The King of the Castle

Seven

On the first day of the New Year Genevieve told me that she was going to ride over to Maison Carrefour to see her grandfather and wanted me to accompany her.

I thought it would be interesting to see the old house again so I readily agreed.

“When my mother was alive,” Genevieve told me, ‘we always went to see Grandfather on New Year’s Day. All children in France do the same. ”

“It’s a nice custom.”

“Cake and chocolate are brought for the children while the grownups drink wine and eat wine cakes. Then the children play the piano or the violin to show how they are getting on. Sometimes they have to recite.”

“Are you going to do this?”

“No, I shall have to say my catechism, though. My grandfather likes prayers better than the piano or the violin.”

I wondered how she felt about the visits to that strange house, and couldn’t resist asking: “You like going?”

She frowned and looked puzzled.

“I don’t know. I want to go, and then . when I’m there, sometimes I feel as though I can’t bear it any more. I want to run out… right away and never go there again. My mother used to talk of it so much that I sometimes feel I’ve lived there myself. I don’t know whether I want to go or not, miss.”

When we reached the house Maurice let us in and took us to the old man, who looked more feeble than when I had last seen him.

“You know what day it is. Grandfather?” asked Genevieve.

And when he did not answer, she put her lips to his ear and said: “New Year’s Day! So I’ve come to see you. Mademoiselle Lawson is here, too.”

He caught my name and nodded.

“Good of you to come. You will excuse my not rising.”

We sat down near him. Yes, he had changed. There was a complete lack of serenity in his eyes; they looked like those of a lost man who is trying hard to find his way through a jungle. I guessed what he was searching for was memory.

“Shall I ring the bell?” asked Genevieve.

“We are rather hungry. I should like my cakes and chocolate, and I’m sure Mademoiselle Lawson is thirsty.”

He did not answer so she rang the bell. Maurice appeared and she ordered what she wanted.

“Grandfather is not so well today,” she said to Maurice.

“He has his bad days. Mademoiselle Genevieve.”

“I don’t think he knows what today is.” Genevieve sighed and sat down.

“Grandfather,” she went on, ‘we had a treasure hunt on Christmas night at the chateau and Ma demoiselle Lawson won. “

“The only treasure is in Heaven,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Grandfather, but while you’re waiting for that it’s nice to find some on earth.”

He looked puzzled.

“You say your prayers?”

“Night and morning,” she answered.

“It is not enough. You, my child, must pray more earnestly than most.

You have need of help. You were born in sin. “

“Yes, Grandfather, I know we all are but I do say my prayers. Nounou makes me.”

“Ah, the good Nounou! Always be kind to Nounou; she is a good soul.”

“She wouldn’t let me forget my prayers, Grandfather.”

Maurice returned with wine, cakes and chocolate.

“Thank you, Maurice,” said Genevieve.

“I will serve them.

Grandfather,” she continued, ‘on Christmas Day Mademoiselle Lawson and I went to a party and they had a creche and a cake with a crown in it.

I wish you had had lots of sons and daughters, then their children would have been my cousins. They would all be here today and we could have had a cake with a crown in it. “

He didn’t follow what she was saying; and had turned his gaze on me. I tried to make some sort of conversation but I could only think of that cell-like room and the chest which contained the whip and hair shirt.

He was a fanatic-that much was obvious. But why had he become so?

And what sort of life had Francoise led here? Why had she died when he had had a stroke? Was it because she could not endure to live without him? Without this man this wide-eyed cadaverous fanatic in this gloomy house with its cell and chest. when she was married to the Comte and the chateau was her home!

Everyone may not think that such a glorious fate as you do. I checked my thoughts. What had made me think such a thing? A glorious fate . when one who had suffered it yes, suffered was the word had killed herself.

But why . why? What had started as idle curiosity was becoming a burning desire to know. Yet, I quickly told myself, there is nothing unusual in this. This passionate interest in the affairs of others was inherent. I had this curiosity to know how people’s minds worked just as I cared deeply why a painter had used such a subject, why he had portrayed it in such a way, what had been behind his interpretation, his use of colour and mood.

The old man could not take his eyes from me.

“I can’t see you very well,” he said.

“Could you come closer?”

I drew my chair close to him.

“It was wrong,” he whispered, ‘quite wrong. “

He was talking to himself and I glanced at Genevieve, who was busily selecting a piece of chocolate from the dish Maurice had brought.

“Francoise must not know,” he said.

I knew his mind was wandering then and that I had been right when I had thought he was not so well as when we had last seen him.

He peered at me.

“Yes, you do look well today. Quiet.”

“Thank you, I feel well.”

“It was a mistake…. It was my cross and I was not strong enough to carry it.”

I was silent, wondering whether we ought to call Maurice.

He did not take his eyes from my face, and drew himself back in his chair as though he were afraid of me; as he moved, the rug about him slipped and I caught it and wrapped it about him. He recoiled and shouted: “Go away. Leave me. You know my burden, Honorine.”

I said: “Call Maurice.” And Genevieve ran from the room.

The old man had gripped my wrist; I felt his nails in my skin.

“You are not to blame,” he said.

“The sin is mine. It is my burden. I carry it to my grave…. Why are you not… ? Why did I… ? Oh, the tragedy … Francoise … little Francoise. Go away. Keep away from me. Honorine, why do you tempt me?”

Maurice came hurrying into the room. He took the rug and wrapped it round the old man and said over his shoulder: “Slip outside. It would be better.”

So Genevieve and I went out of the room while Maurice took the crucifix which was hanging about the old man’s neck and put it into his hands.

“That was frightening,” I said.

“Were you frightened, miss?” asked Genevieve, almost pleased.

“He was wandering in his mind.”

“He often does. After all he’s very old.”

“We shouldn’t have come.”

“That’s what Papa says.”

“You mean he forbids it?”

“Not exactly, because he isn’t told when I’m coming. But if he knew, he would have.”

“Then …”

“Grandfather was my mother’s father. Papa doesn’t like him for that reason. After all he didn’t like my mother, did he?”

As we rode back to the chateau, I said to Genevieve:

“He thought I was someone else. Once or twice he called me Honorine.”

“She was my mother’s mother.”

“He seemed … afraid of her.”

Genevieve was thoughtful.

