The Chateau on the Lake (15 page)

The drawing room at Château Mirabelle has high ceilings and carved
boiseries
covering the walls, all painted in the softest shade of green. I perch on the edge of a silk-upholstered sofa and pass the time while I wait for Etienne by studying the delicate satinwood furniture and the swirling pattern and soft colours of the Savonnerie carpet.

Footsteps approach briskly across the stone floor of the hall and I just have time to pinch some colour into my cheeks before Etienne enters the room.

‘How delightful to see you, Mademoiselle Moreau!’

‘I hope I do not disturb you?’

‘Not at all.’ He sits down on an adjacent chair and smiles expectantly at me.

‘I’m hoping you’ll approve of a scheme I have in mind,’ I say. ‘I discovered the other day that my maid Babette cannot read.’

‘It’s not uncommon for villagers to be illiterate.’

‘But this is the Age of Enlightenment!’

‘I suppose they don’t miss what they have never had.’

‘Are you afraid of the villagers becoming too educated and having ideas above their rank?’

Etienne smiles wryly. ‘I’m not sure, since the Revolution, that the villagers need to be able to write to gain ideas of aggrandisement.’

‘In my opinion every person should be literate, no matter what level of society they come from.’

‘And you do have a great many opinions, Mademoiselle Moreau,’ says Etienne.

I’m just about to retort when he continues.

‘But I agree with you on this matter. Everyone should be literate. Even the girls.’

‘Oh,’ I say, exhaling. I’d been readying myself for a confrontation. ‘So you would have no objection if I were to teach the village children to read and write?’

‘None whatsoever. In fact, I would encourage it.’

‘I could fit four or five children around our dining table.’

‘I have another idea. Will you follow me?’

He leads me out of the drawing room, up the stairs and along the landing to a part of the building I have not seen before. We walk down a green-painted corridor lined with paintings and then he opens a door to a large room, plainly furnished with wooden tables and scrubbed floorboards. There are two windows and he unlocks the shutters to admit the light. The walls are covered in maps, and collections of small animal skulls are arranged in a glass-fronted cupboard and butterflies pinned to a board in a display case.

‘My old schoolroom,’ says Etienne. ‘You may use it for your lessons, if you wish.’

I look around me, filled with delight, while I imagine a young and rather earnest Etienne studying in this very room.

‘Laurent and I, together with Jean-Luc, learned our lessons here,’ he says, ‘but there is plenty of room for fifteen or so children. What memories this room brings back!’ He takes a book from a shelf and opens it. ‘Ah, yes! Mathematics. I always dreaded the subject. Jean-Luc used to torment me because he found it so easy.’

‘All children have their strengths and weaknesses and I daresay there were subjects in which you excelled and Monsieur Viard was less able?’

Etienne smiles. ‘I loved to read and could often be found on the window seat in my father’s library. Jean-Luc was never interested in literature.’

‘But how would you feel about a gaggle of children coming into your home every day?’

‘The place is large enough.’ His face grows sad. ‘I’d hoped to have a son of my own to use this room. God knows, it feels like a mausoleum here sometimes. It’s a house that should be full of life.’ He takes a step closer to me and reaches for my hand. ‘And I believe you, Mademoiselle Moreau, may be just the woman to achieve that.’

His gaze is penetrating and I’m quite unable to look away. The rest of the room fades into a blur and all I see is the deep brown of his eyes. Slowly, he lifts my fingers and then brushes his mouth against the back of my hand, sending a shiver down my spine. I moisten my lips. I want him to kiss me properly.

But then he drops his gaze and releases my fingers.

Disappointment and embarrassment make me turn away. I spin the globe on its axis with trembling fingers, feigning a deep interest in the African continent and wondering if he’d seen the longing in my eyes.

‘When do you intend to begin the lessons?’ he asks, as if nothing had happened between us.

The heat in my cheeks dies away sufficiently to allow me to face him.

