The Fitzgeralds

When we were at Manorleigh both Belinda and I had ridden frequently, in London less so. It was necessary, as my father said, to “nurse” the constituency and I, with Celeste later, used to ride round to the various villages which were part of it; so I had become a quite skillful horsewoman.

I went riding now and then with Belinda and Jean Pascal, but I looked forward to those times when I could be alone. I was becoming increasingly uneasy because of Jean Pascal’s attitude toward me. I might be innocent but I was not ignorant. I had already discerned that he was the sort of man who would be interested in any woman who crossed his path. I did not think that I was particularly attractive, but I was there... actually living under his roof. I began to think that it was time I went away.

The truth was he alarmed me. I admonished myself. I only had to convey to him that I was not one of those people who indulged in the light love affairs of which I was sure he had had great experience. He was Belinda’s father and that meant that he was old enough to be mine. Not that age would be so important, I supposed, if one truly loved. Love Jean Pascal? The thought appalled me. Of course, he was good-looking, suave, a man of the world. Some people might have fallen in love with him. As for myself, I felt only revulsion when he came near me.

And here I was, a guest under his roof! No wonder I felt uneasy. I did suggest to Belinda that we could not stay here indefinitely. Perhaps we should think about making a date for our return.

She looked at me in amazement. “We haven’t been here two weeks yet.”

“That’s quite a long time to stay in people’s houses.”

“People’s houses. This is my father’s.”

“Yes... your father... but not mine. I was just wondering, I was thinking it was about time I ...”

“What do you want to go back for? You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. You are putting the past behind you and where could you do that better than here?”

“I was just thinking ...”

“You’re an idiot, Lucie. Stop thinking! Just enjoy all this. I think it’s wonderful.

Don’t grudge me my father.”

“As if I would.”

“He’s been very nice to you. He always brings you into everything.”

“Yes, I know. But I think I ought to go and leave you two together.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she said; and as usual, when she had decided something, she assumed that settled the matter. So I knew it was useless to talk to her about going home.

I cherished those days when I could get away on my own. On this particular one I had gone into the grounds and into the little wood. I knew that Jean Pascal and Belinda were going to the vineyards that morning. The implication had been that I should go with them, but it had not been absolutely arranged. So I went off and was not to be found when they were ready to go.

After they left I experienced a wonderful sense of freedom.

I went to the stables where a groom saddled a horse for me at my request; and I had the pleasure of riding out alone.

It was a lovely morning. It would probably be too hot later in the day but at that time it was perfect.

I told myself I must remember which way I came for the country was unfamiliar to me. I must not get lost or there would be a ban on my riding alone which was my chief pleasure.

I left the chateau grounds and after about ten minutes, I came to a little wood of pine trees. A rider was coming toward me. There was something familiar about her. She drew level and we looked at each other, both a little puzzled, trying to remember, I supposed, where we had met before.

The woman smiled suddenly. “I know,” she cried. “Of course, it was on the Channel steamer. I’m Phillida Fitzgerald. Do you remember? We talked for a few minutes.” It was coming back. The pleasant-faced woman who was going with her brother to recuperate near Bordeaux.

“I remember well ...”

“And you were ...?”

“Lucie Lansdon.”

“That’s right. What a coincidence! Well, perhaps not so ... as we are in the neighborhood.

Isn’t it lovely country?”

“It is. Are you better?”

“Yes. Did I tell you I was convalescing? I really am much better. Even my brother is pleased.”

“Is he here?”

“He’s at our place.”

“Are you staying near here?” I asked.

“Yes, quite near. We’ve rented a house. We didn’t greatly care for the hotel. So we looked round and found this place. A good deal of letting goes on nowadays in these parts. Some people prefer it to staying in a hotel.”

“I suppose they do.”

“My brother likes it much better. It’s a nice little house... lovely setting.

Not far from here. There is a couple who live in a sort of cabin in the grounds.

They look after us. They go with the house. They’re quite good. We like it.”

“How long are you staying?”

“For a few more weeks, I suppose. Nothing definite. We’ve taken the house for a month and if we want to renew at any time I don’t think there would be much difficulty.”

“It has worked out well then.”

She nodded. “What of you?”

“I’m staying at the Chateau Bourdon.”

“With friends ... I think you said. That must be wonderful really. Look. Why don’t you come back with me and have a cup of coffee. Angelique... the female side of the couple ... makes excellent coffee.”

“It sounds like a good idea.”

“Come on then. Roland will be amused. He says I pick up people. Well, I like meeting people. I like talking to people. And after all, we’re not strangers, are we? We met on the boat.”

“I certainly don’t feel we are.”

She laughed and turned her horse back the way she had obviously come. I followed.

We rode for about a mile until we came to the village of Lengore. “It’s charming,” she told me, “particularly on market days. I love shopping. They all laugh at my atrocious accent. But I can laugh with them. I know how awful it is. The house is just on the outskirts of the village.”

We came to it. It was small and of gray stone, surrounded by a pleasant garden. She pointed out to me what she called the cabin where Angelique and her spouse lived. There was a stretch of grass on which a few chickens scratched while a rooster perched proudly on a low stone wall watching over his hens.

“It’s a little primitive in some ways,” said Phillida. “But my brother says that this is what we have come here for. There are two or three barns... good for storage... and a field, too, so we have plenty of space. We hire the horses for the time we are here... and Pierre-that’s Angelique’s husband-looks after them as he does the chickens and a couple of geese. So you see, it really is the country life.”

She pushed open a door and we were in a room with stone walls and tiled floor. There was an enormous fireplace and a kettle hanging on a chain. Leading from this was another room into which she led me. It was fitted with two armchairs and a sofa. Her brother stood up and laid aside the book he had been reading. He looked puzzled at first until Phillida explained. “Look whom I have found,” she cried. “It’s Miss Lucie Lansdon. Come on, Roland, you remember. On the boat coming over.” She turned to me. “Roland doesn’t remember people like I do. But then, of course, we had a long chat. He only saw you briefly.”

“But I do remember,” he said. He held out his hand. “How do you do, Miss Lansdon.

How nice to see you.”

“Wasn’t it a coincidence?” said Phillida. “We just happened to come face-to-face near that pine copse. Then it all came back to me ... how we’d met and talked.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure,” said her brother.

“What about some coffee?” said Phillida. “I’ve lured her here with a promise of Angelique’s special brew.”

“Come and sit down,” he said.

“Yes, that’s right, and I’ll go and see about the coffee.”

She went and I was left alone with Roland.

I said, “You seem to be comfortable here.”

“Oh yes. It’s more pleasant than a hotel.”

“I can see that.”

“And the couple takes on everything, so there is nothing for my sister to worry about.”

“Is she better? I gathered she had come here for some sort of convalescence.”

“The place suits her. But I don’t know how long we shall be able to stay. I shall have to go back eventually, but I do want to make sure she is quite well before we return. It’s a weakness in the chest. Our climate is too damp for her. This dry heat suits her better.”

“She seems absolutely well.”

“That’s Phillida. She refuses to accept ill health. She has a wonderful spirit.”

“You and she are obviously very good friends.”

“Brother and sister. But I admit there is a special closeness.

Our parents died. They were killed together in a railway accident. To lose them both at one time... well, you can imagine what that meant. She said she would look after me. I said I would look after her.”

“Well, you both seem to be making a good job of it.”

Phillida came back. “Coffee will be served very shortly,” she said. “I want to show Miss Lansdon the house.”

“After coffee,” said Roland.

“Oh come. It won’t take more than a few minutes.” She grimaced at me. “There’s not much of it, and there is just time before coffee arrives. I’ll whip you round in five minutes. It’s not Chateau Bourdon, you know. It was Bourdon, wasn’t it? I remembered because I’d heard it before.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Vast and imposing, I believe.”

“I suppose it is ... rather.”

“Well, come and see our humble abode. You stay here, Roly, in case Angelique brings the coffee in.”

She took me up a spiral staircase which led from the sitting room. There were two rooms on the next floor. “This is the best bedroom, my domain. Roland insisted on my having this room. The other room is a sort of dressing room-sitting room. Then there’s another floor... to the attics really. “We climbed the stairs to a room in which on one side the ceiling sloped and one had to stoop to approach the small window which looked down on the patch of green and the hens. The geese were down there too.

She laughed. “It’s fun in a way. Different from your chateau, I daresay. Roland sleeps up here. It’s difficult for him to stand upright all the time... and it’s amusing, for a holiday, of course. And that’s all. Chateau Fitzgerald. Now let’s get down to that coffee.”