“It’s odd that my grandfather should be afraid of anyone.”

I couldn’t resist talking to Nounou about our visit to Carrefour.

She shook her head.

“Genevieve shouldn’t,” she said.

“It’s better not.”

“She wanted to go because of the New Year custom of visiting grandparents.”

“Customs are good in some families not in others.”

“They are not observed much in this family,” I suggested.

“Oh, customs are for the poor. They make something to live for.”

“I think rich and poor enjoy them. But I wish we hadn’t gone.

Genevieve’s grandfather was wandering in his mind and it was not pleasant. “

“Mademoiselle Genevieve should wait until he sends for her. She shouldn’t pay these surprise calls.”

“He must have been very different when you were there … when Francoise was a child, I mean.”

“He was always a strict man. With himself and others. He should have been a monk.”

“Perhaps he thought so. I have seen that cell-like place where I imagined he slept at one time.”

Nounou nodded again.

“Such a man should never have married,” she said.

“But Francoise didn’t know what was going on. I tried to make it all natural for her.”

“What was going on?” I asked.

She shot a sharp look at me.

“He wasn’t cut out to be a father. He wanted the house run like a … monastery.”

“And her mother … Honorine.”

Nounou turned away.

“She was an invalid.”

“No,” I said, ‘not a happy childhood for poor Francoise . a father a fanatic, a mother an invalid. “

“I saw that she was happy.”

“Yes, she sounds happy with her embroidery and piano lessons. She writes about them as though she enjoys them. When her mother died ..”

“Yes?” said Nounou sharply.

“Was she very unhappy?”

Nounou rose and from a drawer took another of those little notebooks.

“Read it,” she said.

I opened it. She had been for a walk. She had had her music lesson.

She had embroidered the altar cloth she was working on; she had had lessons with her governess. The orderly life of an ordinary little girl.

And then came the entry: “Papa came to the schoolroom this morning when we were doing history. He looked very sad and said: ” I have news for you, Francoise. You have no mother now! ” I felt I ought to cry but I couldn’t. And Papa looked at me so sadly and sternly.

“Your mother has been ill for a long time and could never have been well. This is God’s answer to our prayers.” I had not prayed that she should die, I said; and he replied that God worked in a mysterious way. We had prayed for my mother and this was a happy release.

“Her troubles are over now,” he said. And he went out of the schoolroom. “

“Papa has been sitting in the death chamber for two days and nights.

He has not left it and I have been there too to pay my respects to the dead. I knelt by the bed for a long time and I cried bitterly. I thought it was because Maman was dead but it was really because my knees hurt and I didn’t like being there. Papa prays all the time; and it is all about forgiveness for his sins. I was frightened for if he is so sinful what about the rest of us who don’t pray half as much as he does? “

“Maman wears a nightdress in her coffin. Papa says she is now at peace. All the servants have been in to pay their last respects. Papa stays there and prays all the time for forgiveness.”

“Today was the funeral. It was a magnificent sight. The horses wore plumes and sable trappings. I walked with Papa at the head of the procession with a black veil all over my face and the new black frock which Nounou sat up all night to finish. I cried when we came out of the church and stood beside the hearse while the orator told everyone that Maman had been a saint. It seemed dreadful that such a good person should die.”

“It is quiet in the house. Papa is in his cell. I know he is praying because when I stood outside the door I could hear him. He prays for forgiveness, that his great sin may die with him, that he alone shall suffer. I think he is asking God not to be too hard on Maman when she gets to heaven and that whatever the Great Sin was, it was his fault not hers.”

I finished reading and looked up at Nounou.

“What is this Great Sin? Did you ever discover?”

“He was a man who saw sin in laughter.”

“I wonder he married. I wonder he didn’t go into a monastery and live his life there.”

Nounou would only lift her shoulders.

The Comte went to Paris in the New Year and Philippe accompanied him. I was progressing with my work and now had several pictures to show for it. It was tremendously exhilarating to see their original beauty. It gave me great pleasure merely to look at them and to remember how little by little those glowing colours had emerged when they had been released from the grime of years. But this was more than a return to beauty; it was my own vindication. I had never enjoyed work as I did this; and I had never found a house which intrigued me as Chateau Gaillard did.

January was exceptionally cold and there was a great deal of activity in the vineyards, where it was feared the frosts would kill the vines.

Genevieve and I often stopped during our rides or walks to watch the workers. Sometimes we called in at the Bastides’ and on one occasion Jean Pierre took us down to the cellars and showed us the casks of wine which were maturing and explained to us the processes through which the wine had to pass.

Genevieve said that the deep cellars reminded her of the oubliette in the chateau to which Jean Pierre remarked that nothing was forgotten here. He showed us how the light was admitted through small apertures in order to regulate the temperature; he warned us that no plants or flowers must be brought down here as they give something to the wine which would spoil the taste.

“How old are these cellars?” Genevieve wanted to know.

“They’ve been here as long as there was wine here … and that’s hundreds of years ago.”

“And while they looked after their wine and made sure the temperature was all right,” commented Genevieve, ‘they were putting people into the dungeons and leaving them to freeze and starve to death. “

“Wine being more important to your noble ancestors than their enemies, naturally.”

“And all those years ago it was the Bastides who made the wine.”

“And there was one Bastide who earned the honour of becoming an enemy of your noble ancestors. His bones lie in the chateau.”

“Oh, Jean Pierre! Where?”

“In the oubliette. He was insolent to the Comte de la Talle, was called before him, and never seen again. He went to the chateau, but he never came out. Imagine him. Called before the Comte.

“Come in, Bastide. Now what is this trouble you are making?” The bold Bastide tries to explain, falsely believing that he is as good as his masters; and then Monsieur Ie Comte moves his feet and the ground opens . down goes the insolent Bastide where others have gone before him. To freeze to death, to starve to death . to die of the wounds he receives in the fall. What does it matter? He is no longer a nuisance to Monsieur Ie Comte. “

“You still sound resentful,” I said in surprise.

“Oh, no. There was the Revolution. Then it was the turn of the Bastides.”

He was not talking seriously, for almost immediately he was laughing.

The weather changed suddenly and the vines were no longer in acute danger, although, Jean Pierre told us, the spring frost could be the most dangerous enemy of all to the grape because it could strike unexpectedly.

