we've got to do is find a carrier who's going our way and beg a lift!"
After that it was easy. Ky-Lin and I found a man who was taking a covered wagon to the next village on our way, staying overnight with his brother, then travelling on to the next town, and was glad of our company, promising to find us overnight accommodation. When we attempted to pay him for his troubles later, he refused, adding: "The more the people, the fewer the wolves," which Ky-Lin and I didn't bother telling the others, not sure whether the wolves he referred to were human or lupine. I did notice, however, that he carried a loaded rifle by the driver's seat. What he did accept, however was the offer of Mrs. Early's empty food hamper, which we still carried with us, explaining that it would be useful for carrying his racing pigeons.
And so it went on. We accepted lifts when we could, used public transport when there was any, hired the occasional chaise and were sometimes holed up for days by bad weather, spending Christmas in a cheery little inn in a forest and stuffing ourselves silly with roast goose, sausages, pork and masses of potatoes: roast, boiled, baked, grated and fried, or mashed. We also ate vast quantities of cabbage, fermented with white wine, which they called "Sauerkraut," and of course there were trays of gooey cakes, sweet biscuits and candies. There was also a tree, decorated with pretty bows, a custom the Hanoverian-born Prince Albert, the late husband of our dear Queen, had apparently introduced to England.
By the middle of February we were well on our way, the snows had begun to melt, the going was much easier and traffic on the roads more frequent. I was still worried about the money situation, but our spending had slowed down somewhat. We were all in good health—thank God!— although Claude still nursed his perpetual sniffle. Danny still sneaked off for the occasional drink—I had to give them a little pocket-money for their regular needs, but while Toby saved his and Claude spent his on luridly coloured picture-postcards to send home to his mother or on throat-lozenges, Danny spent his on strong beer or spirits.
Nevertheless, both men were improving: Claude was becoming less stuffy and staid, and Danny could be the life and soul of the party, if he chose. Toby was growing and filling out by the day, making a real bonny lad, and every day to him was a new discovery.
In February we reached Bavaria and the upper reaches of the Danube, and with the better weather we made good progress from Neuburg to Ingolstadt, Ingolstadt to Regensburg, then Straubing, Deggendorf and Passau. In March we crossed the border into Austria and really felt spring had arrived. If Bavaria had been charming, Austria was even better. The people were warm and welcoming, indulging in music at the least excuse; pipes, flutes, fiddles, trumpets and drums all sounded from one house to another, and even the school-children carried their recorders to school.
We spent three days in Linz, due to the unwelcome return of late snows, but we took the opportunity to repair our wardrobes: stockings and summer underwear for me, thinner shirts and socks for the men and Toby. As the touring season had now begun, we decided to take one of the tourist boats as far as Vienna, which we had heard was the most beautiful city in Europe.
A tour of the city was included in our tickets, although it passed so swiftly it seemed we were whirled past the fine buildings and statues without a chance to get more than a glimpse, but we did also get tickets to a concert in the evening, dominated by the divine waltzes of the brothers Strauss. Although the favourite was apparently the "Blue Danube"—a misnomer if ever I heard one: it was a sort of brownish-grey—my favourite was the "Emperor" with its full, sweeping tones and at times I could almost imagine being clad in silks and being borne aroud a vast ballroom in the arms of one of the handsome, uniformed officers who seemed to twirl their moustachios on every street-corner . . .
Their uniforms were so figure-hugging, the girls at boarding-school would have gone into swoons over them—
For almost the first time in my life I felt longings of a strange kind, a sort of yearning to be held tight in masculine arms; I wondered if it had anything to do with throwing away my corsets. Did I miss their tight restrictions, or was it more the general looseness of body bringing on a looseness of the emotions?
I subdued these feelings fiercely.
We left Vienna at the beginning of April, and had now been travelling for over five months. I asked Ky-Lin how much farther we had to go. "Are we half-way yet?"
"Well . . . Not exactly."
"But we've been travelling for ages! If we are to get there in time—"
"We will, we will. Up until now we have been travelling relatively slowly because of the terrain. Once we get to the steppes—"
"The what? The stairs?"
"Steppes. With two P's and an extra E. Now we have to get to the mouth of the Danube—perhaps another couple of weeks—then across the Black and Aral Seas—"
"You never told me all that!"
"You saw the maps."
"But—but—"
"You did."
I was silent for a moment. "It—it all looked—sort of smaller . . ."
"Maps usually do."
"But you're sure we're on course?"
"Sure. Sure as I can be . . ."
And with that I had to be satisfied.
Soon after we left Vienna we took to the roads again, traffic being faster and cheaper. We even took advantage of the infrequent railways, although the farther east we travelled, the more primitive they became, with frequent stops and delays, and with the warmer weather they could be stiflingly hot, and the wooden bench seats were exceedingly uncomfortable. If one tried to open the windows to get some air, they either wouldn't open or one got covered in smuts, most of the engines being wood- instead of coal-fired.
We passed through parts of Hungary, Slovakia, Croatia, Romania and Bulgaria with little time to absorb or enjoy the differences in each. The plains of Hungary and Croatia, mountains and forests of Slovakia, Transylvania and Walachia blurred into one another, the only distinctions being the differences of language which I was not clever enough to distinguish between, though Toby apparently could, according to Ky-Lin.
"The boy has a musical ear, and pace intonation and the particular lilt of language means much to those so gifted."
"What language did Summer speak?" I asked on impulse.
He considered for a moment. "Mostly Norman-French, and some Market-Latin, which was of course widely accepted in the west. I helped her with the Oriental languages of course, and she talked to the animals through the Ring which you now wear."
Now that he had answered one question about a person he normally seemed reluctant to discuss, perhaps he would satisfy another. "What was she like?"
"She was a very brave, considerate young woman. Over-impulsive, perhaps, but she was full of ideas, loyal and caring."
I had really wanted to know what she looked like: all females are curious about their predecessors or rivals. "Was she beautiful?"
He wrinkled up his nose, curled and uncurled his antennae. "Beautiful? My Master taught us that all Life was beautiful, from the leaf on the tree to the tooth of a shark. But if you ask me about the length of a nose, the shape of a mouth, the formation of one figure as set against another member of the human race, then I cannot tell you. Could you tell me that one ant is more `beautiful' than another? No. Another ant is the only one who would know. I am a Ky-Lin, and things like this do not concern us."
He must have seen the disappointment on my face, because he added: "She was about three inches shorter than you"—I was five feet six inches—"but then people were shorter in those days. Her hair was much lighter, and her eyes much bluer and a different shape, too. The formation of your bodies was similar." He thought for a moment. "And she smiled more often than you do."
Was I really that morose? Still, what did I have to smile about . . . Just to please Ky-Lin I essayed a grin, more a stretching of the mouth over the teeth. "That better?"
He shook his head sadly.