She was right about the coffee. It was delicious.

I found them both interesting and I liked their obvious affection for each other.

They made me feel that it was a special pleasure to have a visitor from home.

“Isn’t it wonderful to be able to talk naturally, Roland? Rather than to have to stumble over your words and when you do get a comprehensible sentence they come back at you with such a rush-thinking mistakenly that you have mastered their language. And then you are completely lost.” Phillida laughed.

They wanted to know about me. I could see that they remembered the tragedy by the pains they took to avoid mentioning it.

At last, I said, “My father was shot outside our house. You probably read about it.”

“Yes,” said Roland quietly. “It must have been a terrible shock for you.”

I nodded. “But ... I have so many kind friends. There is my sister particularly.

She lives in Cornwall though and that is quite a long way from London.”

“I suppose you visit her often,” said Roland.

“Yes, and I expect I shall more and more. I think she would like me to go and live with her and her family.”

“But you are as yet undecided?” asked Phillida.

“Well, I feel a little ...”

They exchanged glances and I knew a message passed between them. It was to drop the subject.

“The rural life is very amusing and interesting for a time,” said Roland, “but I wonder how long one could find that sort of thing amusing.”

“Where is your home?” I asked.

“Well, we really come from Yorkshire. We are in wool, actually. But I am in London a good deal. We have a small pied-à-terre there. Everyone has to be in London sooner or later. It was my father who decided that we must have an office there to deal with the business-most of which is conducted in Yorkshire, of course. He died just as he had set up the office... and I was to be in charge of it.”

“Have some more coffee,” said Phillida. “Angelique gets quite cross if people don’t show they appreciate what she produces.”

“It’s a failing with good cooks,” added Roland.

“How long do you intend to stay in France?” asked Phillida, filling my cup.

“I am unsure. So much depends on Belinda.”

“She is traveling with you, I suppose.”

“Yes.” I felt the need of a little explanation. “She is my stepmother’s niece. It is her father who owns the chateau.”

“I see,” said Roland.

“I hope you don’t go too soon,” added Phillida. “It’s great fun to meet one’s compatriots in a foreign land.”

Roland smiled indulgently at his sister.

“Well, you agree with me, don’t you, Roland?” she insisted.

“I do on this occasion,” he replied.

“You must come and see us again,” said Phillida.

“I’d like to,” I told them. “But this reminds me ... I ought to be going.” I looked at the clock on the wall. “Dejeuner will be served in an hour. They will be wondering what has become of me if I am late.”

“We’ll take you back,” said Roland. “It’s about half an hour, I reckon, wouldn’t you, Phillida?”

“I should think so. We are really quite close neighbors.”

“Well, there is not much time.”

“I can see Miss Lansdon is getting anxious,” said Roland, “so we’ll leave now.” I thought how kind and gentle he was. He reminded me of Joel. He was a complete contrast to Jean Pascal.

Within five minutes we were leaving the house. We chatted ?about the countryside as we rode along. It had been a very interesting morning. They left me within sight of the chateau. It was Roland’s suggestion that they should do so. Phillida would have liked to come closer, I was sure, with a hope of meeting Belinda or Jean Pascal. But, firmly and quietly, Roland insisted. He was so tactful. He thought it was better for me to arrive alone and not have to give an immediate explanation of our meeting.

So I was back in good time. I felt better than I had for a long time. It gave me a comfortable feeling to remind myself that I had friends in the neighborhood. When I went down to dejeuner Belinda and Jean Pascal were already there.

“What happened to you this morning, Lucie?” asked Jean Pascal.

“Oh ... I went for a ride.”

“We couldn’t find you,” scolded Belinda. “Mon pere was most put out.”

“I knew you were going to the vineyard. I didn’t think you would want me with you.”

“Of course we expected you to be with us,” said Jean Pascal.

“It was very interesting,” added Belinda. “You missed something very good.”

“I had an interesting morning, too.”

“Doing what?” asked Belinda.

“I met some people.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Jean Pascal said, “People? What people?”

“There was a young woman whom I met on the Channel boat. We had chatted for a while.

Didn’t I tell you?”

“I didn’t know you’d met anyone,” said Belinda.

“It was when we were on deck and I wandered off on my own. I was leaning over the rail and so was she. We talked. She said they were staying near Bordeaux.”

“And you just met by chance?” said Jean Pascal.

“Yes. They are actually staying quite nearby.”

“They?”

“She and her brother. They’ve rented a house for a month or so. She took me back with her and they gave me coffee.”

“Wasn’t that rather rash of you?” He was looking at me with concern.

“Rash? I don’t see anything rash about it.”

“But... people you don’t know!”

“I told you, I met them on the boat.”

“That is not knowing them.”

“Oh, you are so formal. I could see they were perfectly nice ordinary people. They invited me to see the place they had rented and to have some coffee. That’s all. It was a very pleasant morning.”

“What is their name?”

“Fitzgerald.”

“I’ve not heard of them.”

“It’s hardly likely that you would. They are visitors from England just on holiday here.”

Jean Pascal looked displeased. I thought he was a little annoyed because I had not accompanied them to the vineyard.

“By the way,” he said, “I’ve asked some people to dine with us tomorrow night. The Comte and Comtesse de Grellon and Monsieur and Mademoiselle du Pont. Just a small dinner party to begin with.”

Belinda looked excited. “A real Comte and Comtesse!” she cried.

Jean Pascal smiled at her indulgently. “There are some still around, you know.”

“Tell us about them,” pleaded Belinda.

“The Comte is about sixty, the Comtesse a year or so younger. They have a chateau about five miles from here. They will stay the night. Then there are the du Fonts. Monsieur is a about forty, a widower, with a charming daughter, Genevieve. I am sure you will like them all. The rest, my dear Belinda, you must discover for yourself.” He was smiling blandly now. I believed his vague annoyance that I had eluded them and spent a pleasant morning elsewhere had passed.

Belinda was very excited at the prospect of a dinner party although, as she said to me, the guests did not appear to be very exciting.

“How can we tell until we meet them?” I asked.

“An old Comte of sixty and his Comtesse! Another old man with his daughter. I should have thought mon pere would have invited some young people... young men.”

“I daresay some will be provided at a later date.”

“Why waste time?”

Early in the morning a man arrived at the chateau with a special message for Jean Pascal. We learned what it was at dejeuner. “There will be an extra guest tonight,” he told us. “I have had a note from the Comte. He tells me that a friend from England has arrived unexpectedly and he is asking if he might bring this guest along tonight. I have said that of course I shall be delighted. I am sure you young ladies will be pleased that you will be able to speak to someone in English.”

We admitted that we would. “French people speak too fast,” said Belinda. “No faster than you do, my dear,” her father retorted. “It is just that you can’t follow quickly enough.”

Belinda dressed with care. Her father had a Frenchman’s eye for what was chic and he was inclined to be critical. I often watched the manner in which he took notice of our appearance; and I must admit that at times I felt an inclination to wear something of which he would not approve. Belinda, on the other hand, set out to please him, which was not difficult for her. She had a natural flair for choosing what suited her and dressed with a certain panache and a touch of flamboyance which was in keeping with her looks and personality.

We went down to the hall to receive our guests. The du Fonts arrived first. He was a small man with sleek dark hair and pince-nez which gave him a somewhat severe look. His daughter Genevieve I imagined to be in her early twenties; there was a certain primness about her and she appeared to be devoted to her father. I saw Belinda study them and dismiss them as dull. I had a notion she might be right.

Then the Comte and Comtesse arrived and with them their mystery guest.

I was aware of Belinda’s excitement. He was tall and very fair with a fresh complexion, light blue eyes, and features set in a somewhat classical mold. I guessed him to be in his early twenties-good-looking in a bland way. The Comte and his Comtesse could not be anything but French. Aristocratic, both of them, unconsciously implying that they were accustomed to deference and formality. They were both silver-haired, elegantly dressed, immaculate. The Comte kissed our hands and we murmured that we were enchanted to meet him. Jean Pascal looked on with approval.

Then the Comte presented his guest. He was Sir Robert Denver, whose father had been a great friend of the Comte. Sir Robert always visited the Comte when he was in France and so here he was.

Jean Pascal said how pleased he was that Sir Robert’s visit had coincided with the Comte’s and Comtesse’s to Bourdon. These platitudes continued for some little time and then we all went in to dinner.

