King of the Castle (38 page)

It was early so I decided I would take a walk to the Maison Bastide to ask if they belonged to Jean Pierre.

I found Madame Bastide alone. I showed her the scissors and asked if they were her grandson’s.

“Why, yes,” she said, ‘he’s been looking for those. “

“You’re sure they are his?”

“Undoubtedly.”

I laid them on the table.

“Where did you find them?”

“In the chateau.”

I saw the fear leap into her eyes, and in that moment the incident seemed to take on a greater significance.

“Yes, in the gun-room. I thought it was an odd place to find them.”

There was a silence while I was deeply aware of the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away the seconds.

“He lost them some weeks ago when he went to see Monsieur Ie Comte,” said Madame Bastide, but I felt she was trying to excuse Jean Pierre’s being in the chateau and to suggest that he had lost the scissors before the Comte’s departure.

We avoided looking at each other. I knew Madame Bastide was alarmed.

I couldn’t sleep very well that night. It had been a disturbing day. I wondered what Claude’s motives had been when she had followed me to the oubliette. What would have happened if I had not taken the precaution of telling Nounou and the maid that I should be there? I shivered. Did Claude want me out of the way and was she growing impatient because I was still hesitating to take the solution she had offered me?

And then finding Jean Pierre’s scissors in the gun-room had been disturbing particularly in view of Madame Basride’s reaction when I returned them.

It was small wonder that I felt restless.

I was half-dozing when the door of my room opened and I awoke with a start, my heart beating so fast that I felt it would burst. I sensed that there was something evil in my room.

Starting up in bed I saw a figure swathed in blue at the foot of my bed. I was half-dreaming, I suppose, because for a few seconds I thought I really was face to face with one of the chateau ghosts. Then I saw it was Claude.

“I’m afraid I frightened you. I didn’t think you would be asleep yet.

I knocked at your door but you didn’t answer. “

“I was dozing,” I said.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

I looked surprised and she went on: “You’re thinking I’ve had better opportunities… but it’s not easy to tell

you. I had to wait until I could . and I kept putting it off. “

“What have you to tell me?”

“I’m going to have a child,” she said.

“Congratulations!” But why, I thought, wake me to tell me that?

“I want you to understand what this means.”

“That you are going to have a child? I think this is good news and I suppose not wholly unexpected.”

“You are a woman of the world.”

I was a little surprised to hear myself referred to as such, and I did not protest although I felt she was attempting to flatter me, which was strange.

“If he is a boy he will be the future Comte.”

“You are presuming that the Comte will have no sons of his own.”

“But surely you know enough of the family history to understand that Philippe is here because the Comte has no wish to marry. If he does not, then my son will inherit.”

“That may be so,” I said.

“But what is it you are trying to tell me?”

“I’m telling you that you should accept the proposition I have put to you before it is too late. The offer won’t remain open indefinitely. I was going to talk to you this afternoon but I found it too difficult.”

“What do you want to Say to me?”

“I want to be quite frank. Whose child do you think I am going to have?”

“Your husband’s, of course.”

“My husband has no interest in women. In any case he is impotent. You see how this simplifies the plan. The Comte does not want to marry but he would like his son to inherit. Do you understand?”

“It is no concern of mine.”

“No, that’s true. But I’m trying to help you. I know you think that

strange, but it’s true. I haven’t always been very pleasant to you, I know. So you wonder why I should bother to help you. I don’t know why… except that people like you can get hurt even worse than most. The Comte is a man who will have his own way.

His family have always been like that. They care for nothing but getting their own way. You should leave here. You should let me help you. I can do it now, but unless you make up your mind, you will lose this chance. You admit it’s an excellent chance? “

I did not answer. I could only think of her implication that the child she carried was the Comte’s. I didn’t want to believe it but it fitted in with what I knew. This would ensure his child’s inheriting the titles and estates. And Philippe, the complaisant, would pose as the child’s father to the outside world. It was the price he must pay to be called Comte, should the real Comte die before him; it was the price he must pay to call the chateau his home.

She is right, I thought. I must get away.

She was watching me intently and she said gently, almost tenderly: “I know how you feel. He has been … attentive, hasn’t he? He has never met anyone quite like you before. You are different from the rest of us, and he always was attracted by novelty. That is why nothing can last with him. You should go to prevent yourself being hurt… badly.”

She was like a ghost at the foot of my bed, warning me to avert the tragedy which loomed over me.

She went on: “Shall I arrange for you to go on that tour?”

I answered quietly: “I will think about it.”

She shrugged, and turning, glided to the door. There she paused to look back at me.

“Good night,” she said softly, and she was gone.

I lay awake for a long time.

I should be deeply hurt if I stayed. I had not realized until now how deeply, how bitterly.

When the Comte returned to the chateau a few days later, he seemed preoccupied and did not seek me out. As for myself I was so horrified by what Claude had told me that I was anxious to avoid him. I told myself that had I truly loved him I should not have believed Claude, but the fact was that I felt there was a possibility of her story being true; and oddly enough it made no difference to my feelings for the Comte. I did not love him for his virtues. I had seen him for the man he was in fact I had believed ill of him which had proved to be wrong as in the case of Gabrielle and Mademoiselle Dubois and knowing all this I had blindly allowed myself to be fascinated.

The fact was, I could not understand my feelings. All I knew was that he dominated my life, that without him life would be flat, dull, meaningless. I could not even ask him now if Claude’s story was true.

There was too big a barrier between us. The man was an enigma to me and yet it seemed to me that my whole world would be devoid of hope for happiness if he went out of it.

It was not sensible; it was not what I should have expected of myself;

and yet I had done it.

I could only call that being recklessly and hopelessly involved.