Those days stand out as the peaceful days. There were happy little incidents which I remember vividly. Genevieve and I were often together; our friendship was growing slowly but steadily. I made no attempt to force it, for although I was growing closer to her there were times when she seemed a stranger to me. She had been right when she had said she had two personalities. Sometimes I found her watching me almost slyly: at others she was naively affectionate.

I thought constantly of the Comte and when he was absent once again I started to build up a picture of him which common sense warned me was not true. I remembered his tolerance in giving me a chance to prove my ability, and his generosity, when he found he had been wrong to doubt me, in admitting it by giving me the miniature.

Then he had put the presents in the shoes, which showed a desire to make his daughter happy. I was sure he had been pleased that I had won the emerald brooch. Why? Simply because he wanted me to have some thing of value that would be a little nest-egg for the future.

I shivered, contemplating that future. I could not stay indefinitely at the chateau. I had restored a number of the pictures in the gallery and those were the ones I had been employed to deal with. The work would not last for ever. Yet in this pleasant dream-world in which I lived during those weeks, it was firmly fixed in my mind that I should be at the chateau for a long time to come.

Some people find it easy to believe things are what they want them to be. I had never been like that. until now, preferring always to face the truth, priding myself on my good sense. I had changed since I had come here; and oddly enough I would not look deep enough into my mind to discover why.

Mardi Gras was the time for carnival, and Genevieve was as excited as Yves and Margot, who showed her how to make paper flowers and masks; and because I thought it was good for her to join in these activities we rode into the little town on one of the Bastides’ carts and behind our grotesque masks we pelted each other with paper flowers.

We were present in the square when they hung the Carnival Man from the mock gibbet and we actually danced in the crowd.

Genevieve was ecstatic when we returned to the castle.

“I’ve often heard of Mardi Gras,” she declared, ‘but I never knew it was such fun. “

“I hope,” I said, ‘that your father would not have objected to your being there. “

“We shall never know,” she answered mischievously, ‘because we’re not going to tell him, are we, miss? “

“If he asked we should certainly tell him,” I retorted.

“He never would. He’s not interested in us, miss.”

Was she a little resentful? Perhaps, but she cared less about his neglect than she had once. And Nounou raised no objections as long as wherever Genevieve went I was with her. She seemed to have a faith in me which I found flattering.

And when I took her into the town Jean Pierre had been with us. It was he who suggested these jaunts; he delighted in them; and Genevieve enjoyed his company. No harm could come to Genevieve while she was with the Bastides, I assured myself.

It was during the first week of Lent that the Comte and Philippe returned to the chateau.

The news spread rapidly throughout the household and in the town.

Philippe was betrothed. He was going to marry Mademoiselle Claude de la Monelle.

The Comte came to me in the gallery where I was working. It was a lovely sunny morning, and now that the days were longer I was spending more time in the gallery. The brightness made more obvious my work of restoration, and he studied the pictures with pleasure.

“Excellent, Mademoiselle Lawson,” he murmured; and his eyes were on me, dark with the expression which always set me wondering.

“And what’s this operation?” he asked.

I explained to him that the painting on which I was working had been badly damaged and that layers of paint were missing. I was filling them with gesso putty and afterwards I should retouch with paint.

“You are an artist. Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“As you once remarked … an artist manquee.”

“And you have forgiven though not forgotten that unkind observation?”

“One does not have to forgive others for speaking the truth.”

“How strong-minded you are. We as well as our pictures have need of you.”

He had taken a step nearer to me and his eyes were still fixed on my face. It could not be with admiration? I knew what I looked like. My brown coat had never been becoming: my hair had a habit of escaping from its pins and I was always unaware of it until something happened to make me; my hands were stained with the materials I used. It was certainly not my appearance which interested him.

It was the way in which philanderers behaved to all women, of course.

The thought spoilt my pleasure in the moment and I tried to push it away.

I said: “You need have no fear. I shall use a paint which is easily soluble in case it should have to be removed. Colours ground in synthetic resin are, you know.”

“I did not know,” he replied.

“It is so. You see, when these pictures were painted, artists mixed their own paints. They and they alone knew the secrets … and each painter had his own method. That is what makes the old masters unique.

It’s so difficult to copy them. “

He bowed his head.

“Retouching is a delicate operation,” I went on.

“Naturally a restorer should not attempt to add his ideas to an original.”

He was amused, realizing perhaps that I was talking to hide my embarrassment. Then he said suddenly: “I can see that could be disastrous. It would be like trying to make a person what you thought he should be. Instead of which you should help to bring out the good subdue the evil.”

“I was thinking only of painting. It is the only subject on which I could speak with some knowledge.”

“And your enthusiasm when you speak of it proclaims you an expert.

Tell me, how is my daughter progressing with her English? “

“She is making excellent progress.”

“And you do not find teaching her and the care of the pictures too much for you?”

I smiled.

“I enjoy them both so much.”

“I’m glad that we can provide you with so much pleasure. I thought you might find our country life dull.”

“By no means. I have to thank you for allowing me the use of your stables.”

“Something else you enjoy?”

“Very much.”

“Life here at the chateau has been much quieter than in the past.” He looked over my head and added coldly: “After my wife’s death we did not entertain as we used to and we have never gone back to the old ways. It will probably be different now that my cousin is to be married and his wife will be mistress of the chateau.”

“Until,” I said impulsively, ‘you yourself marry. “

I was sure I detected bitterness in his voice as he said:

“What makes you imagine I should do so?”

I felt I had been guilty of tactlessness and I said in self-defence:

“It seems perhaps natural that you should … in time.”

“I thought that you knew the circumstances of my wife’s death.

Mademoiselle Lawson? “

“I have heard … talk,” I replied, feeling like a woman who has put one foot in a quagmire and must withdraw quickly before she is completely submerged.

“Ah,” he said, ‘talk! There are people who believe I murdered my wife. ”

“I am sure you would not be affected by such nonsense.”

“You are embarrassed?” He was smiling, taunting me now.

“That shows me that you do not think it is necessarily nonsense.

You think me capable of the darkest deeds. Admit it. “

My heart had begun to beat uncomfortably fast.

“You are joking, of course,” I said.