Sir Robert was seated between Belinda and me.

Dinner was served with special formality. I had not realized how many servants there were at the chateau. They tiptoed about the dining room, unobtrusive and efficient. Sir Robert was as glad as Belinda and I were to have someone to whom he could chat in English.

There was something charming about him. This was particularly noticeable in the somewhat formal company. He was without pomposity and completely unpretentious. “How jolly,” he said, “that I happened to be staying with the Comte when this invitation came. To tell the truth, I was dreading it. My French is appalling. I don’t get half what is said. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be able to talk in English!”

“We find that too,” Belinda assured him.

“So you see,” I added, “the relief is mutual.”

“My father, of course,” went on Belinda, “speaks perfect English. Well, he has been so much in England.”

“Yes. So the Comte told me.”

“Do you often come to France?” I asked.

Belinda frowned at me. She wanted to talk to him and there were too many interruptions coming from me.

He said, “No... not often. Before he died, my father came frequently. Sometimes I came with him. He had a feeling for France... and he had one or two good friends here. The Comte, for instance, was one of them. He was a special one. On the rare occasions when he came to England he stayed with us. So when I come to France I always visit them and stay a few days.”

“So you are only here for few days,” said Belinda, a little crestfallen.

He nodded. “That is why it is so lucky that I came here.”

Belinda sparkled. “Isn’t that a nice thing to say, Lucie?”

I agreed that it was.

“And where is your home?” asked Belinda.

“It’s in Hampshire.”

“Oh, not so very far from London.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you ever come to London?” Belinda asked.

“Not often. Occasionally.”

There was a brief silence while the fish was served.

“There is quite a lot to do on the estate,” he went on. “Since my father died ...”

“Was that recently?” I asked.

“About a year ago.”

“Are you a sort of ... squire?” said Belinda.

“Sort of,” he answered.

“How exciting!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t had a lot of experience.”

“Well, I suppose you have people to help. Have you a family?”

“No. I was the only one. My father died suddenly. It was a terrible shock. Everyone thought he had years ahead of him.”

“So you are all alone ... no wife to help you ... no children?”

“All alone,” he said.

I could see that Belinda’s interest was increasing. Sir Robert Denver-owner of a title and estate in Hampshire, good-looking enough. Quite an eligible bachelor. She gave me a venomous look, realizing that I was reading her thoughts. I watched her setting out to charm him, and I guessed she was making a success of it.

I wished her luck. There was something very pleasant about him. He was not exactly worldly and this was particularly apparent in the company of such men as the Comte and Jean Pascal... and, I daresay, Monsieur du Pont. Of course, he was a good deal younger than they were, but I could not believe that Jean Pascal had ever been innocent as this young man appeared to be. From then to the end of the meal Belinda took charge of the conversation, chattering away, telling him, in the most interesting manner, of her life in the goldfields and how different it was in London; he listened avidly and before it was time for us to leave the table, I could see that she had woven her special spell about him. He looked a little bewildered... but enchanted.

When I was in bed that night I kept thinking about the evening and the guests, particularly Sir Robert.

I heard the door rattling and my heart began to beat with alarming rapidity, I sprang out of bed.

“Who is that?” I cried.

“Belinda, of course.”

“Just a moment.” I unlocked the door and she came in, clad in dressing gown and slippers.

“Why do you lock your door?” she demanded.

“I ... don’t know. A habit, I suppose.”

She was too concerned with herself to give more than a passing thought to my little fancies.

I got back into bed and she sat on the edge of it, watching me.

“What do you think of him?”

“Of whom?”

“Don’t be silly! You know very well.”

“I presume you are referring to that eligible bachelor with a nice title, an estate in Hampshire and no encumbrances.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I think he is a very pleasant young man... rather too innocent to be let loose into a world of predatory females.”

“Oh, stop being pompous! He’s nice, isn’t he? What do you think he thought of me?”

“One of the females I just mentioned whose attitude toward him brightened considerably when he disclosed his position in the world.”

“Stop it. I liked him.”

“Well, so did I.”

“Lucie, don’t you dare! Well, you wouldn’t have a chance if you tried.”

“Certainly not against you... with your wiles.”

“So don’t attempt it.”

“I had no intention of doing so.”

“I think he is just right.”

“I am sure he is.”

“And I am going to make sure that we see more of him.”

“Yes. Don’t let him slip through your fingers. That would indeed be a tragedy.”

“I don’t intend to listen.”

“And it was to tell me this that I owe the pleasure of this visit from the future Lady Denver.”

“It sounds rather good, doesn’t it?” she said with a giggle.

“Belinda! One word of caution.”

“What?”

“Don’t be too blatant. I don’t suppose you are the first who has tried to snare him.

All that eligibility, you know. So don’t be too obvious.”

She laughed. “I don’t know why I tell you all this.”

“I do. You’ve got to talk to someone on this all-absorbing subject.”

“What subject?”

“You, of course. My dear Belinda, you are obsessed by Belinda... and naturally expect everyone to be the same.”

“Oh, shut up. I am going to ask mon pere to invite him over again. Or perhaps we can go riding over to the Comte and see him then.”

“Do that. I am sure ton pere will agree.”

“I’m going now.”

“Good night. And good luck in the campaign.”

She went and I got out of bed and locked the door.

We did not have to go looking for Sir Robert. He rode over the next day. Belinda sparkled. It was even better than she had thought.

Jean Pascal was amused and Sir Robert was pressed to stay to dejeuner, an invitation he was delighted to accept.

Belinda chatted animatedly all through lunch while Jean Pascal looked on benignly.

I presumed from his demeanor that he approved of Sir Robert as a prospective son-in-law. Later we all walked in the gardens together and Jean Pascal talked quite knowledgeably about the flora and fauna of the neighborhood, to which Sir Robert muttered and murmured his appreciation, but I was sure his thoughts were elsewhere. Belinda was radiant, and when at length our guest left-most reluctantly-it was with an invitation from Jean Pascal to call whenever he felt inclined to do so. I guessed the next visit would not be long delayed. Nor was it.

The next day he came again.

I was walking in the grounds which I loved to do. They were so beautiful and because of the many shrubs and trees and the copse one could be shut away from the chateau and enjoy a pleasant feeling of solitude.

My thoughts were wandering. I was thinking of Joel, for he was never long out of my thoughts; then I fell to wondering whether this obvious attraction between Belinda and Sir Robert would result in an engagement. I heard footsteps. They were coming toward the copse. I was certain they belonged to Jean Pascal and decided to emerge into the open, as I felt reluctant to be alone with him in the copse. I quickly made my way in the direction of the lake.

He called to me and I paused, looking back.

“Lucie, I was hoping to catch you,” he said. “I saw you walking this way. You love the grounds, don’t you?”

“They are very beautiful.”

There was a seat under one of the trees. He indicated it and we sat down. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

We sat side by side. I had moved away from him as unobtrusively as I could, because he had sat too near.

“What do you think of this Sir Robert?” he asked.

“I think he is a very pleasant young man.”

“Belinda seems to think so, too.”

“Belinda is ... impressionable.”

He laughed. “You are not, I am sure.”

“Not as Belinda possibly.”

“Do you think anything will come of it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think it would be rather a good idea. He seems eligible.”

“That’s the word I used to Belinda.”

“So you have been discussing it. She seems to like him, wouldn’t you say?”

“Whether she likes his eligibility or his personality I am not sure.”

“Don’t the two go hand in hand?”

“Not for some, I imagine. But I am inexperienced in these matters.”

“Lucie, you amuse me. And I think you are wiser than you make out to be.”

“I do not make out anything. I am just as I am.”

“And may I say I find that delightful.”

“It is good of you to say so.” I looked at the watch pinned on my blouse. “There is no great hurry,” he said. “We can talk awhile and still be in time for dejeuner.”

“You are concerned about Belinda?” I asked.

“No, not really. I think she can take care of herself. I just wanted to know what you think of this... shall we say whirlwind courtship.”

“You think it is a courtship?”

“Well, we have our English gentleman... and the English are said to be an honorable race.”

“Do you believe in generalizations?”

“No. But Sir Robert seems to fit the mold.”

“Yes. I am sure he is honorable.”

“Then I think we may have a match on our hands.” .

“And that pleases you?”

“It does not displease me.”

“Then I suppose you will give your consent?”

“I have a notion that Belinda is one to act as she wishes and would not be concerned with the consent of others.”

“You are her father. I am sure she would want your approval.”