‘There’s no time like the present,’ I say. ‘I shall walk to the village tomorrow and seek permission from the children’s parents.’

‘I wish you every success in your endeavour, Mademoiselle Moreau.’

I follow him down the stairs and bid him goodbye.

A couple of days later, after supper, Sophie sits beside me, reading, while I prepare my lesson plans for the following week when my first pupils will join me in the schoolroom. Initially I will have twelve children, aged between six and eleven, every Tuesday and Thursday. Not all the parents were in favour of the idea but, if the lessons go well, perhaps other children will follow.

There are some useful things in the schoolroom that I’ll be able to use, slates, books and a globe. That globe. I remember spinning it to hide my awkwardness after the breathless moment when I’d been sure Etienne was about to kiss me. I can’t stop wondering what caused him to draw back at the last moment.

‘You’ll never finish your work if you keep daydreaming,’ says Sophie. ‘Is it of Monsieur d’Aubery?’ She laughs. ‘Your face is a picture, Maddy. Of course it’s of Monsieur d’Aubery.’

‘Is it so obvious?’

‘I’ve known you too long for you to be able to pull the wool over my eyes, but anyone looking at the two of you together can see that you only have eyes for each other. And I gain the impression that Monsieur Viard doesn’t care for that at all.’

‘I haven’t noticed.’

‘That’s because you’re far too taken up with Monsieur d’Aubery to notice anyone else.’

I can’t stop myself asking the next question. ‘Do you really think Monsieur d’Aubery likes me?’

‘Of course he does! But we’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t we?’

Sophie retires early to bed and a little while later I’m finishing my notes when I hear the doorknocker. I wonder if Babette has forgotten something but when I open the door my heart leaps when I find Etienne standing on the step.

‘Forgive me for calling so late,’ he says, ‘but I saw a light still burning.’

‘Please, come in!’ Hastily, I smoothe down my hair as he follows me into the drawing room. I hope he hasn’t noticed the ink stains on my fingers.

‘I’m preparing my lessons,’ I say, fumbling to tidy up the open books and scattered papers.

‘That is part of the reason for my visit.’

My heart sinks. ‘Is it no longer convenient?’

‘I have been called away unexpectedly but I came to assure you that there is no reason not to hold your lessons, as planned.’

‘Called away?’ The smile fades from my lips.

He thrusts one hand into his pocket and holds out a key. ‘This opens the door to the servants’ quarters and rear staircase. I have told Madame Viard that you have free access if you wish to go to the schoolroom at any time.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the despondency in my voice. ‘Will you be away for long?’

‘A week or two, perhaps.’

‘I see.’ The time stretches before me like a desert.

‘An old friend has arrived.’ Etienne idly picks up a small volume of poetry that had been my papa’s and strokes the worn leather cover with his thumb. He seems in no hurry to leave. ‘My friend is a chevalier of noble blood and travels with his wife and young son. Life here has become intolerable for them and they have been forced to flee their estate in fear of their lives. I have promised to escort them to London.’

My stomach clenches in sudden fear for his safety. ‘But isn’t that very dangerous, in the current circumstances?’

‘Of course.’

I daren’t ask him if it’s essential for him to go. ‘You will be careful?’

‘I always am.’ Etienne grins boyishly and I can see that part of him is excited by the prospect of the adventure. ‘I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you.’

Slowly, I lead him back to the hall and open the front door. It’s very dark outside and the candle on the hall table gutters in the draught.

‘I have told no one else where I am going, not even Jean-Luc,’ he says softly, ‘in case I’m accused of collaborating with the British. I could be guillotined for less.’

I shiver in the cold night air and pull my shawl more tightly around my shoulders. ‘No one will hear from me what you’re planning.’

‘I know that.’

I’m flattered that he trusts me. I will miss him very much.

We stand close together in the open doorway in our own small cocoon of light and his cheekbones are burnished by its glow. ‘I can’t bear to think of you taking any risks,’ I say, my voice husky.

