The King of the Castle

Three

I spent the next morning in the gallery. I was half-expecting a visit from the Comte after the interest he had shown the night before, but he did not come.

I had lunch in my room as usual, and when I had finished there was a knock on my door and Genevieve came in. Her hair was neatly tied behind her back and she looked subdued as she had last night at dinner. It occurred to me that her father’s being in the house had a marked effect upon her.

First we mounted the staircase in the polygon al tower and reached the summit of the building. In the tower she pointed out to me the surrounding countryside speaking in slow, rather painful English, as the Comte had suggested. I believed that although at times she hated and feared him, she had a desire to win his respect.

“Mademoiselle, can you see a tower right away to the south? That is where my grandfather lives.”

“It is not very far.”

“It is nearly twelve kilometres. You can see it today only because the air is so clear.”

“Do you visit him often?”

She was silent, looking at me suspiciously. I said: “It is not so very far.”

“I go sometimes,” she said.

“Papa does not go. Please do not tell him.”

“He would not wish you to go?”

“He has not said so.” Her voice was faintly bitter.

“He doesn’t say much to me, you know. Please promise not to tell him.”

“Why should I tell him?”

“Because he talks to you.”

“My dear Genevieve, I have met him only twice. Naturally he talks about his paintings to me. He is concerned for them. He is not likely to speak to me of other things.”

“He doesn’t usually talk to people … who come to work here.”

“They probably don’t come to restore his paintings.”

“I think he was interested in you, mademoiselle.”

“He was concerned as to what I should do to his works of art. Now, look at this vaulted ceiling. Notice the shape of the arched door.

That enables you to place it within a hundred years or so. ” Actually I wanted to talk about her father, to ask how he usually behaved to people in the house; I wanted to know why he would not wish her to visit her grandfather.

“You speak too fast, mademoiselle, I cannot follow.”

We descended the staircase, and when we had reached the bottom she said in French: “Now you have been to the top you must see the lower part. Did you know that we had dungeons in the chateau, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, your father sent me a book which had been written for an ancestor of yours. It gave a very good idea of what the chateau contained.”

“We used to keep prisoners here, mademoiselle. If anyone offended a Comte de la Talle he was put into the dungeons. My mother told me. She took me there once and showed me. She said that you didn’t have to be in a dungeon, though, to be imprisoned. She said stone walls and chains were one way of keeping prisoners; there were others.”

I looked at her sharply, but her eyes were wide and innocent and the demure look was still on her face.

“In the royal chateau there were dungeons … oubliettes they called them because people were sent into them and forgotten. They are the

prisons of the forgotten. Did you know, mademoiselle, that the only way into these prisons was through trap doors which could not easily be seen from above?”

“Yes. I have read of these places. The victim was made to stand unsuspectingly on the trap door, which was opened by pressing a lever in another part of the room; suddenly the floor opened beneath him and he would fall down. “

“Down into the oubliette. It was a long drop. I’ve seen it. Perhaps his leg would be broken and there would be no one to help him; he would lie there forgotten with the bones of others who had gone before him. Mademoiselle, are you afraid of ghosts?”

“Of course not.”

“Most of the servants are. They won’t go into the room above the oubliette … at least they won’t go alone. They say at night there are noises in the oubliette… queer groaning noises. Are you sure you want to see it?”

“My dear Genevieve, I have stayed in some of the most haunted houses in England.”

Then you are safe. Papa said, didn’t he, that French ghosts would be more polite than English ones and only come when expected. If you aren’t frightened and don’t believe in them you wouldn’t be expecting them, would you? That was what he meant. “

How she remembered his words! I thought then: The child needs more than discipline. She needs affection. It was three years since her mother had died. How she must have missed it since then with such a father!

“Mademoiselle, you are sure you are not afraid of the oubliette?”

“Quite sure.”

“It is not as it was,” she said almost regretfully.

“They cleared out a lot of bones and horrid things a long time ago when there was a search for the emeralds. It was my grandfather who did that, and of course the first place you would look for them would be in the oubliette, wouldn’t it? They didn’t find them though, so they weren’t there. They say they were taken away but I think they’re here. I wish Papa would have a treasure hunt again. Wouldn’t that be fun? “

“I expect thorough searches have been made. From what I have read it seems certain that they were stolen by the revolutionaries who broke into the chateau.”

“But they didn’t break into the strongroom, did they? And yet the emeralds were gone.”