“She would like it, but if she made up her mind and my wishes do not accord with her desires, she would dispense with such a formality. Don’t think I would blame her. I like her spirit. She has plenty of that. She is, after all, my daughter.”

“Then you must feel very happy about what is happening.”

“I am not unhappy.”

“It will save you a great deal of planning for her future, I daresay.”

“I suppose you are right. I have already discovered all I can about Sir Robert. There is my good friend the Comte. I could learn more if this becomes a serious matter. But what I know already is in his favor.”

“Well, this seems a wonderful piece of good fortune for Sir Robert... and for you.”

“It is stimulating talking to you, Lucie. You have such an air of reserve... almost a meekness. Yet you are in fact a spirited young lady and it excites me to talk to you. By the way, have you seen any more of those people?”

“People?”

“Those two you met on the boat and had coffee with a few days ago.”

“No.”

“Well, they were hospitable to you. Would you like me to ask them here?”

“That would be kind of you. I am sure they would enjoy that very much.”

“We’ll ask them to lunch. After all, you must return their hospitality, you know.”

I was pleased at the prospect of seeing the brother and sister again. It had been a very pleasant encounter. They had become so friendly in such a short time; and I liked to feel that I had friends close by.

“No more trouble with Diable?” he said.

“No. I have been very cautious and haven’t ventured too close.”

He gazed across the lake and just at that moment the two swans came into sight.

“They look so graceful,” I said, “so utterly beautiful.”

“You would not believe, would you, that there could be so much venom in such a magnificent creature,” he said. “Never forget that you must be watchful of him, for he can suddenly attack. He vented his spite on one of the maids a few years ago. She lost the sight in one of her eyes.”

“How dreadful! Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You were unprepared. But remember it for the future. Swans... like some people... are not all they seem.”

“Well, I hope there are not many around like Diable.”

He leaned toward me and took my hand. “Be on the watch, Lucie, for the Diables of this world,” he said.

I was puzzled and he continued to smile at me.

“I shall always be at hand,” he went on, “whenever you need me.” He had said that once before. I supposed I should be grateful to him. He had certainly saved me from the swan; he had made me welcome at his chateau; and now he was prepared to entertain two strangers, merely because they had shown me some hospitality. Yes, I should be grateful, but I could not throw off this feeling of revulsion. It was with great pleasure that I rode over to the Fitzgeralds. Sir Robert was now a frequent visitor at the chateau. He had postponed his return to England, and the reason was, of course, Belinda.

He told us he was known as Bobby which seemed to suit him. The more I saw of him, the more I liked him. There was a certain innocence about him-rare in a young man-and I subconsciously felt he would have no defense against Belinda’s wiles.

She would marry him, I was sure, for that was what she had made up her mind to do When I arrived at the, Fitzgeralds’ house, Phillida was out, but Roland was in and clearly delighted to see me.

“How very nice of you to call,” he said. “We were talking of you only this morning. Phillida was wondering whether we dared send a note to the chateau asking you to come over for lunch.”

“What a coincidence!” I cried. “For I have an invitation for you. Monsieur Bourdon wondered whether you would care to come over to the chateau for lunch.”

“That would be delightful. I feel sure Phillida would love it. As for myself, I should enjoy it very much.”

“Then that’s settled. Would tomorrow be all right?”

“We have no engagements here, so I can assure you that it will be very convenient for us. Do sit down. I’ll ask Angelique to make some coffee.” I sat down and we talked. He thought that his sister should stay a little longer, he said. “Phillida is getting restive though. She won’t admit that she is ill.”

“Well, she is not now, is she?”

“Oh no. She has recovered. But I think she needs to be in this climate a little longer.

She has this weakness, you know.”

“She seems so full of life.”

“I know. But I have to watch over her.”

“She is fortunate to have such a devoted brother.”

“I am the fortunate one.”

“Well, let us say you both are.”

The coffee arrived and while we were drinking it he said, “You haven’t told me much about yourself. Are you feeling better?”

I hesitated. Then I said, “What happened to me is not easily forgotten.”

“I understand, and you must forgive my speaking of it. Please do not talk of it if you would rather not. I think a great deal about all you went through. That... and the aftermath... must have been terrible for you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“The trial... and everything. The part you were called upon to play in it ... to come face-to-face with ...”

I nodded.

“I am upsetting you,” he went on. “I just wanted you to know I understand... and sympathize. But we should not be talking of it now. It does no good.”

“No, it does no good. Oh, listen, that must be Phillida.”

It was. She came in, flushed and laughing, and when she saw me her eyes lighted up with real pleasure.

“Oh, how wonderful to see you! We were talking of you.”

“Yes, I told her,” said Roland. “It was only this morning. What do you think? We are invited to luncheon... invited to the chateau!”

“Oh... really?”

“And I, your brother, have accepted on your behalf. Was that right?”

She laughed joyously. “Need you ask? I accept with alacrity.” I stayed with them for some time. We laughed a great deal, and my previous conversation with Roland was forgotten.

I could see that Roland was blaming himself for bringing up the subject, and I tried to convey to him that it was not important. It was never far from my mind, in any case.

I was thinking what pleasant people they were, and I was glad our friendship was growing.

It was a comfortable feeling, when I was at the chateau, to remember that I had friends close by.

Roland and Phillida Fitzgerald visited the chateau as arranged.

I met them in the gardens where I had gone to wait for them. A groom was ready to take their horses to the stables, and I took them into the hall and introduced them to Jean Pascal, Belinda and Sir Robert Denver, who was at the chateau every day. It was accepted now that he was Belinda’s suitor.

Jean Pascal was charming to the visitors and was clearly determined to make them feel welcome.

“Miss Lansdon was so delighted to meet with you again after your brief encounter on the Channel boat. It is fortunate for us all that you met there and then again ran into each other.”

“It was certainly very pleasant for us,” said Phillida. “And so kind of you to ask us to visit your wonderful chateau.”

“I have to confess,” Jean Pascal told her, “that I am rather proud of it, and you have given me the opportunity to show it off. Dejeuner will be served almost immediately.” It was a very pleasant meal. Both Fitzgeralds obviously enjoyed the conversation, as did Jean Pascal, so it ran smoothly.

Jean Pascal discreetly set about discovering as much as he could about them, never for one moment appearing to be curious. They told him what they had already told me... about the death of their parents and how Roland was carrying on with the London branch of their business, although he paid periodic visits to Yorkshire. “So it is wool with you and wine with me,” said Jean Pascal. “Two very useful commodities.

Neither of which I believe the world could be happy without.”

“We have been most impressed by the wine we have been having here,” Phillida told him.

“We of the Medoc believe it is the best in the world. You must forgive our pride.”

“It is natural to be proud when pride is merited,” said Roland gravely. He asked a great many questions about the wine-growing industry and Jean Pascal said that, if they cared, he would take them for a tour of the vineyard. Phillida expressed her delight at this and Roland accepted the invitation with more subdued but no less enthusiasm.

Then the talk was general, in the midst of which Sir Robert said that he had had news from home and would have to be returning before the end of the week.

Belinda looked shocked, so I knew she had not been prewarned; and I noticed that Robert avoided looking at her.

“I hate to go,” he said. “I’m having such a splendid time here. But, of course, I didn’t intend to stay so long in the first place.”

“Well,” said Jean Pascal. “It’s not so very far away, and the Channel is not always in one of its ugly moods.”

I began to wonder whether the courtship was not going as well as I had thought, and whether he was seeking an excuse to end it. Knowing Belinda, I realized that she was far from pleased.

There was a brief but awkward silence which Roland broke by commenting once more on the excellence of the wine; and Jean Pascal immediately told them its vintage and said that it had been brought up from the cellars because it was a special occasion when Lucie’s friends came to the chateau.

Roland was looking at me intently. He seemed to be faintly puzzled. I had a notion that he was wondering about the relationship between Jean Pascal and myself. When lunch was over, Jean Pascal suggested that we accompany our guests on the tour and we went among the vines and watched the men and women at work, pruning and examining the plants for signs of disease, tying the vines to stakes and repairing trellises. I had rarely seen Jean Pascal so enthusiastic about anything as he was on this subject. He was clearly very knowledgeable and took great pleasure in explaining to people who knew little about the matter. He talked at great length about the dreaded pests, fungicides and all the evils which could befall the grape. I could see the Fitzgeralds were enjoying the tour. Phillida could not restrain her excitement and kept asking questions.