“This is what we expect of the English, Mademoiselle Lawson. This is unpleasant, so we will not discuss it.” His eyes were angry suddenly.

“No, we will not discuss it; better to continue to believe in the victim’s guilt. “

I was startled.

“You are quite wrong,” I said quietly.

He had recovered his calm as quickly as he had lost it.

“And you, Mademoiselle Lawson, are admirable. You understand, though, that in the circumstances I could never marry again. But you are surprised that I should discuss my views on marriage with you?”

“I’ll admit I am.”

“But then you are such a sympathetic listener. I do not mean sympathetic in the usual sentimental sense. I mean that you betray such calm good sense, such frankness, and these qualities have lured me to the indiscretion of discussing my private affairs with you.”

“I am not sure whether I should thank you for your compliments or apologize for luring you to indiscretion.”

“You mean that as you do everything or almost everything you say.

That is why I am going to ask you a question, Miss Lawson. Will you give me a frank answer? “

“I will try to.”

“Well, here it is: Do you think I murdered my wife?”

I was startled; his heavy lids half hid his eyes but I knew he was watching me intently, and for a few significant seconds I did not answer.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I have not answered yet.”

“But you have. You wanted time to find a tactful answer. I did not ask for tact. I wanted truth.”

“You must allow me to speak, having asked my opinion.”

“Well?”

“I do not believe for one moment that you gave your wife a dose of poison, but…”

“But…”

“Perhaps you … disappointed her … perhaps you did not make her happy. I mean perhaps she was unhappy being married to you and rather than continue so she took her life.”

He was looking at me with the twisted smile on his lips. I sensed in him then a deep unhappiness and there came to me an overwhelming desire to make him happy. It was absurd, but it was there, and I could not deny it. I believed that I had seen a little of the man beneath that exterior of arrogance and indifference to others.

It was almost as though he read my thoughts, for his expression hardened as he replied: “Now you see, Mademoiselle Lawson, why I have no desire to marry; you think I am obliquely guilty, and you being such a wise young woman are no doubt right.”

“You are thinking me foolish, tactless, gauche … everything that you most dislike.”

“I find you … refreshing, Mademoiselle Lawson. You know that. But I believe you have a saying in your country.

“Give a dog a bad name and hang him.” Is that so? ” I nodded.

“Well, here you see that dog with his bad name. A bad name is one of the easiest things to live up to.

There! In exchange for the lesson you gave me on restoring pictures I have given you one on family history. What I set out to tell you was that, as soon as Easter is over, my cousin and I will leave for Paris.

There is no reason why Philippe’s marriage should be delayed. He and I will attend the diner-contrat at the bride’s house and after that there will be ceremonies. The honeymoon will follow and when they return to the chateau we shall do a little more entertaining. “

How could he talk so calmly of this matter? When I considered his part in it, I felt angry with him for behaving so and with myself for so easily forgetting his faults and being ready to accept him on his own terms, one might say, every time he presented himself to me in a new light.

He went on: “We shall give a ball as soon as they return. The new Madame de la Talle will expect it. Then two nights later we shall have a ball for everyone connected with the chateau … the vine-workers, the servants, everyone. It is an old custom when the heir to the chateau marries. I hope you will attend both these ceremonies.”

“I shall be delighted to join in with the workers, but I am not sure that Madame de la Talle would wish me to be a guest at her ball.”

“I wish it and if I invite you she will welcome you. You are not sure of that? My dear Miss Lawson, I am the master of the house. Only my death can alter that.”

“I am sure of it,” I answered, ‘but I came here to work and am not prepared for grand functions. “

“But I am sure you will adjust yourself to the unexpected. I must not detain you further. I see you are waiting to return to your work.”

With that he left me bewildered, excited, and with the faint warning that I was sinking lower into a quicksand from which every day it was becoming more difficult to escape. Did he know this? Was his conversation meant to convey a warning?

The Comte and Philippe left for Paris the day after Good Friday; and on Monday I went to call on the Bastides, where I found Yves and Margot playing in the garden. They called out to me to come and see the Easter eggs which they had found on Sunday some in the house, some in the out-houses; there were as many as they found last year.

“Perhaps you don’t know, miss,” said Margot, ‘that the bells all go to Rome for the benediction and on the way they drop eggs for the children to End. “

I admitted that I had never heard that before.

“Then don’t you have Easter eggs in England?” asked Yves.

“Yes … but just as presents.”

“These are presents, too,” he told me.

“The bells don’t really drop them. But we find them, you see. Would you like one?”

I said I would like to take one for Genevieve, who would be pleased to hear that they had found it.

The egg was carefully wrapped up and solemnly presented to me, and I told them I had come to see their mother.

Glances were exchanged and Yves said: “She’s gone out…”

“With Gabrielle,” added Margot.

“Then I’ll see her some other day. Is anything wrong?”

They lifted their shoulders to indicate ignorance, so I said goodbye and continued my walk.

This took me to the river and there I saw their maidservant Jeanne with a brouette of clothes. She was beating them with a piece of wood as she washed them in the river.

“Good afternoon, Jeanne,” I said.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“I’ve been to the house. But I’ve missed Madame Bastide.”

“She has gone into the town.”

“It’s so rarely that she is out at this time of day.”

Jeanne nodded and grimaced at her stick.

“I hope all is well, miss.”

“Have you reason to think it isn’t?”

“I have a daughter of my own.”

I was puzzled and wondered whether I had been mistaken in the patois.

“You mean Mademoiselle Gabrielle …”

“Madame is most distressed and I know that she has taken Mademoiselle Gabrielle to the doctor.” She spread her hands.

“I pray to the saints that there is nothing wrong, but when the blood is hot, mademoiselle, these things will happen.”

I could not believe what she was hinting, so I said: “I hope Mademoiselle Gabrielle has nothing contagious.”

I left her smiling to herself at what she thought was my innocence. I felt very anxious, though, on behalf of the Bastides, and on my way back I called at the house.

Madame Bastide was at home; she received me, her face stony with bewilderment and grief.

“Perhaps I’ve called at the wrong time,” I said.

“I’ll go, unless there is anything I can do.”

“No,” she said.

“Don’t go. This is not a matter which can be kept secret for long … and I know you are discreet. Sit down, Dallas.”