Involved! How typical of me to try to find another word for being in love because, I admonished myself scornfully, I was afraid to face up to the fact that I loved a man irrevocably.

There was a rising tension during those days. There was only one thing I was certain of. This situation could not

remain static. It was explosive; we were working towards some crisis and when it came my future would be decided.

There was always, I imagined, this atmosphere of excitement as the harvest approached. But this was my personal crisis. I was coming to the end of the work; I could not stay on indefinitely at the chateau.

I should have to talk of my future and I experienced complete desolation when I considered that I might tell the Comte that I was going and he would let me go.

I had strayed into this feudal life and I with my strict English upbringing had tried to become a part of it. How wrong I might have been! I clung to that word ‘might’. It was the only hope I had.

Into this strange period of waiting there came suddenly the sense of danger . danger of a different sort from that in which a foolish woman allows herself to dream of an impossible romance. Imminent danger. It was because of an uneasy feeling that I was being watched.

Little sounds-unmistakable yet unidentifiable-as I walked through the corridors to my room. The extra sense that comes unexpectedly and which sets one turning sharply, to look over the shoulder. This had suddenly crept upon me and it persisted.

I was very conscious of the key which I carried about with me in my petticoat pocket. I had promised that I would show it to the Comte and that together we should search for the lock which it would fit. But since Claude had talked to me I felt unable to face him.

I had promised myself a few more days of exploration;

secretly I pictured myself going to him and telling him I had discovered his emeralds, for I was growing more and more certain that that was what I should find. Perhaps, I thought in my heart, he would be so overwhelmed, so delighted, that even if he had not thought seriously of me before, he would do so then.

What stupid ideas women in love will get! I reminded

myself. They live in a world of romance which has little connection with reality. They make charming pictures and then convince themselves that they are true.

Surely I was beyond that sort of behaviour.

He had not been to see how the wall-painting was progressing, which surprised me. At times I wondered whether Claude talked of me to him and they smiled together at my innocence. If it were true that she was to have his child then they would be very intimate, I couldn’t believe it but that was the romantic woman in me. Looking at the situation from a practical point of view it seemed logical enough and weren’t the French noted for their logic? What to my my English reasoning would seem an immoral situation, to their French logic would seem satisfactory. The Comte, having no desire for marriage yet wishing to see his son inherit the name, fortune, estates and everything that was important to him; Philippe as his reward would inherit before the boy if the Comte should die, and the chateau was his home; Claude could enjoy her relationship with her lover without suffering any loss of dignity. Of course it was reasonable; of course it was logical.

But to me it was horrible and I hated it, and I did not try to see him for I feared I should betray my feelings. In the meantime I was watchful.

One afternoon I walked over to see Gabrielle, now very obviously pregnant and contented. I enjoyed my visit, for we talked of the Comte and Gabrielle was one of the people who had a high regard for him.

When I left her I took the short cut through the woods and it was while I was there that the feeling of being followed came upon me more strongly than before. On this occasion I was truly alarmed. Here was I alone in the woods those very woods in which the Comte had received his injury. The fear had come suddenly upon me, with the crackle of undergrowth, the snapping of a twig.

I stopped and listened. All was silent; and yet I was conscious of danger.

An impulse came to me to run and I did so. Such panic possessed me that I almost screamed aloud when my skirt was caught by a bramble. I snatched it away leaving a little of the stuff behind, but I did not stop.

I was certain I heard the sound of hurrying steps behind me, and when the trees thinned out I looked behind me, but there was no one.

I came out of the copse. There was no sign of anyone emerging from the woods, but I did not pause long. I started the long walk back to the chateau.

Near the vineyards I met Philippe on horseback.

He rode up to me and as soon as he saw me exclaimed:

“Why Mademoiselle Lawson, is anything wrong?”

I guessed I still looked a little distraught so there was no point in hiding it.

“I had rather an unpleasant experience in the woods. I thought I was being followed.”

“You shouldn’t go into the woods alone, you know.”

“No, I suppose not. But I didn’t think of it.”

“Fancy, I dare say, but I can understand it. Perhaps you were remembering how you found my cousin there when he was shot, and that made you imagine someone was following you. It might have been someone after a hare.”

“Probably.”

He dismounted and stood still to look at the vineyards.

“We’re going to have a record harvest,” he said.

“Have you ever seen the gathering of the grapes?”

“No.”

“You’ll enjoy it. It won’t be long now. They’re almost ready. Would you care to take a look into the sheds? You’ll see them preparing the baskets. The excitement is growing.”

“Should we disturb them?”

“Indeed not. They like to think that everyone is as excited as they are.”

He led me along a path towards the sheds and talked to me about the grapes. He admitted that he had not attended a harvest for years. I felt embarrassed in his company. I saw him now as the weak third party in a distasteful compact. But I could not gracefully make my escape.

“In the past,” he was saying, “I used to stay at the chateau for long periods in the summer, and I always remembered the grape harvest. It seemed to go on far into the night and I would get out of bed and listen to them singing as they trod the grapes. It was a most fascinating sight.”

“It must have been.”

“Oh, yes, Mademoiselle Lawson. I never forgot the sight of men and women stepping into the trough and dancing on the grapes. And there were musicians who played the songs they knew and they danced and sang. I remembered watching them sink lower and lower into the purple juice.”

“So you are looking forward to this harvest.”

“Yes, but perhaps everything seems more colourful when we are young.

But I think it was the grape harvest which decided me that I’d rather live at Chateau Gaillard than anywhere else on earth. “

“Well, now you have that wish.”

He was silent and I noticed the grim Jines about his mouth. I wondered what he felt about the relationship between the Comte and his wife.