“I know you must think me very stupid, Monsieur Bourdon,” she said. “I am such an ignoramus. Yet it is so interesting and I do want to know.” Jean Pascal was only too happy to instruct. In fact he seemed a different person.

It was the first time I had seen him really enthusiastic. That cynical languor dropped from him. I liked him better that afternoon than I ever had before; perhaps I was grateful to him for being so charming to the Fitzgeralds, whom I looked upon as my friends. Jean Pascal showed us the wine presses which they had used before the wooden cylinders were put in.

“These are quite effective,” he explained. “They press the grape in the best possible way and so ensure that all the juice can be made use of.” We saw men clearing the great vats and preparing them for the harvest. “They are made of stone, you see,” said Jean Pascal. “When they have been well scrubbed, they will be put in quick lime to saturate the acid still existing in the cask.”

“It’s quite fascinating,” said Roland.

“How can we thank you, Monsieur Bourdon,” added Phillida, “for giving us such an instructive and entertaining afternoon?”

“By coming again, Miss Fitzgerald,” said Jean Pascal gallantly. We walked back to the chateau past the lake. Diable, with Ange in attendance, looked at us suspiciously as we passed.

“What beautiful swans!” cried Phillida. “And black, too. I don’t think I have ever seen a black swan before. I have seen plenty of white ones. They look so serene.” Jean Pascal looked at me and smiled. “Lucie will tell you that you cannot always judge by appearances. The cob, the male, may be beautiful to all outward appearances, but he has an evil nature. He objects to anyone encroaching on his territory. He gave Lucie a fright not long ago.”

“Yes,” I explained, “I was standing admiring him when suddenly he decided to attack me.”

“Fortunately I was at hand,” went on Jean Pascal, “and I rushed to the rescue. I beat the old devil off with a stick. I had to.”

“So ... he would have attacked you!” cried Phillida. “I should have thought he would have known you.”

“Diable-that’s our name for him: apt, don’t you think?- Diable is no respecter of persons. I told Lucie it is a lesson for her. Don’t be beguiled by beauty for you never know what lurks beneath it.”

“I think you are a cynic, Monsieur Bourdon.”

“Shall we say a realist? But Lucie will be very careful in the future. Is that not so, Lucie?”

“Certainly where the swan is concerned.”

When the guests left we all went to the stables to see them off. It had certainly been a most enjoyable afternoon.

“Pleasant people,” was Jean Pascal’s comment.

Sir Robert was invited to stay to dinner that evening, which he did. Conversation was a little less fluid than usual. The prospect of his departure hung over us. Jean Pascal said how sorry we should be. We should miss him. He replied that he would miss us all ... very, very much. His eyes were on Belinda who was unusually quiet.

“Well,” said Jean Pascal lightly, “you’ll be coming over again sometime, I expect.”

“Oh yes... yes indeed.”

I was glad when the meal was over and I retired early. Poor Belinda! I thought, although I suspected that her feelings had not been very deeply involved. She had just liked the idea of marrying a presentable young man with an even more presentable background. I lay in my bed reading and was not surprised to hear a tap on my door.

I said, “Who’s there?”

“Belinda, of course,” she said.

I unlocked the door and she came in. “I expected you to come,” I said.

She sat on my bed and she looked radiant.

“I’m engaged,” she said. “Bobby has asked me to marry him.”

“Well! Congratulations! You managed it after all.”

“What do you mean? Managed it? You are jealous, Lucie Lansdon.”

“Not in the least. Only full of admiration.”

“I’m so happy. Bobby is such a darling. He wanted to ask me before... only he was afraid it was too soon. Then he got this message. He has to go home and he didn’t like to tell me ... because he was wondering whether to ask me to marry him and was afraid I’d say no.”

“What? With a title and a handsome face and some fortune, I imagine! The man must be mad.”

“Don’t tease. It’s too important.”

“All right. So he has asked you to marry him and you have said yes please. And now all we have to do is wait for wedding bells.”

“You’ve got a sharp tongue sometimes, Lucie. No one would guess it. You look so meek.”

“I understand you too well, Belinda.”

“Well, Bobby likes me.”

“Evidently. Now tell me in detail.”

“He was very quiet after letting out at lunchtime that he was going home. He was making up his mind whether he could ask me or whether he ought to go home and then come back to France and ask me then. You see, we have known each other such a short time really.”

“True love transcends time and space,” I said.

“Shut up. It was after dinner. You’d gone off and mon pere... he’s very tactful ... he guessed that Bobby and I would want to have a talk together, so he left us ... said he had some work to do or something and would join us later. It was then that Bobby blurted out that the moment he had seen me he had known. It was sudden like that.”

“And as you had already marked him as your victim, there was nothing to prevent the course of true love running smoothly.”

“We’re so happy, Lucie. And mon pere joined us and we told him. He’s pleased. He said, ‘It seems I have only just found Belinda to lose her to another.’ Wasn’t that sweet? But he was pleased. He wants my happiness-and I suppose it will save him an expensive season and all the fuss of finding a husband for me.”

“Satisfaction all round,” I commented.

“You like Bobby, don’t you, Lucie?”

“Yes, I do. I have one fear though.”

“What’s that?” ?

“That he is too good for you.”

She laughed at me and then went on to talk of her plans. “We shall be married with the minimum of delay. I expect it will be in London. Celeste can arrange it. It could hardly be here. So many people don’t know mon pere has a daughter, whereas Celeste is my aunt. Bobby is coming back as soon as he can and then we’ll make the arrangements. One thing we are both determined on. It is going to be soon.”

After she had gone I lay in bed, feeling, I must admit, a little bitter. Here was Belinda with life flowing so smoothly for her; and I had lost not only my beloved father, but the man I had believed I was going to marry.

Poor sad Lucie... and lucky Belinda.

It was ironical that the next morning the blow should fall. It came with a letter from Celeste.

“My dear Lucie,” she wrote,

Gerald Greenham has returned home. I am afraid the news is bad. There seems to be no doubt that Joel is dead. Gerald has found proof. Apparently Joel and James Hunter were set upon when they left the meeting and the hotel. They were robbed and must have put up a fight for they were killed by the robbers. They were traced by a ring James Hunter was wearing at the time. It is rather an unusual one and the authorities have a description of it. Apparently it is a family heirloom-plain gold with an inscription inside. In the family it was considered a sort of talisman. James was pressed to take it by his mother before he went on the mission. I am afraid, dear Lucie, there cannot be any doubt.

Gerald is home. The family is very sad. Don’t write to them. It will only distress them more. They have asked me to tell you what has happened. It is very sad. The robbers have been caught and were sentenced to death. They confessed ... so you see it is true.

I don’t know how you feel. Perhaps it would be better for you to stay in France for a while. It might be easier for you there. There would be so much to remind you here.

It is for you to decide. Rest assured I want you to do everything that is easier for you. You are young and will grow away from the tragedy ... in time. God bless you.

With my love and thoughts,

Celeste

I did not want to speak to anyone. I took an opportunity of escaping. I went out and sat some little distance from the lake, watching the swans as they sailed majestically across the lake. I fancied Diable was keeping a watchful eye on me. They looked beautiful, so graceful, so much a part of the idyllic scene. Who would believe that the beautiful creature could suddenly be a symbol of hatred? Yet it was so.

But then who would have believed that a comparatively short time ago my life was happy and contented and I saw before me a continuation of that contentment, and that it had changed drastically.

I sat for a long time looking over the lake.

I did not mention Celeste’s letter. I could not bring myself to talk of Joel. Belinda continued in her euphoric state and naturally did not notice my sadness. I would sit listening to her talking incessantly about plans for the wedding, of the ancestral home which she had yet to see, of the honeymoon which would be of her choosing. Venice, she thought. A romantic city. Or perhaps Florence. Italy certainly. “Mon pere is very helpful,” she told me. “He has made discreet inquiries about Bobby’s standing and background... financial status and all that, and apparently everything is impeccable and suitable, even to his French mind.”

“How conveniently wonderful,” I murmured, but I was thinking all the time of Joel... leaving the others... and going off with James Hunter ... to death.

I must admit to a certain bitterness. I felt life was so cruel to me while it was benign to Belinda, and I could not help that twinge of resentment toward a fate which could be so unkind to me and benevolent to her.

I took to sitting by the lake. I found a certain satisfaction in watching the swans.

On one or two occasions I ventured near to the edge of the lake into Diable’s territory.