She herself sat heavily and leaning her arm on the table covered her face with one hand.

I waited in embarrassment, and after a few minutes when I believed she was contemplating how much to tell me she lowered her hand and said, “That this should have happened in our family!”

“Is it Gabrielle?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Where is she?”

She jerked her head to the ceiling.

“In her room. She’s stubborn. She won’t say a word.”

“She’s ill?”

‘ll. I’d rather she were. I’d rather anything . but this. “

“Can nothing be done?”

“She won’t tell us. She won’t say who it is. I never believed this could be. She was never a girl to go gadding about. She’s always been so quiet.”

“Perhaps it can all be worked out.”

“I hope so. I dread what Jean Pierre will say when he hears. He’s so proud. He’ll be so angry with her.”

“Poor Gabrielle!” I murmured.

“Poor Gabrielle! I wouldn’t have believed it. And not a word until I found out, and then … I saw how frightened she was, so I guessed I was right. I thought she’d been looking pea ky lately; worried … never joining in with the family; and then we were getting the washing ready this morning, and she fainted. I was pretty certain then, so down to the doctor we went and he confirmed what I feared.”

“And she refused to tell you the name of her lover?”

Madame Bastide nodded.

“That’s what worries me. If it was one of the young men … well, we’d not like it but we could put it to rights.

But as she won’t say, I’m afraid. Why should she be afraid to tell us if it could all be put right? That’s what I want to know. It looks as if it’s someone who can’t do the right thing. “

I asked if I could make some coffee, and to my surprise she allowed me to. She sat at the table staring blankly before her and when I had made it I said could I take a cup up to Gabrielle.

Permission given I carried the cup upstairs and when I knocked at the door Gabrielle said: “It’s no use, Gran’mere.” So I opened the door and went in holding the cup of steaming coffee.

“You … Dallas!”

“I’ve brought you this. I thought you might like it.”

She lay and looked at me with leaden eyes.

I pressed her hand. Poor Gabrielle, her position was that of thousands of girls and to each it is a new and personal tragedy.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“You can’t marry and …”

She shook her head more violently and turned it away so that I could not see her face.

“Is he … married already?”

She closed her lips tightly and refused to answer.

“Well, in that case, he can’t marry you and you’ll just have to try and be as brave as possible.”

“They’re going to hate me,” she said.

“All of them…. It won’t be the same again.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“They’re shocked … they’re hurt… but they’ll grow away from that, and when the child comes they’ll love it.”

She smiled at me wanly.

“You always want to make things right, Dallas, people as well as pictures. There’s nothing you can do, though. I’ve made my bed, as they say, and I’m the one that’s got to lie on it.”

“Someone else should be with you in this trouble.”

But she was stubborn and would not tell anything.

I went sadly back to the chateau remembering that happy table on Christmas Day and thinking how suddenly, how alarmingly, life could change. There was no security in happiness.

The Comte did not return to the chateau immediately after the wedding.

Philippe and his bride had gone to Italy for their honeymoon and I wondered whether the Comte had found someone with whom to amuse himself now that he had so cynically handed Claude to Philippe.

That, I told myself angrily, was the most reasonable explanation of his absence.

He did not return until it was almost time for Claude and Philippe to come home and even then he made no attempt to see me alone. I asked myself whether he sensed my disapproval. As if he would care for that!

Still, he might decide that I was being even more presumptuous than usual.

I was very disappointed, for I had been hoping to talk to him again and I was dreading the time when Philippe and his wife returned. I was certain that Claude already disliked me and I imagined she was the sort of woman who would make no secret of her dislike.

Perhaps it would be necessary to take up Philippe’s offer to find me other employment. In spite of my growing apprehension, the thought of leaving the chateau was distinctly depressing.

After the three weeks’ honeymoon they returned, and on the very day following her arrival I had an encounter with Claude and discovered how deeply she disliked me.

I was coming from the gallery when we met.

“I should have thought you would have finished the work by now,” she said.

“I remember how well advanced you were at Christmas time.”

“Restoring pictures is a very exacting task. And the col lection in the gallery has been sadly neglected.”

“But I thought it would present little difficulty to such an expert.”

“There are always difficulties and a great deal of patience is required.”

“Which is why you need such concentration and cannot work all day?”

So she had noticed my method! And was she hinting that I was wasting time in order to prolong my stay at the castle?

I said warmly: “You can be assured, Madame de la Talle, that I shall finish the pictures as quickly as possible.”

She bowed her head.

“It is a pity that they could not have been completed in time for the ball which we are giving to our friends. I expect you, like the rest of the household, are looking forward to the second ball.”

She swept past me before I had time to answer. She was clearly indicating that she would not expect to see me at the first. I wanted to cry out: “But the Comte has already invited me. And he is still the master of the house!”

I went to my room and looked at the green velvet dress.

Why shouldn’t I go? He had asked me and he would expect me. What a triumph to be welcomed by him under the haughty nose of the new Madame de la Talle.

But by the night of the ball I had changed my mind. He had not found an opportunity of being with me. Did I really think that he would take my side against hers?

I went to bed early on the night of the ball. I could hear the music now and then from the ballroom as I lay trying to read but actually picturing the brilliant scene. On the dais the musicians would be playing behind the banks of carnations which I had seen the gardeners arranging during the day. I pictured the Comte opening the ball with his cousin’s wife. I imagined myself in my green dress with the emerald brooch I had won at the treasure hunt pinned to it. Then I began thinking of the emeralds in the portrait and myself wearing them. I should look like a comtesse.

I gave a snort of laughter and picked up my book. But I found it difficult to concentrate. I thought of the voices I had heard from the top of the staircase which led to the dungeons and I wondered whether those two were together now. Were they congratulating each other on their cleverness in arranging this marriage which brought her under his roof?

What an explosive situation! What would come out of it? It was small wonder that scandal surrounded the Comte. Had he been as reckless in his treatment of his wife?

I heard footsteps in the corridor outside my room. I listened. They had stopped outside my door. Someone was standing there. I could distinctly hear the sound of breathing.

I sat up in bed, my eyes fixed on the door; then suddenly the handle turned.

“Genevieve!” I cried.

“You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been standing outside wondering whether you were asleep.”

She came and sat on the bed. Her blue silk ball dress was charming but her expression sullen.

