King of the Castle (12 page)

“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.”