“Perhaps the emeralds were sold before the Revolution. Perhaps they hadn’t been in the chateau for years. I’m merely guessing. But suppose one of your ancestors needed money and sold them. He or she might not have told anyone of this. Who can say?”

She looked at me with surprise. Then she said triumphantly “Have you told my father that?”

“I’m sure the idea has occurred to him. It’s one obvious solution.”

“But the woman in the picture you are working on is wearing them. They must have been in the family then.”

“They could have been imitation.” ^ “Mademoiselle, no de la Talle would wear imitation jewels.”

I smiled and then gave a little exclamation of pleasure for we had come to a narrow and uneven staircase.

“This leads underground, mademoiselle. There are eighty steps. I’ve counted them. Can you manage? Hold the rope banister.”

I did so and followed her down; the staircase became spiral and narrow so there was only room for us to go in single file.

“Can’t you feel the cold, mademoiselle?” There was a note of excitement in her voice.

“Oh, imagine being brought down here knowing that you might never come up again. We are now down below the level of the moat.

This is where we used to keep people who had offended us. “

Having passed down the eighty steps we were confronted by a heavy oak door studded with iron; words had been carved on it and they stood out clearly and ironically.

“Entrez, Messieurs, Mesdames, chez votre maitre Ie Comte de la Talle.”

“You are thinking it a pleasant welcome, mademoiselle?” She was smiling at me slyly and it was as though another girl peeped out from behind that demure expression.

“I shuddered.

She came close to me and whispered: “But it is all over now, mademoiselle. This is no longer chez nous. We never entertain here now. Come along in. Look at these holes in the walls. They are called cages. Look at the chains. We used to chain them here and give them bread and water now and then. They never lived long, though. You see, it is dark even now, but with the door shut there is no light at all… no light… no air. Next time we come we must bring candles … or a lantern would be better. The air is so close. If I had brought a light I could have shown you the writing on the walls. Some of them scratched prayers to the saints and the Holy Mother. Some of them scratched what revenge they would take on the de la Talles.”

“It’s unhealthy down here,” I said, looking at the fungoid growth on the slimy walls.

“And as you say, we can see little without a light.”

“The oubliette is on the other side of the wall. Come on. I will show you. The oubliette is even more haunted than this place, mademoiselle, because there were the truly forgotten ones.”

She smiled secretly and led the way up the stairs. Throwing open a door she announced: “This is now the gun-gallery.”

I stepped inside and saw the guns of all shapes and sizes ranged about the walls. The ceiling was vaulted and supported by stone pillars; the floor appeared to be of flagged stone and was covered in places by rugs. There were the same stone window seats which were in my bedroom and the alcoves narrowing to a slit letting in a little light. I had to admit to myself, although I would not to Genevieve, that there was something chillingly forbid ding about this chamber. It had not been altered for hundreds of years and I could imagine the unsuspecting victim coming into the room. There was one chair, so ornately carved that it was almost like a throne. I wondered that such a piece of furniture was left in a room like this. It was a large wooden chair, and the carving on the back was of the fleursdelis and arms of the de la Talle family. I pictured the man who would sit there and naturally I pictured the present Comte talking to his victim, and then suddenly the pressing of a lever which would release the spring of the trap door; the agonizing scream, or the moment of silent terror as the victim realized what was happening to him as the floor opened and he fell down to join those who had gone before him, never again to see the light of day, to join the forgotten.

“Help me with the chair, mademoiselle,” said Genevieve.

“The spring is under it.”

Together we pushed aside the throne-like chair and Genevieve rolled up the rug.

“There,” she went on.

“I press here … and look … see it’s happening.”

There was a groaning, squeaking sound and it was as though a large square hole had appeared in the floor.

“In the old days it happened quickly and noiselessly. Look down there, mademoiselle. You can’t see much, can you? But there is a rope ladder.

It’s kept in the cupboard here. Twice a year some of the menservants go down there, to clean it I suppose. Of course it’s all right now. No bones, mademoiselle, no mouldering bodies. There are only ghosts and you don’t believe in them. “

She had brought out the rope ladder, hung it on two hooks, which had evidently been fixed for it beneath the floorboards, and let it fall.

“There, mademoiselle, are you coming down with me?” She started to descend, laughing up at me.

“I know you’re not afraid.”

She reached the floor and I followed her.