It was only when he came swimming toward me that I retreated. I was fascinated by the swans. Oddly enough, in these sad days they helped to cheer me in some way. They seemed to tell me that I must be prepared for life which was not always what it appeared to be, that it was no rare thing in the midst of happiness to find the canker which would erupt into fearful disaster. I thought often of that maid who came out, in all innocence, to admire the beautiful swans and had ventured too close to the water’s edge... consequently she had been viciously attacked and had lost an eye.

I had come near to disaster, too... saved by Jean Pascal.

I was sitting there, watching the swans, when Jean Pascal himself came along. “Oh, there you are, Lucie,” he said. “This lake fascinates you, doesn’t it? I really believe you have quite a fondness for old Diable.”

“He interests me. He’s so beautiful. He looks so calm and harmless... right out there in the middle of the lake.”

“Yes, I know, Lucie. You seem a little preoccupied lately.”

“I? I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for. I was just wondering whether there was any trouble.

If there was something I could do to help?”

“You have been most kind.”

“It has been a great pleasure for me to have you here.”

“It must have been a great joy to you to have your daughter with you.”

“I was thinking of you, too.”

“You have been very kind to me, but it has occurred to me that I must not abuse your hospitality. I think it is time I returned home.”

“You can’t go, Lucie! What of Belinda?”

“It would not be necessary for Belinda to come with me.”

“She would be terribly upset if you went. So would I. Robert is coming back as soon as he has settled his business. Then they will announce their engagement. I wanted to talk to you about the arrangements and so on.”

“Belinda will talk to you about them. I really think ...”

“Lucie, there is something I have wanted to say to you for some time. I have grown very fond of you. I know I am a few years older than you, but I am young in heart. Lucie ... I want to marry you.”

“Marry me!”

“You sound surprised. We have always got along well together, haven’t we?”

“Of course ... but ...”

“Well, why not? You have been happy here in the chateau, have you not?” I did not answer. I could not truthfully say I had. I had always felt that sense of foreboding. Was it because I had subconsciously felt he was too interested in me for my comfort? Was it because I had come here mourning my father’s death and uncertain of the part I had played in convicting the man suspected of murdering him; and that the man I was going to marry was missing? I had come here with all these burdens on me. No, certainly I had not been happy here. “Oh, Lucie,” he said, “I have failed then.”

“You have been a kind host and it was good of you to invite me with Belinda. But I could not be happy. My father ...”

“Of course. Of course, I understand. I have been tactless and foolish.” He took my hand. “Lucie, I love you. I know I could make you happy. I can give you a full and happy life. We will have a happy family. I promise you your welfare shall be the main concern of my life.”

I felt a desire to run away ... up those marble steps into the chateau, to my room, to pack my bag and get right away.

The idea of marrying him filled me with dismay.

“I am sorry,” I said. “But I could not think of marrying.”

“Perhaps I have spoken too soon.”

“No. It is not that. I do not want to marry. I appreciate your kindness, but I could not marry you.”

“Give it a little thought.”

“That is not necessary. No amount of thought would make me change my mind.”

His face darkened. I felt a twinge of that foreboding which came to me now and then.

I was sure that his anger would be something to fear.

He sat back in the seat, glaring out at the lake.

Diable began to swim toward the shore. It occurred to me that the swan sensed Jean Pascal’s anger and believed it was directed at him.

I said, “Look! The swan is coming.”

I stood up and was preparing to move away, for I knew that as soon as we showed that we were not approaching, the swan would turn back to the middle of the lake. Jean Pascal had risen also; but he showed no sign of retreating. He was looking about him for a weapon. With a quick movement he broke a branch from one of the trees and strode toward the water’s edge. The swan flew toward us suddenly and attempted to attack Jean Pascal, who beat at it viciously.

For a few seconds it was not clear who would win, but Jean Pascal was in command. The swan realized this perhaps, for suddenly he flew back and settled on the lake where his mate was patiently waiting for him.

I felt frightened. The attack had been deliberately provoked and I fancied there was some meaning in it. Jean Pascal was angry... furiously angry... and with me, of course, for refusing his proposal. He had had to vent his anger on someone and he had done it on the swan.

I was shaking with fear. There was something maniacal about the manner in which he had attacked the beautiful creature. Was he imagining that he was beating me?

I started to walk back to the chateau. He was beside me very soon, smiling, suave as ever.

“It is time someone taught Diable a lesson,” he said.

I did not answer and he went on, “Lucie, I don’t take no for an answer. Think about it, will you? Just give me that promise. Give it thought. Just consider what it would mean to you. We could be happy, Lucie, I know it. Promise me you will think about it.”

I was a coward, I knew. But I was in his house. I was his guest and I was terribly shaken by what I had seen. I could not tell him of the revulsion I felt, so I nodded my assent.

I wanted to get away and I was unsure how to act. I had traveled with Belinda. Could I undertake the journey back alone? Could I try to explain to Belinda? She would never understand.

I rehearsed what I might say. Something like: “Your father has asked me to marry him. I can’t, so I cannot stay in his chateau.” No. That would not do. Belinda would never understand. She would think I was a fool to refuse her father. I could imagine her comment. “It would be wonderful for you. My father is rich and important. As for you, Lucie, you’re hardly Helen of Troy or Cleopatra. You ought to marry an older man. You’re a bit of an old sober-sided yourself. Young men don’t like that. I reckon it’s the best thing that could happen to you.”

How could I explain to her: he frightens me. My flesh creeps when he comes near me.

I had no idea that he had marriage in mind. I must go quickly. The best thing to do was to get away by myself to think. If I walked in the grounds there was a good chance that I would come face-to-face with Jean Pascal. I went down to the stables and managed to ride off ... unseen.

I found myself riding toward the Fitzgeralds’ house. I could not confide in them, of course, but I did feel the need for company. I experienced a great sense of relief when I met them. They were on horseback and obviously on their way somewhere.

They hailed me with pleasure.

“Were you coming to visit us?” asked Phillida.

“Well... not exactly. I thought it would be nice if I saw you ...”

“It certainly is. Unfortunately we are just going visiting. What a pity!”

“Come tomorrow afternoon,” said Roland. “We shall be at home then.”

“I should love that. What time?”

“Two... no, two thirty?”

“Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

They waved and rode off. I was rather relieved in a way. I wanted to think of the position. I did not want to do anything rash. I could perhaps ask their advice about returning home. Jean Pascal had looked after us on the journey out. I must remember that I should have to get myself across the country and my knowledge of the language was far from perfect. I was not sure of trains and so on. I would need help. I was not sure that I could ask Jean Pascal. I had a feeling that he might try to hinder me.

I wondered whether I could put the matter of my departure to the Fitzgeralds. I needed time to think ... to ponder, so it was just as well that our meeting had been postponed until the next day.

I got through that day somehow. I was on tenterhooks wondering whether I should be able to escape without Belinda and Jean Pascal knowing what was going on. The next day, immediately after luncheon, I was on my way to the Fitzgeralds. I was surprised on my arrival to find that they had a visitor. It was a young woman who was vaguely familiar to me; and as soon as I heard her name, I remembered. “This is Madame Carleon,” said Roland. “She is a neighbor of ours.”

“I picked her up,” explained Phillida, “which was really very clever of me.”

“Phillida is very good at that, as you know yourself,” added Roland. I knew now where I had seen her before. She was the young woman who had come into the hall of the chateau and displeased Jean Pascal by her presence. “This is Miss Lucie Lansdon,” went on Roland.

“I am very pleased that we meet,” said Madame Carleon in very accented English.

“I, too,” I replied.

“We met before at the Chateau Bourdon,” she went on.

“Very briefly,” I said.

“This will not be so brief,” said Roland. “Do sit down. Madame Carleon has told us so much about the countryside. We have been so fortunate in the friends we have made here.”

Madame Carleon was very attractive. She had abundant blond hair which was beautifully dressed and she wore a riding habit of light navy which accentuated her fairness; her eyes were deep blue and she had a short nose and a rather long upper lip; this gave her a kittenish look, which was appealing. She was animated in conversation, now and then breaking into French, but making a great effort to speak our language. She asked me how I liked the chateau.

“It’s a wonderful place,” she said. “I know it well. And you are a friend of Mademoiselle Bourdon... the new daughter, I believe.”

“Yes. We were brought up together... until we were about ten years old. Then Belinda went to Australia and she has been back only a short time.”

“Very interessante. And she is a very attractive girl, this Miss Belinda.”

