King of the Castle (13 page)

“You were her nurse too?”

“I came to her when she was three days old, and was with her till the end.”

“And now Genevieve has taken her place in your affections?”

“I trust to be with her always as I was with her mother. When it happened I couldn’t believe it. Why should it have happened to my Francoise? Why should she have taken her own life? It was unlike her.”

“Perhaps she was unhappy.”

“She did not hope for the impossible.”

“Did she know of his mistress?”

“Mademoiselle, in France these things are accepted. She was resigned.

She feared him; and I fancied she was glad of those visits to Paris.

When he was there . he was not in the chateau. “

“It does not sound to me like a happy marriage.”

“She accepted it.”

“And yet… she died.”

“She did not kill herself.” The old woman put her hands over her eyes and whispered as though to herself: “No, she did not kill herself.”

“But wasn’t that the verdict?”

She turned on me almost fiercely.

“What other verdict could there be except murder?”

“I heard it was an overdose of laudanum. How did she get it?”

“She often had toothache. I had the laudanum in my little cupboard and I used to give it to her. It soothed the toothache and sent her to sleep.”

“Perhaps she accidentally took too much.”

“She did not mean to kill herself. I am sure of it. But that was what they said. They had to … hadn’t they … for the sake of Monsieur Ie Comte?”

“Nounou,” I said, ‘are you trying to tell me that the Comte murdered his wife? “

She stared at me as though startled.

“You cannot say I

said that, mademoiselle. I said no such thing. You are putting words into my mouth. “

“But if she did not kill herself… then someone must have.”

She turned to the table and poured out two cups of coffee.

“Drink this, mademoiselle, and you will feel better. You are overwrought.”

I could have told her that in spite of my recent unpleasant experience I was less overwrought than she, but I wanted to glean as much as I could, and I realized that I was more likely to do so from her than from anyone else.

She gave me the cup and then drew a chair up to the sofa and sat down beside me.

“Mademoiselle, I want you to understand what a cruel thing this was which happened to my little Genevieve. I want you to forgive her … to help her.”

“Help her? Z?”

“Yes, you can. If you will forgive her. If you will please not tell her father.”

“She is afraid of him. I sensed that.”

Nounou nodded.

“He paid attention to you at dinner. She told me. And in a different way he paid attention to the pretty young governess. Do please understand. It is something to do with her mother’s death. It brings it back to her. You see, there is gossip and she knew that there ^ was another woman.” :

“Does she hate her father?”

“It is a strange relationship, mademoiselle. He is so aloof. ;

Sometimes she might not be there, for all the notice he takes of her.

At others he seems to take a delight in taunt-I ing her. It’s as though he dislikes her, as though he’s disappointed in her. If he would show her a little affection . ” She lifted her shoulders.

“He is a strange,;

hard man, mademoiselle, and since the scandals he has become more so.

”

“Perhaps he does not know what is said of him. Who would dare tell him of these rumours?”

“No one. But he is aware. He has been different since her death. He is no monk, mademoiselle, but he seems to have a contempt for women.

Sometimes I think he is a most unhappy man. “

Perhaps, I thought, it is not very good taste to discuss the master of the house with one of his servants; but I was avidly curious and could not have stopped myself had I wanted to. This was something else I was discovering about myself. I refused to listen to my conscience.

“I wonder he has not married again,” I said.

“Surely a man in his position would want a son.”

“I do not think he will marry again, mademoiselle. It is for that reason that he sent for Monsieur Philippe.”

“So he sent for Philippe?”

“Not long ago. I dare say Monsieur Philippe will be expected to marry and his son will have everything.”

“I find that very hard to understand.”

“Monsieur Ie Comte is hard to understand, mademoiselle. I have heard that he lives very gaily in Paris. Here he is much alone. He is melancholy and seems to take pleasure only in the discomfort of everyone else.”

“What a charming man!” I said scornfully.

“Ah, life is not easy at the chateau. And most difficult of all for Genevieve.” She laid her hand on mine; it was cold. I knew in that moment how dearly she loved her charge and how anxious she was.

“There is nothing wrong with her,” she insisted.

“These tantrums of hers … she will grow out of them. There was nothing wrong with her mother. A gentler, sweeter girl it would be difficult to find.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I shall not mention what happened to her father nor to anyone. But I think I should speak to her.”

Nounou’s face cleared.

“Yes, you speak to her… and if you should be in conversation with Monsieur Ie Comte … and could tell him .. say how clever she is at speaking English … how gentle she is how calm …”

“Her English would quickly improve, I’m sure. But I could scarcely call her calm.”

“Because it is said her mother took her own life, people are inclined to think she is highly strung.”

I thought she certainly was but did not say so. Oddly enough Nounou had brought me here to soothe me and I was ending by soothing her.

“Francoise was the most natural, normal little girl you could have met.” She set down her cup and going to the other side of the room returned with a wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“I keep some of her things in here. I look at them some times to remind me. She was such a good child. Her governesses were delighted with her. I often tell Genevieve how good she was.”

She opened the box and took out a book bound in red leather.

“She pressed her flowers in this. She was fond of flowers. She’d roam through fields gathering them. And she would pick some from the gardens. There, look at that forget-me-not. You see this handkerchief?

She did that for me. Such pretty embroidery. She would embroider for me for Christmas and fete days and she’d always hide it when;

I came near to keep it a surprise. Such a good, quiet girl. ‘s Girls like that don’t take their lives. She was good, and she was religious too. She had a way of saying her prayers that would make your heart ache; she used to decorate the chapel here herself. She would have thought it a sin to take her life. ” | ” Did she have brothers and sisters? ” | ” No, she was an only child. Her mother was . not I

strong. I nursed her too. She died when Francoise was nine years old, and Francoise was eighteen when she herself married. “

“And she was quite happy to marry?”