We were in a small chamber; a little light penetrated from the open trap door and there was just enough to show me the piteous engravings on the walls.

“Look at those openings in the walls. They were for a purpose. The prisoners thought there was a way out through them. There’s a sort of maze in which you can lose yourself; you see they would think that if they could find the way through these passages they would be free. They only lead back to the oubliette. It’s called exquisite torture. ”

“That’s interesting,” I said.

“I have never heard of that. This must be unique.”

“Do you want to examine it, mademoiselle? I knew you would because you are not afraid, are you? You are so brave, and you don’t believe in ghosts.”

I went to the opening in the wall and took a few steps into the darkness. I touched the cold wall and it took me some seconds to realize that this did not lead anywhere. It was merely an alcove cut into the thickness of the wall.

I turned and heard a low chuckle. Genevieve had ascended the ladder and was pulling it up.

“You love the past, mademoiselle,” she said.

“Well, this is like it.

The de la Talles do still leave their victims to perish in their oubliettes. “

“Genevieve!” I cried shrilly.

She laughed.

“You’re a liar,” she retorted shrilly.

“But perhaps you don’t know it. Now is the time to find out whether you’re afraid of ghosts! “

The trap door shut with a bang. For the moment the darkness seemed intense and then my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. It was some more seconds before the horror of my position began to dawn on me.

The girl had planned this last night when her father had suggested she should show me the chateau. After a while she would release me. All I had to do was keep a hold on my dignity, to refuse to admit even to myself the rising panic and wait until I was free.

“Genevieve!” I called.

“Open that trap door immediately.”

I knew that my voice could not be heard. The walls were thick, so were the slabs over my head. What would be the point of an oubliette where the screams of the victims could be heard? The very description implied what happened to those who were incarcerated here. Forgotten!

I had been foolish to trust her. I had had a glimpse of her nature when I had first seen her; yet I had allowed myself to be deceived by her apparent docility. Suppose she was more than mischievous? Suppose she was wicked?

With sudden horror I asked myself what would happen when I was missed.

But when should I be missed? Not until dinner time when either a tray would be brought to my room or I should be summoned to dine at the family table. And then . Should I have to wait in this gruesome place all those hours?

Another thought occurred to me. What if she went to my room, hid my things, making it seem that I had left? She might even forge a note explaining that I had gone because I was not pleased with my reception because I no longer cared to do the work.

Was she capable of that?

She could be the daughter of a murderer!

Was that fair? I knew scarcely anything of the mystery surrounding the

Comte’s wife all I knew was that there was a mystery. But this girl was strange; she was wild; I now believed she was capable of anything.

In those first moments of near-panic I understood a little of what those victims must have felt when they found themselves in this terrible place. But I could not compare myself with them. They would have fallen damaging their limbs; I had at least descended by the ladder. I was the victim of a joke; they of revenge. It was quite different. Soon the trap door would open, the girl’s head would appear. I must be very stern with her, at the same time showing no sign of panic and above all retaining my dignity.

“I sat on the floor leaning against the cold stone wall and looked up at the trap door. I tried to see the time by the watch pinned to my blouse. I could not do so, but the minutes were ticking away. It was useless to pretend I was not frightened. A sense of terrible doom impregnated the place; the air was close; I felt stifled; and I knew that I, who had always prided myself on my calmness, was near to panic.

Why had I come to the chateau? How much better to have tried to find a respectable post as a governess to which I should have been so well fitted! How much better to have gone to Cousin Jane, to have nursed her, waited on her, read to her, listened to her a hundred times a day reminding me that I was a poor relation!

I wanted a chance to live quietly, without excitement, I should not mind as long as I could live. How often had I said I would rather be dead than live a life of servitude and I had thought I meant it. Now I was ready to barter independence, a life of interest anything for the chance of remaining alive. I would never have thought it possible until this moment. How much did I know of myself? Could it be that the armour I put on to face the world deceived me as much as it did others?

I was trying to think of anything which would turn my thoughts from this terrible place in which it seemed to me tortured minds and bodies of those who had suffered had left something behind them.

“Do you believe in ghosts, mademoiselle?”

Not in the broad sceptical daylight when I am within easy reach of my fellow human beings. In a dark oubliette into which I had been tricked and left. I did not know.

“Genevieve!” I called. And the note of panic in my voice frightened me.