‘Don’t look so worried.’ He reaches out to caress my cheek with the back of his fingers.

My breath catches as his butterfly touch sparks a tremor that runs all the way through me, leaving my knees trembling. I press my face against his hand. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ I whisper.

‘I’ll come and find you the moment I return.’ And then he draws me into his arms.

He holds me for a long moment, our cheeks just touching. The comforting warmth of him is against my breast and I wonder if he can feel the thudding of my heart.

Sighing, he drops a kiss on my forehead and releases me. ‘Until we meet again,’ he says.

‘Good night.’ I don’t want him to go.

He sets off along the path. I glimpse the pale blur of his face as he turns to lift a hand in farewell.

‘Godspeed,’ I murmur, as he melts into the darkness.

After he has gone, I stroke my cheek with trembling fingers where his touch still lingers.

 

 

The key Etienne gave to me turns easily in the lock and I enter a vestibule giving access to the kitchen passage and a bare wooden staircase to the upper floors. A rich meaty smell of stew and cabbage pervades the air and the sound of clattering pans and female voices comes from the kitchen.

Upstairs, the schoolroom smells faintly of ancient dust and mildewed books. My footsteps clip across the bare boards as I walk to the window. Down below the carriage drive stretches away into the distance through the parkland and finally disappears into the woods. Watching from my bedroom window early this morning, I saw a carriage driving away with Etienne riding ahead on Diable. Now, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the schoolroom window, I wonder how long it will be before he’ll come riding back to us and if he will come straight away to see me. There had been an implied promise in our parting that makes my heart beat faster to remember it.

Sighing, I turn away and start to arrange the tables and chairs ready for my pupils. There are slates in the large oak cupboard and I chalk a child’s name on each one, before setting them out on the tables.

‘The schoolmistress in her lair!’ says a teasing voice behind me.

I whirl around, thinking that it is Etienne’s voice and he has returned early. ‘Oh, Monsieur Viard!’

‘Did I startle you?’ Jean-Luc Viard is leaning against the doorpost with his arms folded as he watches me.

‘Just a little.’ I try not to let my disappointment show.

‘I came home for lunch and Maman mentioned that she saw you coming up here.’ He studies his fingernails and says, ‘Etienne visited you very late last night.’

‘He only stayed a moment or two,’ I say, suddenly wary.

A smile flickers across Monsieur Viard’s face. ‘I happened to be passing.’

My face flares scarlet as I realise that he might have seen me in Etienne’s arms. ‘He came to give me the key to let myself into the schoolroom.’

‘I just wondered,’ says Monsieur Viard, ‘if he said where he was going? He left so early I didn’t have a chance to speak to him.’

‘I believe a friend and his family came to visit, passing through on their way to Paris. Monsieur d’Aubery mentioned he also had business there and decided to travel with them.’

‘What kind of business?’

I open my eyes wide and attempt to look guileless. ‘He didn’t speak to me about that.’

‘I’m surprised.’ Monsieur Viard’s gaze is piercing. ‘I thought you and Etienne had a particular fondness for each other?’

‘He… he’s been very kind to Madame Levesque and myself,’ I stutter.

‘Well, I shan’t tease you about it any longer, then. Would you like me to show you the schoolroom’s secret? Unless Etienne has already told you about it?’

I shake my head.

Monsieur Viard grins, all at once more like his usual self. ‘Come with me.’

There is a door in the corner of the room, which I had taken for another cupboard, and he reaches up and feels along the top of the architrave until he fetches down a key. ‘Still here!’ he says, triumphantly. He unlocks the door and opens it, revealing a steep and winding stone staircase only as wide as our shoulders. ‘Shall I go first? There might be spiders’ webs.’

‘I’m not afraid of a few spiders,’ I lie. I manage not to flinch as I follow Monsieur Viard up the stairs and catch drifts of sticky webs across my cheek but I’m far more anxious about being in such a confined space. I’m out of breath by the time we emerge into a small, circular chamber pierced by four windows. The wooden floor is thick with dust and the air smells musty.

