King of the Castle (29 page)

“If the pictures had not been damaged, they would not have needed restoration certainly. They might have needed cleaning.”

“But you might not have come here, Miss Lawson. Think of that.”

“I am sure the Revolution was a greater catastrophe than that would have been.”

He laughed; and he was different then. I caught a glimpse of the light-hearted person through the mask. It was a wonderful moment.

I joined him and Genevieve for dinner each night during the absence of Philippe and Claude. The conversation was animated between us, and Genevieve would look on in a kind of bewilderment; but attempts to draw her in were not very successful. She, like her mother, seemed to be afraid of him.

Then one evening when we went down to dinner he was not there. He had left no message that he would not be

in, but after waiting for twenty minutes, dinner was served and we ate alone.

I felt very uneasy. I kept picturing him lying hurt or worse in the woods. If someone had tried to kill him and failed wasn’t it plausible that they should have another attempt?

I tried to eat, tried to disguise my anxiety, which Genevieve did not share, and I was glad when I could go to my room to be alone.

I walked up and down; I sat at my window; I could not rest. There was a mad moment when I thought of going to the stables and taking a horse to look for him. How could I do so at night and what right had I to concern myself in his affairs?

Of course, I reminded myself, the Comte who had been such a gracious companion to me had been the invalid. He had been recuperating from his accident and while he was confined to the chateau found me a substitute for his friends.

Why hadn’t I seen it?

It was daylight before I slept and when the maid brought my breakfast to my room I looked at her in surreptitious anxiety to see if she had heard any terrible news. But she was as placid as ever.

I went down to the gallery feeling tired and strained and in no mood to work; but I had told myself that if anything had happened I should have heard by now.

I had not been there very long when he came into the gallery. I started when I saw him and he looked at me strangely.

I said without thinking: “Oh … you are all right then?”

His face was expressionless, but he regarded me intently.

“I’m sorry I missed seeing you at dinner last night,” he said.

“Oh … yes. I… wondered …”

What was the matter with me? I was stammering like the foolish girls I so despised.

He continued to look at me and I was certain he had detected the signs of sleeplessness. What a fool I had been! Did I expect him to explain to me when he went out visiting his friends? Of course he would go out. He had only confined himself to the chateau because of his accident.

“I believe,” he said, ‘you were concerned for my safety. ” Did he know the state of my feelings as well as or perhaps better than I knew them myself?

“Tell me, did you imagine me shot through the heart… no, the head, because I believe you secretly think. Mademoiselle Lawson, that I have a stone where my heart should be. An advantage in a way. A bullet can’t pierce stone.”

I knew it was no use denying my concern so I tacitly admitted it in my reply.

“If you had been shot once it seemed plausible to imagine that it might happen again.”

“It would be too coincidental, don’t you think? A man shooting a hare happens to shoot my horse. It’s the sort of thing that could only happen once in a lifetime. And you are expecting it twice in a few weeks.”

“The hare theory might not be the true one.”

He sat down on the sofa beneath the picture of his ancestress in emeralds and regarded me on my stool.

“Are you comfortable there, Mademoiselle Lawson?”

“Thank you.” I could feel animation coming back into my body;

everything was gay again. I had only one fear now. Was I betraying myself?

“We’ve talked about pictures, old castles, old families, revolutions, yet never about ourselves,” he said almost gently.

“I am sure those subjects are more interesting than I personally could be.”

“Do you really think that?”

I shrugged my shoulders a habit I had learned from

^31

those about me. It was a good substitute for the answer expected to a difficult question.

“All I know is that your father died and you took his place.”

“There is little else to know. Mine has been a life like many others of my class and circumstances.”

“You never married. I wonder why.”

“I might reply as the English milkmaid, ” Nobody asked me, sir, she said”.”

“That I find extraordinary. I am sure you would make an excellent wife for some fortunate man. Just imagine how useful you would be. His pictures would always be in perfect condition.”

“What if he had none?”

“I am sure you would very quickly remedy that omission.”

I did not like the light turn of the conversation. I fancied he was making fun of me; and it was a subject about which, in view of my new emotions, I did not care to be mocked.

“I am surprised that you should be an advocate for marriage.” As soon as I had spoken I wished I hadn’t. I flushed and stammered: “I’m sorry”

He smiled, the mockery gone.

“And I’m surprised that you are surprised. Tell me, what does D stand for? Miss D. Lawson. I should like to know. It is such an unusual name.”

I explained that my father had been Daniel and my mother Alice.

“Dallas,” he repeated my name.

“You smile?”

“It’s the way in which you say it… with the accent on the last syllable. We put it on the first.”

He tried it out again, smiling at me.

“Dd/las Ddflas.” He made me feel that he liked saying it.

“You yourself have an unusual name.”

“It’s been used by my family for years … since the first King of the Franks. We have to be royal, you see. We throw in an occasional Louis, a Charles, an Henri. But we must have our Lothairs.

Now let me tell you how wrongly you pronounce my name. “

I said it and he laughed and made me say it again.

“Very good, Dd/las,” he said.

“But then everything you do you do well.”

I told him about my parents and how I had helped Father in his work.

Somehow it came through that they had dominated my life and kept me from marriage. He mentioned this.

“Perhaps it was better so,” he said.

“Those who don’t marry, often regret the omission; but those who do so, often regret far more bitterly. They long to go back in time and not do what they did. Well, that’s life, isn’t it?”

“That may be so.”