“It’s a hateful ball,” she said.

“Why?”

“Aunt Claude!” she said.

“She’s not my aunt. She’s the wife of Cousin Philippe.”

“Speak English,” I said.

“I can’t when I’m angry. I have to think too much and I can’t be angry and think at the same time.”

“Then perhaps it would be an even better idea if you spoke English.”

“Oh miss, you sound just like old Esquilles. To think that woman is going to live here …”

“Why do you dislike her so?”

“I don’t dislike her. I hate her.”

“What has she done to you?”

“She’s come here to live. If she would stay in one place all the time I wouldn’t mind because then I shouldn’t have to go where she was.”

“Please, please, Genevieve, don’t plan to shut her in the oubliette.”

“Nounou would get her out so that wouldn’t be any good.”

“Why have you turned against her? She’s very pretty.”

“I don’t like pretty people. I like them plain like you, miss.”

“What a charming compliment.”

“They spoil things.”

“She’s hardly been here long enough to spoil anything.”

“She will, though. You’ll see. My mother didn’t like pretty women either. They spoilt it for her.”

“You can’t know anything about that.”

“I do, I tell you. She used to cry. And then they’d quarrel. They quarrelled quietly. I always think quiet quarrels are worse than noisy ones. Papa just says cruel things quietly and that makes them more cruel. He says them as though they amuse him . as though people amuse him because they’re so stupid. He thought she was stupid. It made her very unhappy. “

“Genevieve, I don’t think you should go on brooding on what happened so long ago, and you don’t really know very much about it.”

“I know that he killed her, don’t I?”

“You know no such thing.”

They say she killed herself. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t have left me all alone. “

I laid my hand over hers.

“Don’t think about it,” I begged.

“But you have to think about what’s happening in your own home! It’s because of what happened that Papa hasn’t got a wife. That’s why Philippe’s had to get married. If I had been a son it would have been different. Papa doesn’t like me because I’m not a son.”

“I’m sure you imagine your father doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t like you much when you pretend. You’re like all grownup people. When they don’t want to answer they pretend they don’t know what you’re talking about. I think my father killed my mother and she comes back from the grave to have her revenge on him.”

“What nonsense!”

“She walks about the chateau at night with the other ghosts from the oubliette. I’ve heard them, so it’s no use your saying they’re not there.”

“Next time you hear them, come and tell me.”

“Shall I, miss? I haven’t heard them for a long time. I’m not frightened, because my mother wouldn’t let them hurt me. Remember you told me that?”

“Let me know when you hear them next.”

“Do you think we could go and look for them, miss?”

“I don’t know. We would listen first.”

She leaned towards me and cried: “It’s a promise.”

At the chateau there was talk of little else but the ball for

the servants and the vine-workers, and preparations went on with more feverish activity than for those given by the Comte for his friends.

There was chattering in courtyards and corridors and the servants were obviously humoured during that day.

I wore my green dress for the occasion. I felt the need for confidence. I dressed my hair high on my head and the effect was pleasing.

I was thinking a great deal about Gabrielle Bastide and wondering whether she had come to any decision.

Boulanger, the sommelier, was the master of ceremonies, and he received everyone in the banqueting hall of the castle. There was to be a buffet supper during the evening and the newly married pair, together with the Comte and Genevieve, would appear when the ball was in progress. They would slip in, so I was told, unceremoniously and dance with a few of the company; and then Boulanger would as if by chance discover their presence and propose the health of the newly married couple which would be drunk by all in the best chateau wine.

The Bastide family had already arrived by the time I joined the ball.

Gabrielle was with them, looking very pretty, although melancholy, in a dress of pale blue which I guessed she had made herself, for I had heard that she was very good with her needle.

Madame Bastide had come on the arm of her son Armand; and she took an early opportunity of whispering to me that Jean Pierre did not yet know; they hoped to have discovered the name of the man and have arranged a marriage by the time he did.

Jean Pierre sought me out and we danced together to the tune of the Sautiere Charentaise which I had heard before in the Bastide house and to which the words Jean Pierre had once sung to me were set.

He sang them softly as we danced:

“Qui sont-ils les gens qui sont riches …”

“You see,” he said, ‘even here, in all this splendour, I can still sing those words. This is a great occasion for us humble folk. It is not often that we have an opportunity of dancing in the chateau ballroom. “

“Is it any better than dancing in your own home? I did enjoy Christmas Day so much and so did Genevieve. In fact I am sure she preferred your celebrations to those of the chateau.”

“She is a strange girl, that one.”

“I loved to see her so happy.”

He smiled at me warmly and I kept thinking of Gabrielle coming in with the crown on the cushion and later when he had kissed us as a privilege due to the King for the day.

“She has been happier since you came here, perhaps,” he added.

“She is not the only one.”

“You flatter me.”

“Truth is not flattery, Dallas.”

“In that case I am pleased to know I am so popular.”

He pressed my hand lightly.

“Inevitably so,” he assured me.

“Ah, look the great ones are with us. I do declare Monsieur Ie Comte has his eyes on us. Perhaps he is looking for you, as the one who not being as humble as his servants or those who work in his vineyards, as a most suitable partner.”

“I am sure he thinks no such thing.”

“You are hot in his defence.”

“I am quite cool and he has no need of my defence,” “We shall see. Shall we have a little bet you and I? I will say that the first one he dances with will be you.”

“I never gamble.”

The music had stopped.

“As if by chance,” murmured Jean Pierre, “Monsieur Boulanger has given the discreet sign. Stop dancing! The great are among us.” He led me to a chair and I sat down. Philippe and Claude had separated from the Comte, who was coming in my direction.

The music struck up again. I turned my head towards the musicians, expecting every moment to see him standing there, for I, like Jean Pierre, had thought he would choose to dance with me.

I was astonished to see him dance past with Gabrielle.

I turned to Jean Pierre with a laugh.

“I rather regret I do not gamble.”

Jean Pierre was looking after the Comte and his sister with a puzzled look.

“And I regret,” he said, turning to me, ‘that you will have to be content with the master of the vineyard instead of the master of the castle. “

“I am delighted to do so,” I replied lightly.