“Oh yes. She has become engaged ...”

“Here?”

“Well. He was not exactly a friend of Monsieur Bourdon. He is English and was visiting friends here. They brought him along to dine... and it was love at first sight.”

“But that is charming,” said Madame Carleon.

“And there is family approval on both sides?” asked Roland.

“Well, certainly on this side. I think Sir Robert does not have much family.”

“How very exciting,” put in Phillida.

And we went on to talk about the various places of interest in the neighborhood. Madame Carleon lived in Bordeaux and had already taught the Fitzgeralds a great deal about the town.

“I was always interested in Bordeaux,” said Roland, “because it belonged to England once. It came to us with the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine to Henry II, and Richard II was born there.”

“So we became enormously interested in the history of the place,” went on Phillida. “We really have had a wonderful time in France. Roland and I were wondering whether we would go along the old pilgrims’ way to St. Jacques de la Compostela.”

“A very daunting journey, I’m afraid,” said Roland. “It takes you right through the Medoc to the Dordogne valley.”

Madame Carleon lifted her shoulders and spread out her hands. “Oh, but you are the adventurous ones.”

“Perhaps we’ll do it one day,” said Roland.

And so we talked until tea was served.

“Angelique does not approve,” said Phillida. “But she humors our English custom of afternoon tea.”

“I think it is a very charming custom,” said Madame Carleon. I found it interesting but I had wanted to talk to the Fitzgeralds about the journey home, and I felt I could not speak of this in the presence of Madame Carleon. I thought, I will come here tomorrow perhaps for I must get away soon. When we were leaving, Madame Carleon said, “I will go part of the way with you. There is someone I have to see before going home and it is on my way.” We left together and before we had gone very far it occurred to me that our meeting had been contrived for almost immediately she began to talk of Jean Pascal. She said, “I hope you are comfortable at the chateau.”

“But... yes.”

“I hope you will not be angry with me ... for what I say.”

“Angry? Why should I be?”

“It could seem perhaps... how do you say in English? ... a little impertinent.

Is that the right word?”

“I can’t tell you that until I hear what it is you are going to say.”

“I must tell you that I know Jean Pascal very well indeed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes ... as well as two people can know each other. You understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“He is a man not to trust... particulierement a young girl.”

“I understand what you mean.”

“He can be ... dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“I feel I must tell you... must warn.... Is that what I mean?”

“I believe it is.”

“There have been so many. This girl, your Belinda, she is not the only child ... there are many of them in the country here. He thinks because he owns the chateau he has the right....”

“Le droit de seigneur, you mean?”

“Exactement.”

“I understand fully what you are trying to tell me. I have guessed something of this.”

“He and I ... we were lovers ... for a long time. My husband ... oh, I am a wicked woman ... I deceive him. I did not mean to. I love him ... in a way... but I was fascinated... you understand?”

“Yes.”

“My husband ... he find us. It break his heart. He die soon. He was very sick. I think we kill him. And Jean Pascal ... he does not care. He snap his fingers. He has promised marriage... but no. Not now. He is tired of me. He look round for new people.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“To warn.”

“I don’t need warning.”

“You are so young... and believe me, Mademoiselle Lansdon... youth is very attractive to one so ... jaded? ... is it?”

“Yes,” I assured her. “Jaded. I know all this and I am not in the least tempted.”

“Then I am happy for you. I need not have spoke.”

“I appreciate it very much. It was kind of you... but, because of my feelings, quite unnecessary.”

“Then I am glad. He would be no good. He makes no woman happy. Oh, he is very charming ... in the beginning... but after ...”

“It was good of you to want to warn me.”

“I see you so young ... so fresh ... so innocent.”

“I am all these, but I do know something of the world and I am not in the least likely to become one of his victims.”

“And you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. I thank you for your kindness. You were not to know it was not necessary.”

“I am hurt, you see.”

I did understand the feeling of a discarded mistress. An unpleasant thought occurred to me. Had he dispensed with her because of his designs on me? I must get away. I could not stay longer in the chateau.

Madame Carleon said, “I will turn off here. I am content. I have spoken. My conscience is happy now. I say good-bye. Perhaps we meet again, eh?” I said I hoped we would and rode back to the chateau.

Belinda wanted to know where I had been.

“I looked everywhere. I wanted to talk to you. I’ve written to Celeste. Mon pere thinks it would be best for us to have the wedding there.”

“Good Heavens! You’re just engaged and that was all fixed in a hurry because poor Bobby had to go back. He’s the one you’ll have to consult about the wedding.”

“Oh, he’ll want to have it just as I want it.”

“I think his opinion might be asked.”

“Well, it will be ... but after we’ve made the plans.”

“Just the same old Belinda,” I said. “Everything must fit in with you.”

“Of course,” she replied.

Jean Pascal expressed displeasure, too.

“What happened to you this afternoon, Lucie?” he asked.

“I rode out and met the Fitzgeralds.”

“That seems to be becoming a habit.”

“It is pleasant to meet one’s compatriots abroad.”

“I suppose so. But I missed you.”

I could not bear that look in his eyes. I thought about Madame Carleon. What would he say if he knew I had spent the afternoon with her? Moreover what would he say if he knew that she had told me of him? It was nothing I did not already guess, of course, but it was confirmation.

I must get away.

I wondered whether to consult Belinda. No, that would be useless. In any case she was too immersed in her own affairs. She did not want to leave yet. She must wait for Bobby’s return and the plans they would make. How long, I wondered, could I endure to stay in the chateau?

Then I thought of Rebecca. I had turned to her all my life when I was in difficulties.

I should have done so before.

I would write to her. I would explain that I had to get away quickly. I knew what Rebecca would do. She would come to France-Pedrek with her-and they would take me back to safety and Cornwall. On the other hand, could I travel alone? I decided to try Rebecca first. That night I wrote to her.

Dear Rebecca,

I have to get away from here. Belinda has become engaged and will not leave just yet. I could, I suppose, travel on my own, but I feel very uncertain. I should have to get the train to Paris and then from Paris to Calais and so on. Once I was on the Channel ferry I should be all right. It is the uncertainty of the language which daunts me.

Dear Rebecca, I need to come home at once. Do help me. If you could come out ... or Pedrek... perhaps both of you ... I know I am asking a lot, but I have always known that you were there to help me, and I feel very shaken in view of everything that has happened. I have just heard the terrible news that Joel was killed. It seems too much. I feel weak and foolish, but I know you will understand. I so much want to come home ... to be with you.

Love from your sister,

Lucie

I felt better when I had written that letter. I thought of all Rebecca had been to me through my life and I knew she would not fail me now. It was a great comfort to have taken some action. I would post the letter tomorrow.

How long would it take to reach her, I wondered? But at least I had taken some action. I got into bed. I could not sleep; and suddenly I was alert, for I heard a faint noise outside my room. I sat up, startled. Someone was on the other side of the door. Silently I leaped out of bed. I went to the door. Slowly the handle turned. I stood leaning against the door. I could hear the sound of breathing on the other side. I knew who was there and I was trembling with fear. Belinda would have spoken sharply, demanding to be let in. Moreover it was late.

She would have come earlier.

I knew who was there. It was Jean Pascal, and he was trying to surprise me in my sleep.

I waited. I heard the frustrated sigh... and then the sound of retreating footsteps.

He had gone.

I leaned against the door, still shaking. I thought of him, angry and frustrated, beating the swan.

Had I not locked the door he would have been in the room. The thought of that filled me with horror.

I must get away. I could not stay here another night.

Tomorrow I must take action.

I had a sleepless night, but I grew calmer in the morning. If necessary I must make my way home. I could find out about trains. Anything was better than spending another night in this chateau. I had been lucky. He had not knocked and asked to come in. He had known what my response would have been. He had planned to come into my bedroom, catch me asleep, surprise me... and then what?

I was limp with horror at the images which my tortured mind conjured up.

I rose and unlocked the door, and in due course Therese came in with my petit dejeuner. I forced myself to eat it. I washed and dressed and put on my riding habit for an idea had come to me.

I was going to leave, and I could find out about the journey from the Fitzgeralds.

They traveled a great deal and would be the ones to advise me. I made my way down to the stables. The household was not yet awake. I saddled a horse and rode over to them.

They were just finishing breakfast when I arrived.

“Lucie!” cried Phillida. “This is a surprise!”

Roland stood up to greet me.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you ...”I began.

“Nonsense. We’re delighted to see you at any time.”

