King of the Castle (20 page)

The nursery quarters were not far from my own and consisted of four rooms adjoining one another. There was first the schoolroom, lofty with a vaulted ceiling and embrasures with the stone window-seat benches which were a feature of the chateau. In this was a huge fireplace large enough, as Nounou had said, to roast an ox. To one side of it was an enormous pewter cauldron which was always full of logs. There were three doors which led from this room-one was Genevieve’s bedroom; one Nounou’s;

and the other was reserved for the governess.

Into the schoolroom we solemnly went after we returned from church and there we laid our shoes before the dying fire.

Genevieve went to bed and when we guessed she was asleep Nounou and I laid our gifts in the shoes. I had a scarf of scarlet silk for Genevieve which I thought could be used as a cravat and would be most becoming to her dark colouring and useful for riding. For Nounou I had what Madame Latiere at the patisserie had assured me were her favourite sweets, a kind of cushion made of rum and butter in a very charming box. Nounou and I pretended not to see our own gifts, said good night and went back to our rooms.

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I was awakened early next morning by Genevieve.

“Look, miss. Look!” she cried. :

I sat up startled and then remembered that it was Christ-H mas morning.

“The scarf is lovely. Thank you, miss.” She was wearing it over her dressing-gown.

“And Nounou has given me handkerchiefs … all beautifully embroidered. And there is too … Oh, miss, I haven’t opened it. It’s from Papa. It says so. Read it.”

I was sitting up in bed as excited as she was.

“It was by my shoe with the others, miss.”

“Oh,” I cried.

“That’s wonderful!”

“He hasn’t done it for years. I wonder why this year …”

“Never mind. Let’s see what it is.”

It was a pearl pendant on a slender gold chain.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” I cried.

“Fancy!” she said.

“He put it there.”

“You’re pleased with it?”

She could not speak; she nodded.

“Put it on,” I said, and helped her fasten it.

She went to the looking-glass and studied herself. Then she came back to the bed and, picking up my scarf which she had taken off to put the pendant on, she laid it across her shoulders.

“Happy Christmas, miss,” she said gaily.

I thought it was going to be one.

She insisted that I go into the schoolroom.

“Nounou’s not up yet. She can have hers later. Now, miss, do look at yours.” I picked up Genevieve’s parcel. It was a book about the castle and the neighbourhood. She watched me delightedly while I opened it.

“How I shall enjoy that!” I cried.

“So you knew how fascinated I was.”

“Yes, you show it, miss. And you do like old houses so much, don’t you? But you mustn’t start reading it now.”

“Oh, Genevieve, thank you. It was good of you to think of me.”

She said: “Look. You’ve got a tray-cloth from Nounou. I know who did that. My mother. Nounou’s got a whole boxful of them.”

The handkerchiefs; the tray-cloth . they were all the work of Francoise! I wondered that Nounou had parted with them.

“And there’s something else for you, miss.” I had seen the parcel and a wild thought had come into my head which while quite crazy, was so exciting, that I was afraid to pick up the parcel for fear of almost certain disappointment.

“Open it! Open it!” commanded Genevieve. I did and found an exquisite miniature set with pearls. It portrayed a woman holding a spaniel in her arms. The head of the dog was just visible and I knew by the hair style of the woman that this had been painted some hundred and fifty years ago.

“Do you like it?” cried Genevieve.

“Who gave it?”

“It’s beautiful but too valuable. I…”

Genevieve picked up a note which had fallen from the parcel. On it was written: “You will recognize the lady whom you have so expertly cleaned. She would probably be as grateful to you as I am, so it seems fitting that you should have this. I had intended to give it to you when I came across it the other day, but since you like your old customs it is here in your shoe. Lothair de la Talle.”

“It’s Papa!” cried Genevieve excitedly.

“Yes. He’s pleased with my work on the pictures and this is his appreciation.”

“Oh … but in your shoe! Who would have thought…”

“Well, he must have thought that while he was putting your pendant in your shoe he could put this in mine.”

Genevieve was laughing uncontrollably.

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I said: “This is the lady in the portrait with the emeralds. That is why he has given it to me.”