As we danced I saw Claude with Boulanger and Philippe with Madame Duval, who was the head of the female staff. I supposed the Comte had chosen Gabrielle as the member of the Bastide family, who were the head of the vineyards.

When the dance was over Boulanger made his speech, and the health of Philippe and Claude was drunk by everyone present. After that the musicians played what I learned was the Marche pour Noce and this was led by Philippe and Claude.

It was then that the Comte approached me.

In spite of my determination to remain aloof I felt my cheeks flush slightly as he took my hand lightly and asked for the pleasure of the dance.

I said: “I am not sure that I know the dance. This seems to be something indigenous to France.”

“No more than the noce itself, and you cannot pretend, Mademoiselle Lawson, that we are the only nation who marry.”

“I had no intention of doing so. But this dance is unknown to me.”

“Did you dance much in England?”

“Not often. I rarely had the opportunity.”

“A pity. I was never much of a dancer myself but I

“You see,” he said, ‘even here, in all this splendour, I can still sing those words. This is a great occasion for us humble folk. It is not often that we have an opportunity of dancing in the chateau ballroom. “

“Is it any better than dancing in your own home? I did enjoy Christmas Day so much and so did Genevieve. In fact I am sure she preferred your celebrations to those of the chateau.”

“She is a strange girl, that one.”

“I loved to see her so happy.”

He smiled at me warmly and I kept thinking of Gabrielle coming in with the crown on the cushion and later when he had kissed us as a privilege due to the King for the day.

“She has been happier since you came here, perhaps,” he added.

“She is not the only one.”

“You flatter me.”

“Truth is not flattery, Dallas.”

“In that case I am pleased to know I am so popular.”

He pressed my hand lightly.

“Inevitably so,” he assured me.

“Ah, look . the great ones are with us. I do declare Monsieur Ie Comte has his eyes on us. Perhaps he is looking for you, as the one who not being as humble as his servants or those who work in his vineyards, as a most suitable partner.”

“I am sure he thinks no such thing.”

“You are hot in his defence.”

“I am quite cool and he has no need of my defence.”

“We shall see. Shall we have a little bet you and I? I will say that the first one he dances with will be you.”

“I never gamble.”

The music had stopped.

“As if by chance,” murmured Jean Pierre, “Monsieur Boulanger has given the discreet sign. Stop dancing! The great are among us.” He led me to a chair and I sat down. Philippe and Claude had separated from the Comte, who was coming in my direction.

The music struck up again. I turned my head towards the musicians, expecting every moment to see him standing there, for I, like Jean Pierre, had thought he would choose to dance with me.

I was astonished to see him dance past with Gabrielle.

I turned to Jean Pierre with a laugh.

“I rather regret I do not gamble.”

Jean Pierre was looking after the Comte and his sister with a puzzled look.

“And I regret,” he said, turning to me, ‘that you will have to be content with the master of the vineyard instead of the master of the castle. “

“I am delighted to do so,” I replied lightly.

As we danced I saw Claude with Boulanger and Philippe with Madame Duval, who was the head of the female staff. I supposed the Comte had chosen Gabrielle as the member of the Bastide family, who were the head of the vineyards.

When the dance was over Boulanger made his speech, and the health of Philippe and Claude was drunk by everyone present. After that the musicians played what I learned was the Marche pour Noce and this was led by Philippe and Claude.

It was then that the Comte approached me.

In spite of my determination to remain aloof I felt my cheeks flush slightly as he took my hand lightly and asked for the pleasure of the dance.

I said: “I am not sure that I know the dance. This seems to be something indigenous to France.”

“No more than the noce itself, and you cannot pretend, Mademoiselle Lawson, that we are the only nation who marry.”

“I had no intention of doing so. But this dance is unknown to me.”

“Did you dance much in England?”

“Not often. I rarely had the opportunity.”

“A pity. I was never much of a dancer myself but I

suspect you would dance as well as you do everything else, if you had the will to. You should seize every opportunity . even if you are not eager to mingle with the company. You did not accept my invitation to the ball. I wondered why. “

“I thought I explained that I had not come prepared to attend grand functions.”

“But I had hoped that as I expressed my special desire that you would be there, you would have come.”

“I did not think that my absence would have been noticed.”

“It was … and regretted.”

“Then I am sorry.”

“You do not appear to be.”

“I meant that I am sorry to have caused regret not to have missed the ball.”

“That is good of you, Mademoiselle Lawson. It shows a pleasant concern for the feelings of others which is always so comforting.”

Genevieve danced past with Jean Pierre. She was laughing up at him; I saw that the Comte had noticed this.

“My daughter is like you, Mademoiselle Lawson; she prefers certain entertainments to others.”

“No doubt this seems a trifle gayer than the more grand occasion.”

“How can you know that when you weren’t there?”

“It was a suggestion not a statement of fact.”

“I might have known. You are also so meticulous. You must give me another lesson in restoration. I was fascinated by the last. You will find me visiting you in the gallery one morning.”

“That will be a pleasure.”

“Will it?”

I looked into those strange hooded eyes and said: “Yes, it will be.”

The dance was over and he could not dance with me again; that would be to invite comment. Not more than once with each member of the household; and after six dances he would be free to go, so Jean Pierre told me. It was the custom. He, Philippe, Claude and Genevieve would perform their duty and one by one slip away-not all together; that would appear too formal and informality was the order of the day; but the Comte would go first and the others choose their time.

It was as he said. I noticed the Comte slip away quietly. After that I had no great wish to stay.

I was dancing with Monsieur Boulanger when I saw Gabrielle leave the ballroom. She gave a quick look round, pretended to examine the tapestry on the wall and then another quick look and she was out of the door.

For one second I had glimpsed her desperate expression and I was afraid of what she might be going to do.

I had to make sure; so as soon as the music stopped and I could escape from my partner I took an opportunity of slipping out too.

I had no idea where she had gone. I wondered what a desperate girl would do. Throw herself down from the top of the castle? Drown herself in the old well in the courtyard?

As I stood outside the ballroom I realized the unlikelihood of either.

If Gabrielle was going to commit suicide why should she choose the castle, unless of course there was some reason . I knew of one which I would not accept. But while my mind rejected it my footsteps by some instinct led me towards the library where I had had my interviews with the Comte.

I wanted very much to be able to laugh at the notion which had come into my head.