I stood up and paced up and down. I called again and again until my voice was hoarse. I sat down and tried to be calm; then I paced up and down again. I found myself looking furtively over my shoulder. I began to tell myself that I was watched. I kept my eyes on the opening in the wall which I could just make out and which Genevieve had said was a maze and I knew to be a dark alcove . but I was expecting someone . something to emerge.

I was afraid that I was going to sob or scream. I tried to take a grip on myself by saying aloud that I would find a way out, although I knew there was no way. I sat down again and tried to shut out the gloom by covering my face with my hands.

I started up in dismay. There was a sound. I put my hand to my mouth automatically to suppress a scream. I fixed my eyes on that dark aperture.

A voice said: “Mademoiselle!” And the place had lightened I gave a great sob of relief. The trap door was open, and the grey frightened face of Nounou was looking down at me.

“Mademoiselle, are you all right?”

“Yes … Yes …” I had run to look up at her.

“I will get the ladder,” she said.

It seemed a long time before she came back, but she had the ladder. I grasped it and stumbled up, so eager to reach the top that I almost fell.

Her frightened eyes searched my face.

“That naughty girl! Oh, dear, I don’t know what will become of us all. You look so pale … so distrait.”

“Who would not, shut in that place! I’m forgetting to thank you for coming. I can’t tell you how …”

“Mademoiselle, will you come to my room? I will give you some good strong coffee. I would like to talk to you, too, if you will allow me.”

“It is good of you. But where is Genevieve?”

“You are angry, naturally. But I can explain.”

“Explain! What is there to explain? Did she tell you what she had done?”

The nurse shook her head.

“Please come to my room. It is easy to talk there. Please, I must speak to you. I want you to understand. Besides, it was a terrible ordeal. You are shocked. Who would not be?” She slipped her arm through mine.

“Come, mademoiselle, it is best for you.”

Still feeling dazed I allowed myself to be led away from that dreadful room which I was sure I should never willingly enter again. She had the soothing manner of one who has spent a lifetime looking after the helpless, and in my present mood her gentle authority was what I needed.

I did not notice where she was leading me but when she threw open a door to show me a small and cosy room I realized that we were in one of the newer wings.

“Now, you must lie down. Here on this sofa. So much more restful than sitting.”

“This isn’t necessary.”

“Forgive me, mademoiselle, it is very necessary. I am going to make you some coffee.” There was an open fire in her grate and on a hob a kettle was singing.

“Good hot strong coffee. It will help you to feel better. My poor mademoiselle, it has been terrible for you!”

“How did you know what had happened?”

She turned to the fire and busied herself with the coffee.

“Genevieve came back by herself. I saw by her face …”

“You guessed?”

“It happened before. There was one of the governesses. Not like you at all… A pretty young lady a little brazen perhaps, … Genevieve did the same thing to her. It was soon after her mother died … not long afterwards.”

“So she shut her governess in the oubliette as she did me. How long did she stay there?”

“Longer than you did. You see, as she was the first, I didn’t find out until some time. Poor young lady, she was fainting with fear. She refused to stay in the chateau after that… and that was the end of her as far as we were concerned.”

“You mean that girl makes a habit of this?”

“Only twice. Please, mademoiselle, do not excite your self. It is bad for you after what happened.”

“I want to see her. I shall make her understand …”

I realized that the reason I was so angry was because I had been near to panic and was ashamed of myself, disappointed and surprised. I had always believed myself to be so self-reliant and it was as though I had removed a film from a painting and found something unsuspected beneath. And here was another discovery, I was doing that which I had so often condemned in others turning my anger on someone because I was angry with myself. Of course Genevieve had behaved abominably but it was my own conduct that was upsetting me now.

Nounou came and stood beside the sofa, clasping her hands together and looking down at me.

“It is not easy for her, mademoiselle. A girl like her to lose her mother. I have tried to do my best.”

“She was devoted to her mother?”

“Passionately. Poor child, it was a terrible shock for her. She has never recovered from it. I trust you will remember that.”

“She is undisciplined,” I said.

“Her behaviour on the first occasion we met was intolerable, and now

this … I suppose I should have been left there indefinitely if you had not discovered what she had done.”

“No. She only wanted to frighten you, perhaps because you seemed so well able to take care of yourself and she, poor child, is so definitely not.”

“Tell me,” I said, ‘why is she so strange? “

She smiled with relief.

“That is what I want to do, mademoiselle, to tell you.”