“I do not think she knew what marriage meant. I remember the night of the diner contrat. You understand, mademoiselle? Perhaps you do not have this in England? But here in France when two people are to marry, there are the contracts to be talked of and agreed on; and when this is done there is the diner contrat the dinner at the bride’s house, and there she dines with her family and the bridegroom and some members of his family, and afterwards the contracts are signed. She is very happy then, I think. She would be the Comtesse de la Talle and the de la Talles are the most important family and the richest for miles. It^was a good match, an achievement. Then there was the civil marriage and after that the marriage in church.”

“And after that she was less happy?”

“Ah, life cannot be all that a young girl dreams, mademoiselle.”

“Particularly married to the Comte de la Talle.”

“As you have said, mademoiselle.” She held out the box to me.

“But you see what a sweet girl she was, her pleasures so simple. It was a shock to her to marry a man like the Comte.”

“The sort of shock many young girls have to face.”

“You speak truth, mademoiselle. She used to write in her little books, she called them. She liked to keep an account of the things that happened. I keep the little books.” She went to a cupboard, unlocked it with a key which dangled from a bunch at her waist, and took out a small notebook.

“This is the first. See how good her handwriting is.”

I opened the book and read: “May ist. Prayers with Papa and the servants. I repeated the collect to him and

he said I had made progress. I went to the kitchen and watched Marie baking the bread. She gave me a piece of sugar cake and said not to tell because she was not sup posed to be baking sugar cake. “

“A sort of diary,” I commented.

“She was so young. Not more than seven. How many of seven can write as well? Let me get you more coffee, mademoiselle. Look at the book. I often read it. It brings her back to me.”

I turned the pages, glancing at the large childish hand writing.

“I

think I will make a tray-cloth for Nounou. It will take a long time but if it is not finished in time for her birthday she can have it for Christmas. “

“Papa talked to me today after prayers. He said I must always be good and try to forget myself.”

“I saw Mama today. She did not know who I was. Papa talked to me afterwards and said that she might not be with us much longer.”

“I have blue silks for the tray-cloth. I will find some pink as well. Nounou nearly saw it today.

That was very exciting. “

“I heard Papa praying in his room yesterday.

He called me in and made me pray with him. Kneeling hurts my knees, but Papa is so good he does not notice. “

“Papa said he will show me his greatest treasure on my next birthday. I shall be eight. I do wonder what it is.”

“I wish there were children to play with. Marie said that in the house where she used to work there were nine. All those brothers and sisters would be nice. There would be one who was my special one.”

“Marie made a cake for my birthday. I went to the kitchen to watch her make it.”

“I thought Papa’s treasure would be pearls and rubies but it is only an old robe with a hood. It’s black and smells fusty after being shut up. Papa said I must not mistake the shadow for the substance.”

Nounou was standing over me.

“It’s rather sad,” I said.

“She was a lonely child.”

“But good. You can learn that. That brings her to life. She had a sweet temper. And it comes through, doesn’t it?

She accepts things as they are do you know what I mean? “

“Yes, I think I know.”

“Not the sort, you see, to take her own life. There was nothing hysterical about her. And really Genevieve is the same … at heart.”

I was silent, sipping the coffee she had brought to me. I felt drawn towards her because of the deep devotion she had felt to the mother and daughter. I sensed in a way that she was trying to win me to her point of view.

In that case I should be frank with her.

“I think I ought to tell you,” I said, ‘that on the first day I was here Genevieve took me to see her mother’s grave. “

“She often goes there,” said Nounou quickly, lights of fear darting to her eyes.

“She did it in a peculiar way. She said she was taking me to see her mother … and I thought that I was going to be taken to a living woman.”

Nounou nodded, her eyes averted.

“Then she said that her father had murdered her mother.”

Nounou’s face wrinkled in fear.

She laid her hand on my arm.

“But you understand, don’t you? The shock of finding her … her own mother. And then the gossip. It was natural, wasn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t like to think it was natural for a child to accuse her father of murdering her mother.”

“The shock …” she repeated.

“She needs help, mademoiselle. Think of this household. The death … the whispers in the chateau … the gossip outside. I know that you are a sensible woman. I know that you will want to do all you can.”

The hands were clutching at my arm; the lips moved as though mouthing words that she dared not say.

She was a frightened women and because of my recent experience at the hands of her charge she was asking my help.

I said cautiously: “It would certainly have been a great shock. She must be treated with care. Her father does not seem to realize this.”

I Nounou’s face twisted in lines of bitterness. She hates him, I thought. She hates him for what he is doing to his daughter . and what he did to his wife.

“But we realize it,” said Nounou. I was touched and I put out my hand and pressed hers.

It was as though we made a pact then. Her face brightened and she said: “We’ve let our coffee get cold. I’ll make some more.”

And there in that little room I knew that I was being caught up in the life of the chateau.

Four

I told myself it was not my affair to assess whether or not the master of the house was a murderer, but to discover how much restoration the paintings needed and what methods should be used to produce the best results; and during the weeks that followed I became absorbed in my work.

Guests came to the chateau, which meant that I was not invited to dinner. I was not really displeased about this, as the Comte’s attitude towards me disturbed me. I felt that he was almost hoping that I would fail. I feared that he might undermine my confidence, and while I was occupied in my delicate task I had to believe it would be a complete success.

But after leaving me alone for a few days he came to the gallery one morning when I was at work.

“Oh, dear. Mademoiselle Lawson,” he exclaimed as he looked at the picture before me.

“What are you doing?”

I was startled, for the picture had been reacting perfectly to my treatment and I felt the colour rush to my cheeks. I was about to protest angrily when he went on: “You are going to restore such colour to this painting that you will remind us all over again of those tiresome emeralds.”