“Perhaps I am making too much of this ...” I stammered. “But ... er ... I want to get away from the chateau. I have to go at once.”

“What’s happened?” asked Phillida.

Roland held up a hand to silence her. “You will take the train to Paris,” he said.

“It’s a long journey. Then you will have to change trains... from Paris to Calais.

There you get to the docks for the Channel ferry. Did you say you wanted to go today?

I don’t think that would be possible. The train leaves for Paris at ten o’clock.

No... you couldn’t possibly do that.”

“I’ll go tomorrow then. I’ll have to have one night more ...”

“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” said Phillida.

“Let us get you some coffee,” said Roland, “and then you can tell us what you want to.”

“I don’t want any coffee, thanks.”

I looked at them steadily. They were good friends, I was sure. I decided to trust them.

I said, “Jean Pascal Bourdon has asked me to marry him.” Phillida could not hide her dismay and I guessed that Madame Carleon had been talking to them about Jean Pascal.

“You have not accepted him!” she cried in dismay.”

“No. I could never do that.”

I noticed they exchanged a glance and I fancied it was one of relief. I warmed toward them. They were my good friend seven though I had known them such a short time I could confide in them.

“In fact,” I went on, “he alarms me. I know the sort of man he is. I have known for a long time. He ruined Leah’s life so that she was persuaded to take part in something which was really wicked. She was Belinda’s mother. She was a good woman and would never have acted as she did if she had not been desperate... made so by him. But... this doesn’t concern us now. Leah is dead and things have worked out well for Belinda.”

I realized I was talking thus because I found it difficult to speak of Jean Pascal.

They seemed to understand.

“Well, you have refused him,” said Roland, “and I think you were very wise to do that. And now you feel that you do not want to stay under the same roof with him. That is clear enough.”

“Yes... but last night ... I locked my door, you see. I always have... right from the first. It seemed like some premonition. I had to do it. But ... he tried to get into my room last night and then I made up my mind that I had to get away. I have written to my sister... my best friend in the world now... and I have asked her to come here ... so that I could go back with her. But after last night I felt I couldn’t stay... and I haven’t even posted the letter yet.”

“So you are leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll manage somehow. I want you to tell me exactly how to do it. My French is not very adequate and... being on my own ...”

They exchanged glances.

“It’s just a suggestion,” said Roland.

“Go on, Roly!” cried Phillida. “I know what you’re going to say. And I don’t see why not. We were going anyway... next week.”

Roland said, “If we left tomorrow, you could travel with us.”

I could not restrain my joy and relief. I wanted to hug them both.

“You... you really would do that?” I murmured. “But... you were not going tomorrow.”

“Why should we not?”

“Oh, it’s so wonderfully good of you.”

“No it’s not,” said Phillida. “We’d enjoy the company. It will be great fun, won’t it, Roland? I’m ready to go home anyway.”

“There’ll have to be one more night in the chateau, I’m afraid,” said Roland.

“I’ll manage that. I’ll keep my door locked, and I shall tell them I am leaving tomorrow.

I’m sure there won’t be any trouble.”

“You could stay here perhaps,” suggested Phillida. “Or perhaps in Bordeaux?”

“I couldn’t very well do that. After all, I did not actually see him last night. It might have been just a fancy of mine. No, I shall feel quite safe ... if I can leave tomorrow.”

“Well, then, that’s settled,” said Roland. “Now let us plan as to how we will set about it.”

I could not believe it. I was sitting in the train which was carrying me to Paris.

Phillida sat beside me, Roland opposite. Phillida was clearly excited by what she called “our adventure,” while Roland smiled benignly at her, including me in the smile. I felt so fond of them. They had come to my aid when I most needed friends; and now I was on my way home; and I had no anxiety about the journey. Everything was taken care of. Yesterday had been difficult, and I had left the chateau under a cloud. I could not help feeling that I had behaved rather ungraciously in making such a hasty departure.

When I had ridden back after having made all the arrangements with the Fitzgeralds I found consternation in the chateau.

I had been missed. One of the servants had seen me on my way to the stables. I had left early in the morning without telling anyone where I was going. At the least it was most inconsiderate.

I could not explain to Jean Pascal that it was because he had attempted to get into my room the previous night.

Belinda cried, “What on earth made you go off like that?”

I replied, “I have to tell you that I shall be leaving tomorrow.”

Both she and Jean Pascal stared at me in amazement.

“Tomorrow?” echoed Jean Pascal.

“Why?” demanded Belinda.

“I think it is time I left, and as I did not care to travel back alone, I have arranged to go tomorrow with the Fitzgeralds who will be leaving then.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jean Pascal coldly.

“I have been thinking for some time that I should not continue to encroach on your hospitality indefinitely, and... when the opportunity came, I took it. So we have made arrangements to leave tomorrow on the ten o’clock train from Bordeaux.”

“But ... it is so sudden,” said Jean Pascal; but I could see by the expression in his eyes that he knew it was because he had attempted to come to my room the previous night. I could also see the smoldering anger in his eyes, and I thought again of how he had attacked the swan. I believed then that he would have liked to take a stick to me.

How glad I was... how grateful to my good friends, the Fitzgeralds. “I think it is very ill-mannered of you to make all these arrangements without telling,” said Belinda.

“I have only just discovered that the Fitzgeralds were going and I thought it would be a good idea to go with them.”

“We oughtn’t to allow it,” said Belinda, looking at her father.

“I’m afraid you can’t stop me,” I said sharply. I turned to Jean Pascal. “I hope you don’t think it ungracious of me. In view of the circumstances...”

He knew full well what I meant and was fast getting the better of his anger. He said coolly, “You must do what you want, of course. If you had told me, I would have made the arrangements for you. I would have escorted you back myself.”

“Oh, I could not have allowed that. You and Belinda want to “be here. You will have so much to do ... when Robert returns. But thank you all the same. Now I will go to my room and pack.”

“How will you get to Bordeaux tomorrow?”

“We have arranged for a carriage to pick me up and then the Fitzgeralds. It will then take us to Bordeaux.”

“You seem to have become very friendly with them. Do you think it wise to put so much trust in them? You don’t really know them very well, do you?”

“I feel they are good friends and in any case what harm could befall me? I am only traveling back with them. And now I really must begin to pack. There is so much to do.”

Belinda kept away from me during the day; she was very upset with me. Jean Pascal also left me to my own devices, which pleased me very much. I retired early, locked my door and was ready to leave early next morning.

I felt I was coming very well out of a delicate situation.

I had had a rather restless night which was to be expected. When I did doze I had a nightmare in which Jean Pascal suddenly broke into my room and I awoke in the dream suddenly to find him at my bedside. Suddenly he turned into a black swan. It was a great relief to wake up and know that it was only a dream. And after that I scarcely slept at all.

How relieved I was when morning came!

Therese knocked at my door an hour earlier than usual. She had coffee and a brioche for me.

“You’ll need something inside you, mademoiselle,” she said. “You’ve got a long day ahead.”

She was smiling sympathetically. I wondered if she knew the real reason for my departure. It would not surprise me if she did. She probably knew a good deal about the habits of the master of the chateau. I thanked her warmly. When I went down to the hall, Jean Pascal was there.

He said, “I’ll send someone to bring down your bags.”

He took my hands and looked earnestly into my face. “I’m sorry you are leaving us like this, Lucie,” he said.

“I’m afraid ... I felt I had to.”

“My dear child, I understand. I hope you will try to understand me. I love you very dearly. I have been overhasty. I do realize that now. Please remember that I shall always be there to help you if you need me. You understand that, don’t you, Lucie?”

“It is good of you ...”I began.

He shook his head. “I would care for you... always. One day I am going to make you change your mind.”

“Thank you for your hospitality. I am sorry if I seemed churlish.”

“No, my dear, the fault was mine. I understand. I am considerably chastened. Give yourself time. My poor Lucie, you have so much to contend with and I was impatient. It was because I cared so much. But ... we will leave it ... for a time. And then I shall come back and try to win what is so important to me.” I had a great desire to get away. The carriage was at the door. He kissed my hand as they put the luggage into the carriage.

Belinda did not come to say good-bye. That was typical of her. She was very annoyed with me and was not going to hide it.

The carriage moved slowly away. Jean Pascal stood there, looking so sad that I could not help feeling a little contrite.

When the Fitzgeralds joined me and we rattled along to Bordeaux, I began to feel better.

And there we were in the train speeding along to Paris.

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