“I should like to understand what makes her act as she does.”

“And when you do, mademoiselle, you will forgive her. You will not tell her father what has happened this afternoon? You will not mention it to anyone?”

I was unsure. I said promptly: “I certainly intend to speak to Genevieve about it.”

“But to no one else, I beg of you. Her father would be very angry and she dreads his anger.”

“Wouldn’t it be good for her to realize the wickedness of what she did? We shouldn’t pat her on the back and tell her nothing matters because you came and rescued me.”

“No, speak to her if you wish, but I must talk to you first. There are things I want to tell you.”

She turned away and busied herself at the table.

“About,” she said slowly, ‘her mother’s death. “

I waited for her to go on. She could not have been more eager to tell me than I was to hear. But she would not speak until she made the coffee. She left the brown jug to stand and came back to the couch.

“It was terrible … that to happen to a young girl of eleven. She was the one who found her dead.”

“Yes,” I agreed, ‘that would be terrible. “

“She used to go in and see her mother first thing in the morning.

Imagine a young girl going in and finding that! “

I nodded.

“But it was three years ago and terrible as it was it does not excuse her for locking me in that place.”

“She has never been the same since. She changed after wards. There were these fits of naughtiness in which she seemed to delight. It is because she misses her mother’s love; because she is afraid …”

“Of her father?”

“So you have seen that. At the same time there were the questions and inquiries. It was so bad for her. The whole household believed that he had done it. He had his mistress….”

“I see. The marriage was unhappy. Did he love his wife when they were first married?”

“Mademoiselle, he could only love himself.”

“And did she love him?”

“You have seen how he frightens Genevieve. Francoise was afraid too.”

“Was she in love with him when she married him?”

“You know how marriages are arranged between such families. But perhaps it is not so in England. In France among our noble families marriages are always arranged by the parents. Isn’t it so in England?”

“Not to the same extent. Families are apt to disapprove of a choice but I do not think the rules are so rigid.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Here is it so, mademoiselle. And Francoise was betrothed to Lothair de la Talle when they were in their teens.”

“Lothair …” I repeated.

“Monsieur Ie Comte. It is a family name, mademoiselle. There have always been Lothairs in the family.”

“It’s a king’s name,” I said.

“That is why.” She looked puzzled and I said quickly: “I’m sorry. Pray go on.”

“The Comte had his mistress as Frenchmen do. No doubt he was more fond of her than of his affianced bride, but she was not suitable to be his wife, and so my Francoise married him.”

“You were her nurse too?”

“I came to her when she was three days old, and was with her till the end.”

“And now Genevieve has taken her place in your affections?”

“I trust to be with her always as I was with her mother. When it happened I couldn’t believe it. Why should it have happened to my Francoise? Why should she have taken her own life? It was unlike her.”

“Perhaps she was unhappy.”

“She did not hope for the impossible.”

“Did she know of his mistress?”

“Mademoiselle, in France these things are accepted. She was resigned.

She feared him; and I fancied she was glad of those visits to Paris.

When he was there . he was not in the chateau. “

“It does not sound to me like a happy marriage.”

“She accepted it.”

“And yet… she died.”

“She did not kill herself.” The old woman put her hands over her eyes and whispered as though to herself: “No, she did not kill herself.”

“But wasn’t that the verdict?”

She turned on me almost fiercely.

“What other verdict could there be except murder?”

“I heard it was an overdose of laudanum. How did she get it?”

“She often had toothache. I had the laudanum in my little cupboard and I used to give it to her. It soothed the toothache and sent her to sleep.”

“Perhaps she accidentally took too much.”

“She did not mean to kill herself. I am sure of it. But that was what they said. They had to … hadn’t they … for the sake of Monsieur Ie Comte?”

“Nounou,” I said, ‘are you trying to tell me that the Comte murdered his wife? “

She stared at me as though startled.

“You cannot say I said that, mademoiselle. I said no such thing. You are putting words into my mouth. “

“But if she did not kill herself… then someone must have.”

She turned to the table and poured out two cups of coffee.

“Drink this, mademoiselle, and you will feel better. You are overwrought.”

I could have told her that in spite of my recent unpleasant experience I was less overwrought than she, but I wanted to glean as much as I could, and I realized that I was more likely to do so from her than from anyone else.

She gave me the cup and then drew a chair up to the sofa and sat down beside me.