‘It’s years since I’ve been up here,’ says Monsieur Viard. ‘Laurent, Etienne and I used this turret as our secret hideaway. I wonder…’ He steps closer to the wall and a floorboard suddenly lifts in the centre of the room. Bending down, he puts his hand in the space underneath and withdraws a small cloth bag together with a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

‘What have you there?’ I ask.

‘Childhood treasures.’ He loosens the drawstring on the little bag and tips out a handful of marbles, which roll across the floor in all directions.

I pick up an extra-large marble as it comes to rest by my foot. It’s a beautiful thing made of polished agate.

Monsieur Viard takes it from me. ‘The floor slopes away here so the marbles always ended up in a pile against the wall.’ He struggles with the rusted catch on one of the windows until the casement opens with a squeak. ‘Come and see.’ A cold breeze blows through, banishing the stale air.

We are at the highest point of the building, matched only by the other three turrets, and we can see for miles beyond the parkland.

Rubbing the dust off a second window, I see the steeply pitched roof of the château like a dark sea of slate stretching away towards the other turrets.

Monsieur Viard opens a second window and there is the lake, shining in the light and as glassy smooth as my father’s moonstone ring. The little house nestles beside it and beyond that are the neat rows of vines on the gentle slope of the vineyard.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I say.

‘I love it up here.’ Monsieur Viard leans out over the windowsill and breathes in deeply.

‘Careful!’ I say.

‘Look down there.’

I rest my hands on the sill beside Monsieur Viard’s and peer out of the window. It’s a very long way down to the ground and it makes me dizzy. I never did like heights.

‘Look!’ Monsieur Viard holds my arm tightly and points to the carved stone dragons with entwined tails that embellish the turret. Beneath them is a stone ledge a foot wide running around the tower about six feet below. ‘We used to climb down and sit on that ledge to shoot arrows at the rooks. It runs all the way around the building.’

I shiver. ‘You could have killed yourselves!’

Monsieur Viard throws back his head and laughs. ‘That’s what Maman used to say but we never came to any harm.’

‘Nonetheless,’ I say as I close the window firmly, ‘I shall make sure the door to the staircase remains locked while the children are in the schoolroom.’

Monsieur Viard closes the other window, places the childhood treasures back under the floorboard and we begin the descent. I’m relieved when we’re out of the close confinement of the spiral staircase and back in the schoolroom.

‘All ready for your class tomorrow?’

I glance around at the neatly arranged tables and nod in satisfaction.

Monsieur Viard watches me with his mouth pursed. ‘Have you taught children before?’

‘For some years now, although only girls.’

‘You don’t look like a schoolteacher. Where did you work?’

I bite my lip, trying to remember the story Monsieur d’Aubery and I had concocted. ‘My father and mother had a school near Lyon,’ I say, ‘and I helped them with the younger girls for many years before I conducted classes on my own.’

‘And what made you leave Lyon?’ He sits down on a corner of the table and folds his arms over his broad chest.

He’s watching me closely and I do my best not to look anxious. ‘The counter-revolutionaries make it an uncomfortable place to live. And then there is Sophie, my oldest and closest friend,’ I say. ‘When her husband died from a sudden illness she sank into a despair so deep and terrible that I feared for her life.’

‘And it seems that you were right to fear for her since she nearly killed herself riding off on Diable.’

‘She said that everywhere she looked in Lyon she was reminded of her dear, dead Charles.’ I paste a mournful expression on my face and draw in a deep sighing breath. ‘In the end I decided that the only thing to do was to take her away from all the sad memories until she recovered. So we went to Paris to visit friends.’

‘But what exactly made you come to Château Mirabelle?’

It makes me anxious, being questioned like this. ‘Sophie’s mother knew Monsieur d’Aubery’s mother very well when they were children and she bade us call on him at his town house. Paris was in turmoil following the execution of the king…’