“Take myself. I was married when I was twenty to a young woman who was chosen for me. It is so in our families, you know.”

“Yes.”

“These marriages are often successful.”

“And yours was?” My voice was almost a whisper.

He did not answer and I said quickly: “I’m sorry. I am being impertinent.”

“No. You should know.”

I wondered why, and my heart began to beat uncomfortably.

“No, the marriage was not a success. I think I am incapable of being a good husband.”

“Surely a man could be … if he wanted to.”

“Mademoiselle Lawson, how could a man who is selfish, intolerant, impatient and promiscuous be a good husband?”

“Simply by ceasing to be selfish, intolerant and so on.”

“And you believe that one can turn off these unpleasant qualities like a tap?”

“I think one can try to subdue them.”

He laughed suddenly and I felt foolish.

“I amuse you?” I said coolly.

“You asked an opinion and I gave it.”

“It’s absolutely true, of course. I could imagine you subduing such unpleasant characteristics if only I could so far stretch my imagination as to picture you possessing them. You know how disastrously my marriage ended.”

I nodded.

“My experiences as a husband have convinced me that I should abandon that role for ever.”

“Perhaps you are wise to make such a decision.”

“I was sure you would agree.”

I knew what he meant. If what he suspected was true and I had allowed my feelings for him to become too deep, I should be warned.

I felt humiliated and wounded and I said briskly: “I am very interested in some of the wall surfaces I have noticed about the chateau. It has occurred to me that there might be some murals hidden beneath the lime wash.”

“Oh?” he said; and I thought he was not paying attention to what I said.

“I remember my father’s making a miraculous discovery on the walls of an ancient mansion in Northumberland. It was a wonderful painting which had been hidden for centuries. I feel certain that there must be similar discoveries here.”

“Discoveries?” he repeated.

“Yes?”

What was he thinking of? That stormy married life with Francoise? But had it been stormy? Deeply unhappy, entirely unsatisfactory since he had determined never to run the risk of such an experience again.

I was aware of an intense passion engulfing me. I thought: What could

I do? How could I leave this and go back. to England . back to a new life where there was no chateau full of secrets, no Comte whom I longed to restore to happiness?

“I should like to have a closer look at those walls,” I went on.

He said almost fiercely, as though denying everything that had gone before: Da/las, my chateau and myself are at your disposal. “

^35

Nine

A few days later Philippe and Claude returned fr<

“I think one can try to subdue them.”

He laughed suddenly and I felt foolish.

“I amuse you?” I said coolly.

“You asked an opinion and I gave it.”

“It’s absolutely true, of course. I could imagine you subduing such unpleasant characteristics if only I could so far stretch my imagination as to picture you possessing them. You know how disastrously my marriage ended.”

I nodded.

“My experiences as a husband have convinced me that I should abandon that role for ever.”

“Perhaps you are wise to make such a decision.”

“I was sure you would agree.”

I knew what he meant. If what he suspected was true and I had allowed my feelings for him to become too deep, I should be warned.

I felt humiliated and wounded and I said briskly: “I am very interested in some of the wall surfaces I have noticed about the chateau. It has occurred to me that there might be some murals hidden beneath the lime wash.”

“Oh?” he said; and I thought he was not paying attention to what I said.

“I remember my father’s making a miraculous discovery on the walls of an ancient mansion in Northumberland. It was a wonderful painting which had been hidden for centuries. I feel certain that there must be similar discoveries here.”

“Discoveries?” he repeated.

“Yes?”

What was he thinking of? That stormy married life with Francoise? But had it been stormy? Deeply unhappy, entirely unsatisfactory since he had determined never to run the risk of such an experience again.

I was aware of an intense passion engulfing me. I thought: What could I do? How could I leave this and go back. to England . back to a new life where there

^34

“And where is Mademoiselle Lawson?”

“I have told them to take up her tray. She cannot expect to eat at table with us. After all, she is not a guest; she is employed to work here.”

I saw his face darken with contempt for her and . regard for me.

“What nonsense, Boulanger, another place please. And go at once to Mademoiselle Lawson’s room and tell her that I am looking forward to her presence at dinner.”

I waited. The food on the tray was getting cold.

It did not happen as I had hoped. There was no message. Now if ever I should see what a fool I was. This woman was his mistress. He had married her to Philippe so that she could be at the chateau without arousing scandal, because he was wise enough to see that he could afford no more scandal since even kings in their castles had to be a little careful.

As for me I was the odd Englishwoman, who was so intense about her work and to whom it was amusing to talk for a time when one was indisposed and confined to the chateau.

Naturally her presence was not needed when Claude was at hand.

Moreover Claude was the mistress of the chateau.

Startled out of my sleep, I awoke in terror, for someone was in my room, standing there at the bottom of my bed.

“Miss.” Genevieve glided towards me, a lighted candle in her hand.

“I heard the tapping, miss. Only a few minutes ago. You said to come and tell you.”

“Genevieve …” I sat up in bed, my teeth chattering. I must have had a nightmare in those seconds before waking.

“What’s the time?”

“One o’clock. It woke me up. Tap … tap … and I was frightened and you said we’d go and see … together.”

I put my feet into slippers and hastily put on my dressing-gown.

“I expect you imagined it, Genevieve.” She shook her head.

“It’s like it was before. Tap … tap … as though someone is trying to let you know where they are.”

“Where?”

“Come to my room. I can hear it there.” I followed her through the chateau to the nursery which was in the oldest part of the house. I said: “Have you awakened Nounou?” She shook her head.

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