“Mademoiselle, I want you to understand what a cruel thing this was which happened to my little Genevieve. I want you to forgive her … to help her.”

“Help her? Z?”

“Yes, you can. If you will forgive her. If you will please not tell her father.”

“She is afraid of him. I sensed that.”

Nounou nodded.

“He paid attention to you at dinner. She told me. And in a different way he paid attention to the pretty young governess. Do please understand. It is something to do with her mother’s death. It brings it back to her. You see, there is gossip and she knew that there ^ was another woman.” :

“Does she hate her father?”

“It is a strange relationship, mademoiselle. He is so aloof. Sometimes she might not be there, for all the notice he takes of her. At others he seems to take a delight in taunt-I ing her. It’s as though he dislikes her, as though he’s disappointed in her. If he would show her a little affection . ” She lifted her shoulders.

“He is a strange, hard man, mademoiselle, and since the scandals he has become more so.”

“Perhaps he does not know what is said of him. Who would dare tell him of these rumours?”

“No one. But he is aware. He has been different since her death. He is no monk, mademoiselle, but he seems to have a contempt for women.

Sometimes I think he is a most unhappy man. “

Perhaps, I thought, it is not very good taste to discuss the master of the house with one of his servants; but I was avidly curious and could not have stopped myself had I wanted to. This was something else I was discovering about myself. I refused to listen to my conscience.

“I wonder he has not married again,” I said.

“Surely a man in his position would want a son.”

“I do not think he will marry again, mademoiselle. It is for that reason that he sent for Monsieur Philippe.”

“So he sent for Philippe?”

“Not long ago. I dare say Monsieur Philippe will be expected to marry and his son will have everything.”

“I find that very hard to understand.”

“Monsieur Ie Comte is hard to understand, mademoiselle. I have heard that he lives very gaily in Paris. Here he is much alone. He is melancholy and seems to take pleasure only in the discomfort of everyone else.”

“What a charming man!” I said scornfully.

“Ah, life is not easy at the chateau. And most difficult of all for Genevieve.” She laid her hand on mine; it was cold. I knew in that moment how dearly she loved her charge and how anxious she was.

“There is nothing wrong with her,” she insisted.

“These tantrums of hers … she will grow out of them. There was nothing wrong with her mother. A gentler, sweeter girl it would be difficult to find.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I shall not mention what happened to her father nor to anyone. But I think I should speak to her.”

Nounou’s face cleared.

“Yes, you speak to her… and if you should be in conversation with Monsieur Ie Comte … and could tell him .. say how clever she is at speaking English … how gentle she is how calm …”

“Her English would quickly improve, I’m sure. But I could scarcely call her calm.”

“Because it is said her mother took her own life, people are inclined to think she is highly strung.”

I thought she certainly was but did not say so. Oddly enough Nounou had brought me here to soothe me and I was ending by soothing her.

“Francoise was the most natural, normal little girl you could have met.” She set down her cup and going to the other side of the room returned with a wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“I keep some of her things in here. I look at them some times to remind me. She was such a good child. Her governesses were delighted with her. I often tell Genevieve how good she was.”

She opened the box and took out a book bound in red leather.

“She pressed her flowers in this. She was fond of flowers. She’d roam through fields gathering them. And she would pick some from the gardens. There, look at that forget-me-not. You see this handkerchief?

She did that for me. Such pretty embroidery. She would embroider for me for Christmas and fete days and she’d always hide it when; I came near to keep it a surprise. Such a good, quiet girl. ‘s Girls like that don’t take their lives. She was good, and she was religious too. She had a way of saying her prayers that would make your heart ache; she used to decorate the chapel here herself. She would have thought it a sin to take her life. ” | ” Did she have brothers and sisters? ”

” No, she was an only child. Her mother was . not I strong. I nursed her too. She died when Francoise was nine years old, and Francoise was eighteen when she herself married. “

“And she was quite happy to marry?”

“I do not think she knew what marriage meant. I remember the night of the diner contrat. You understand, mademoiselle? Perhaps you do not have this in England? But here in France when two people are to marry, there are the contracts to be talked of and agreed on; and when this is done there is the diner contrat the dinner at the bride’s house, and there she dines with her family and the bridegroom and some members of his family, and afterwards the contracts are signed. She is very happy then, I think. She would be the Comtesse de la Talle and the de la Talles are the most important family and the richest for miles. It^was a good match, an achievement. Then there was the civil marriage and after that the marriage in church.”