“You like it, miss? You do like it?”

“Well, it is a very beautiful miniature.”

I handled it lovingly, noting the exquisite colouring and the lovely setting of pearls. I had never possessed anything so beautiful.

Nounou appeared.

“Such a noise!” she said.

“It woke me. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Nounou.”

“Just look what Papa has given me, Nounou. And in my shoe.”

“In your shoe?”

“Oh, wake up, Nounou. You’re half asleep. It’s Christmas morning.

Look at your presents. If you don’t open them I will. Open mine first. “

Genevieve had bought her a primrose-coloured apron which Nounou declared was just what she wanted; then she expressed her pleasure over my bonbons. The Comte had not forgotten her either; there was a large fleecy wool len shawl in a shade of dark blue.

Nounou was puzzled.

“From Monsieur Ie Comte … but why?”

“Doesn’t he usually remember Christmas?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, he remembers. The vineyard workers all have their turkeys, and the indoor servants have gifts of money. The steward gives them out. It has always been the custom.”

“Show her what you’ve got, miss.”

I held out the miniature.

“Oh!” said Nounou, and for a moment she looked at me blankly; then I saw the speculation in her eyes.

I was responsible for this giving of presents, Nounou was thinking. I knew it; and I was glad. But Nounou was disturbed.

Six

In the morning Genevieve and I walked to the Bastides’. Madame Bastide, hot from the kitchen, came out to greet us waving a ladle;

Gabrielle looked over her shoulder, for her services were also needed in the kitchen, from which a delicious smell was coming. Yves and Margot dashed at Genevieve and told her what they had found in their shoes;

I was glad she could tell them what she had found in hers;

I noticed with what pleasure she had displayed her gifts. She went to the creche and called out in delight as she peered into the cradle.

“He’s here!” she cried.

“Of course,” retorted Yves.

“What did you expect? It’s Christmas morning.”

Jean Pierre came in with a load of logs and his face lit up with pleasure.

“This is a great day when chateau people sit down at our table.”

“Genevieve could scarcely wait for this,” I told him.

“And you?”

“I too have looked forward to it.”

“Then, we must see that you are not disappointed.”

Nor were we. It was a gay occasion; the table which Gabrielle had decorated so charmingly with feathery evergreens was overcrowded that day, for Jacques and his mother had joined the party. She was an invalid and it was touching to see how tender Jacques was to her; and with Madame Bastide, her son and four grandchildren besides Genevieve and myself we made a sizeable party, kept merry by the excitement of the children.

Madame Bastide sat at the head of the table and her

son opposite her. I was on Madame Bastide’s right hand, Genevieve on that of her son. We were the guests of honour and here as in the chateau etiquette was observed.

The children chatted all the time and I was glad to see that Genevieve was listening intently and occasionally joining in. Yves would not allow her to be shy. I was certain that it was company such as this that she needed, for she seemed happier than I had ever seen her before. About her neck was her pendant. I guessed she would never want to take it off and would perhaps sleep in it.

Madame Bastide carved the turkey, which was stuffed with chestnuts and served with a puree of mushrooms. It was quite delicious, but the great moment was when a large cake was brought in to the delighted shrieks of the children.

“Who will get it? Who will get it?” chanted Yves.

“Who’ll be King for the day?”

“It might be a Queen,” Margot reminded him.

“It’ll be a King. What’s the good of a Queen?”

“If a Queen has the crown she can rule.”

“Be silent, children,” scolded Madame Bastide.

“Does Mademoiselle Lawson know of this old custom?”

Jean Pierre was smiling at me across the table.

“You see that cake,” he said.

“Of course she sees it,” cried Yves.

“It’s big enough,” added Gabrielle.

“Well,” went on Jean Pierre, ‘inside it is a crown a tiny crown. Now the cake is going to be cut into ten pieces one for each and all the cake must be eaten . and with care . “

“You might have the crown,” shrieked Yves.

“With care,” went on Jean Pierre, ‘for someone round this table is going to find the crown in the cake. “

“And when it is found?”

“King for the day,” shouted Yves.

“Or Queen for the day,” added Margot.