I reached the library. I could hear the sound of voices and I knew whose they were. Gabrielle’s breathless . rising to hysteria. The Comte’s low yet resonant.

I turned and went to my room. I had no desire to go back to the ballroom. No desire for anything but to be alone.

A few days later I went to call at Maison Bastide, where Madame Bastide received me with pleasure, and I could see that she was feeling much better than she had when I had last been in the house.

“The news is good. Gabrielle is going to be married.”

“Oh, I am so pleased.”

Madame Bastide smiled at me.

“I knew you would be,” she said.

“You have made our trouble yours.”

My relief was obvious. I was laughing at myself. (You fool, you suspicious fool, why do you always believe the worst of him! ) “Please tell me,” I begged.

“I am so happy about this and I can see you are.”

“Well,” said Madame Bastide, ‘in time people will know it was a hasty marriage . but these things happen. They have forestalled their marriage vows as so many young people do, but they will confess and be shriven. And they will not bring a bastard into the world. It is the children who suffer. “

“Yes, of course. And when will Gabrielle be married?”

“In three weeks. It is wonderful, for Jacques is now able to marry.

That was the trouble. He could not support a wife and a mother, and knowing this Gabrielle had not told him of her condition. But Monsieur Ie Comte will make everything right. “

“Monsieur Ie Comte!”

“Yes. He has given Jacques charge of the St. Vallient vineyard. For a long time Monsieur Durand has been too old. He is now to have his cottage on the estate and Jacques will take over St. Vallient. But for Monsieur Ie Comte, it would have been difficult for them to marry.”

“I see,” I said slowly.

Gabrielle was married, and although there was a good deal of gossip which I heard on my expeditions to the little town and in the chateau and vineyard district, these comments were always whispered with a shrug of the shoulders. Such affairs provided the excitement of a week or two and none could be sure when their own families would be plunged into a similar situation. Gabrielle would marry and if the baby arrived a little early, well, babies had a habit of doing that the whole world over.

The wedding was celebrated at the Maison Bastide with all that Madame Bastide considered essential in spite of the fact that there had been little time to prepare. The Comte, so I heard, had been good to his workers and had given the couple a handsome wedding present which would buy the furniture they needed; and as they were taking over some of the Durands’ pieces, because naturally the old couple couldn’t fit them into a small cottage, they could settle in at once.

The change in Gabrielle was astonishing. Serenity replaced fear and she looked prettier than ever. When I went over to St. Vallient to see her and Jacques’s old mother she made me very welcome. There was so much I should have liked to ask her but I could not, of course; I wanted to tell her that I did not want to know merely to satisfy an idle curiosity.

When I left she asked me to look in again when I was riding that way and I promised to do so.

It was four or five weeks after the wedding. We were now well into spring and the climbing stems of the vines were beginning to grow fast. There was continual activity out of doors which would continue until harvest.

Genevieve was with me but our relationship was no longer as harmonious as it had been. The presence of Claude in the chateau affected her adversely and I was continually on tenterhooks wondering what turn it would take. I had felt I was making some progress with her; and now it was as though I had achieved a false brightness on a picture by using a solution which could only give a temporary effect and might even be injurious to the paint.

I said: “Shall we call on Gabrielle?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Oh, well, if you are not eager, I’ll go alone.”

She shrugged her shoulders but continued to ride beside me.

“She’s going to have a baby,” she said.

“That,” I replied, ‘will make her and her husband very happy. “

“It will arrive a little too soon, though, and everyone is talking about it.”

“Everyone! I know many who are not. You really shouldn’t exaggerate.

And why are you not speaking in English? “

“I’m tired of speaking in English. It’s such a tiresome language.” She laughed.

“It was a marriage of convenience. I’ve heard that said.”

“All marriages should be convenient.”

That made her laugh again. Then she said: “Goodbye, miss. I’m not coming. I might embarrass you by talking indelicately … or even looking. You never know.”

She spurred her horse and turned away. I was about to follow her because she was not supposed to be riding about the countryside alone.

But she had the start of me and had disappeared into a small copse.

It was less than a minute later when I heard the shot.

“Genevieve!” I called. As I galloped towards the copse, I heard her scream. The branches of the trees caught at me as though to impede me and I called again: “Genevieve, where are you? What’s happened?”

She was sobbing: “Oh, miss … miss …”

I went in the direction of her voice. I found her; she had dismounted and her horse was standing patiently by.

“What’s happening…” I began; and then I saw the Comte lying on the grass, his horse beside him. There was blood all over his riding-jacket.

“He’s … he’s been… killed,” stammered Genevieve.

I leaped to the ground and knelt beside him. A terrible fear came to me then.

“Genevieve,” I said, ‘go quickly for help. St. Vallient is nearest.

Send someone for a doctor. “

Those next minutes are hazy in my mind. I listened to the thudding of hoofbeats as Genevieve reached the road and galloped off.

“Lothair …” I murmured, saying his unusual name for the first time and saying it aloud.

“It can’t be. I couldn’t bear it. I could bear anything but that you should die.”

I noticed the short thick lashes; the hood like lids drawn like shutters taking away the light from his life . from mine for evermore.

Such thoughts come and go while one’s hands are more practical. As I lifted his hands a wild exultation came to me for I felt the pulse although it was feeble.

“Not… dead,” I whispered.

“Oh, thank God … thank God.” I heard the sob in my voice and was aware of a wild happiness surging through me.

I unbuttoned the jacket. If he had been shot through the heart as I had imagined, there should have been a bullet hole. I could find none.

He was not bleeding.

Quite suddenly the truth dawned on me. He had not been shot. The blood came from the horse lying beside him.

I took off my jacket and rolled in into a pillow to support his head, and I fancied I saw the colour warm in his face; his eyelids flickered.

I heard myself saying: “You’re alive … alive … Thank God.”

I was praying silently that help would come soon. I knelt there, my eyes upon his face, my lips silently moving.

Then the heavy lids flickered; they lifted and his eyes were on me. I saw the faint lift of his lips as I bent towards him.

I felt my own lips tremble; the emotion of the last minutes was unbearable the fear replaced by sudden hope which in itself must be tinged with fear.

“You will be all right,” I said.

He closed his eyes, and I knelt there waiting.