“And after that she was less happy?”

“Ah, life cannot be all that a young girl dreams, mademoiselle.”

“Particularly married to the Comte de la Talle.”

“As you have said, mademoiselle.” She held out the box to me.

“But you see what a sweet girl she was, her pleasures so simple. It was a shock to her to marry a man like the Comte.”

“The sort of shock many young girls have to face.”

“You speak truth, mademoiselle. She used to write in her little books, she called them. She liked to keep an account of the things that happened. I keep the little books.” She went to a cupboard, unlocked it with a key which dangled from a bunch at her waist, and took out a small notebook.

“This is the first. See how good her handwriting is.”

I opened the book and read: “May ist. Prayers with Papa and the servants. I repeated the collect to him and

he said I had made progress. I went to the kitchen and watched Marie baking the bread. She gave me a piece of sugar cake and said not to tell because she was not sup posed to be baking sugar cake. “

“A sort of diary,” I commented.

“She was so young. Not more than seven. How many of seven can write as well? Let me get you more coffee, mademoiselle. Look at the book. I often read it. It brings her back to me.”

I turned the pages, glancing at the large childish hand writing.

“I think I will make a tray-cloth for Nounou. It will take a long time but if it is not finished in time for her birthday she can have it for Christmas. “

“Papa talked to me today after prayers. He said I must always be good and try to forget myself.”

“I saw Mama today. She did not know who I was. Papa talked to me afterwards and said that she might not be with us much longer.”

“I have blue silks for the tray-cloth. I will find some pink as well. Nounou nearly saw it today.

That was very exciting. “

“I heard Papa praying in his room yesterday.

He called me in and made me pray with him. Kneeling hurts my knees, but Papa is so good he does not notice. “

“Papa said he will show me his greatest treasure on my next birthday. I shall be eight. I do wonder what it is.”

“I wish there were children to play with. Marie said that in the house where she used to work there were nine. All those brothers and sisters would be nice. There would be one who was my special one.”

“Marie made a cake for my birthday. I went to the kitchen to watch her make it.”

“I thought Papa’s treasure would be pearls and rubies but it is only an old robe with a hood. It’s black and smells fusty after being shut up. Papa said I must not mistake the shadow for the substance.”

Nounou was standing over me.

“It’s rather sad,” I said.

“She was a lonely child.”

“But good. You can learn that. That brings her to life. She had a sweet temper. And it comes through, doesn’t it?

She accepts things as they are do you know what I mean? “

“Yes, I think I know.”

“Not the sort, you see, to take her own life. There was nothing hysterical about her. And really Genevieve is the same … at heart.”

I was silent, sipping the coffee she had brought to me. I felt drawn towards her because of the deep devotion she had felt to the mother and daughter. I sensed in a way that she was trying to win me to her point of view.

In that case I should be frank with her.

“I think I ought to tell you,” I said, ‘that on the first day I was here Genevieve took me to see her mother’s grave. “

“She often goes there,” said Nounou quickly, lights of fear darting to her eyes.

“She did it in a peculiar way. She said she was taking me to see her mother … and I thought that I was going to be taken to a living woman.”

Nounou nodded, her eyes averted.

“Then she said that her father had murdered her mother.”

Nounou’s face wrinkled in fear.

She laid her hand on my arm.

“But you understand, don’t you? The shock of finding her … her own mother. And then the gossip. It was natural, wasn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t like to think it was natural for a child to accuse her father of murdering her mother.”

“The shock …” she repeated.

“She needs help, mademoiselle. Think of this household. The death … the whispers in the chateau … the gossip outside. I know that you are a sensible woman. I know that you will want to do all you can.”

The hands were clutching at my arm; the lips moved as though mouthing words that she dared not say.

She was a frightened women and because of my recent experience at the hands of her charge she was asking my help.

I said cautiously: “It would certainly have been a great shock. She must be treated with care. Her father does not seem to realize this.”

I Nounou’s face twisted in lines of bitterness. She hates him, I thought. She hates him for what he is doing to his daughter . and what he did to his wife.

“But we realize it,” said Nounou. I was touched and I put out my hand and pressed hers.

It was as though we made a pact then. Her face brightened and she said: “We’ve let our coffee get cold. I’ll make some more.”

And there in that little room I knew that I was being caught up in the life of the chateau.