“They wear the crown?” I asked.

“It’s too little,” Gabrielle told me.

“But…”

“Better than that. The one who gets the crown is King or as Margot says Queen for the day,” explained Jean Pierre.

“It means that he or she … rules the household. What he …” he smiled at Margot ‘or she . says is law. “

“For the whole of the day!” cried Margot.

“If I get it,” said Yves, ‘you can’t think what I’ll do! “

“What?” demanded Margot.

But he was too overcome by mirth to tell, and everyone was impatient for the cutting of the cake.

There was a tense silence while Madame Bastide plunged in the knife;

the cake was cut and Gabrielle stood up to take the plate and hand it round. I was watching Genevieve, delighted to see how she could join in the simple fun.

There was no sound as we started to eat only the ticking of the clock and the crackle of logs in the fireplace.

Then suddenly there was a shout and Jean Pierre was holding up the little gold-coloured crown.

“Jean Pierre has it! Jean Pierre has it!” sang out the children.

“Call me Your Majesty when you address me,” retorted Jean Pierre with mock dignity.

“I order my coronation to take place without delay.”

Gabrielle went out of the room and returned carrying, on a cushion, a metal crown, decorated with tinsel. The children wiggled on the seats with delight, and Genevieve watched round-eyed.

“Who does Your Majesty command should crown you?” asked Gabrielle.

Jean Pierre pretended to survey us all regally; then his eyes fell on me. I glanced towards Genevieve and he took the message at once.

“Mademoiselle Genevieve de la Talle step forward,” he said.

Genevieve leapt to her feet, her cheeks pink, her eyes shining.

“You have to put the crown on his head,” Yves told her.

So Genevieve walked solemnly to the cushion which Gabrielle held and, taking the crown, put it on Jean Pierre’s head.

“Now you kneel and kiss his hand,” commanded Yves, ‘and swear to serve the King. “

I was watching Jean Pierre sitting back in his chair, the crown on his head, while Genevieve kneeled at his feet on the cushion on which Gabrielle had carried the crown. His expression was one of complete triumph. He certainly played the part well.

Yves broke up the solemn proceedings by demanding what was His Majesty’s first command. Jean Pierre thought for a while and then he looked at Genevieve and me and said: “That we dispense with formality.

Everyone here is commanded to call everyone else by their Christian names. “

I saw Gabrielle look at me apprehensively so I smiled and said: “Mine is Dallas. I hope you can all say it.”

They all repeated it with the accent on the last syllable and there was laughter from the children as I corrected each one in turn.

“Is it a well-known English name?” asked Jacques.

“Like Jean Pierre and Yves in France?” asked Yves.

“By no means. It’s entirely my own and there’s a reason for it. My father was Daniel, my mother Alice. Before I was born he wanted a girl; she wanted a boy; he wanted it named after my mother, she after him. Then I appeared … and they merged their names and made Dallas.”

This delighted the children, who started a game of linking names to see who could get the most amusing.

And immediately we were on Christian-name terms and it was extraordinary how that broke down all formality.

Jean Pierre sat back, his crown on his head like a benevolent monarch, and yet now and then I thought I could see a trace of arrogance which reminded me of the Comte.

He caught me watching him and laughed.

He said to me: “It is good of you, Dallas, to join in our games.”

And for some absurd reason I was relieved to find he referred to this as a game.

When the Bastides’ maid came to put up the shutters I was reminded how time was flying. It had been such a pleasant afternoon; we had played games, miming and guessing all under the command of Jean Pierre; we had danced, for Armand Bastide’s contribution to the jollity had been to play the violin.

There was only one time as good as Christmas, Margot confided in me as she taught me how to dance the Sautiere Charentaise, and that was grape harvest. but she didn’t think even that was quite as good for there weren’t the presents and the tree and King-fora-day.

“Grape harvest is really for the grownups,” added Yves sagely.

“Christmas is ours.”

I was delighted to see Genevieve throw herself so wholeheartedly into the playing of games. I could see that she wanted the afternoon to go on and on; but I knew that we should return to the chateau. Even now our absence would have been noticed and I did not know what reaction there would be.