King of the Castle (32 page)

“Go?” said the Comte.

“But she hasn’t finished the pictures. Moreover she has been talking to me about wall panels.”

She went close to him, lifting those wonderful blue eyes to his face.

“Lothair,” she said, ‘please listen to me. I am thinking of Genevieve.

”

He looked beyond her at me.

“You do not say anything, Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“I shall be sorry to leave the pictures unfinished.”

“That is unthinkable.”

“You mean … you are on her side?” demanded Claude.

“I mean that I can’t see what good Mademoiselle Law-son’s going could bring to Genevieve, and I can see what harm it would bring to my pictures.”

She stood back from him. For a moment I thought she was going to strike him; instead she looked as though she were about to burst into tears, and turning walked out of the room.

“She is very angry with you,” I said.

“With me? I thought it was with you.”

“With both of us.”

“Genevieve has behaved badly again.”

“Yes, I fear so. It was because she was forbidden to go to the Bastides’.”

“And you have taken her there?”

“Yes.”

“You thought it wise?”

“At one time I thought it very wise. She misses the society of young people. A girl of her age should have friends. It

2. is because she had none that she is so unpredictable . given to moods and tantrums, playing these tricks. “

“I see. And it was an idea of yours to give her this companionship ?”

“Yes. I have seen her very happy at the Bastides’.”

“And you also?”

“Yes. I have enjoyed their company very much.”

“Jean Pierre has a reputation for being … gallant.”

“Who has not? Gallantry is as common in this part of your country as the grape.” To be in his company made me reckless. I felt I had to discover what his feelings were towards me . and how they compared with what he felt for Claude. I said: “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be as well if I left. I could go in say … two weeks. I think I could finish the pictures I have started on by that time. That would satisfy Madame de la Talle, and as Genevieve could scarcely go riding alone to the Bastides’, this matter would be neatly settled.”

“One cannot run one’s life for the sake of neatness, Mademoiselle Lawson.”

I laughed, and he laughed with me.

“Now please,” he said, ‘no more talk of leaving us. “

“But Madame de la Talle …”

“Leave me to deal with her.”

He looked at me, and for one glorious moment it seemed as though the mask slipped from his face. He might have been telling me that he could no more bear to lose me than I could bear to go.

When next I saw Genevieve I noticed the sullen set of her lips.

She told me she hated everyone . the whole world. Chiefly she hated the woman who called herself Aunt Claude.

“She has forbidden me again to go to the Maison Bastide, miss. And

this time Papa was with her. He said I must not go there without permission from him. That means never … because he’ll never give it.”

“He might. If…”

“No. She has told him not to and he does what she tells him. It’s strange to think of him doing what anyone tells him … but he does what she says.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t always.”

“You don’t know, miss. Sometimes I think you don’t know much about anything but speaking English and being a governess.”

“Governesses at least have to know a good deal before they can teach.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, miss. I hate everybody in this house, I tell you. One day I’ll run away.”

A few days later I met Jean Pierre. I was riding alone, for Genevieve had avoided me since her outburst.

He came galloping up to me, his expression one of extreme pleasure as it always was when he saw me.

“Look at those grapes!” he cried.

“Did you ever see the like? We shall have wine this year worthy of bottling with the chateau label. If nothing goes wrong,” he added hastily as though placating some god who might be listening and punish him for arrogance.

“There’s only one other season I remember when they were as good.” His expression changed suddenly.

“But I might not be here to see this harvest.”

“What!”

“Hints, so far. But Monsieur Ie Comte is looking for a good man to send to the Mermoz vineyard, and I am a very good man, so I’m told.”

“Leave Gaillard! But how could you do that?”

“Simply by moving myself to Mermoz.”

“It’s impossible.”

“With God and the Comte all things are possible.” He was passionately angry suddenly.

“Oh, don’t you see,

2. Dallas, we are of no importance to Monsieur Ie Comte. We are pawns to be moved this way and that all for the benefit of the games he plays.

He does not want me here, shall we say . well, then, I am moved across the chequer board to another place. I am a danger here . to Monsieur Ie Comte. “

“A danger? How could you be?”

“How can a humble pawn threaten to put the king in check? That is the subtlety of the game. We do not see how we disturb or threaten the peace of mind of the great. But if we do for a moment we are whisked far away. Do you understand?”

“He is very kind to Gabrielle. He settled her in St. Vallient with Jacques.”

“Oh, very kind …” murmured Jean Pierre.

“And why should he want you out of the way?”

“There could be several reasons. It may be because you and Genevieve had visited us.”

“Madame de la Talle wanted to dismiss me because of it. In fact she appealed to the Comte.” || “And he wouldn’t hear of it?”

“He wants his pictures restored.”

“Is that all, do you think? Dallas, be careful. He’s a dangerous man.”

“What do you mean?”

“Women are fascinated by danger, so they tell me. His wife, poor lady, was most unhappy. She was unwanted so she departed.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Jean Pierre?”

“To take care,” he said.

“To take great care.” He leaned towards me and taking my hand, kissed it.

“It is important Ten

The atmosphere of the chateau had grown heavy with tension. Genevieve was sullen and I wondered what was going on in her mind. As for Claude, she was angry and humiliated because the Comte had refused to comply with her wishes and I sensed her brooding resentment against me. She read a significance in his championing of me-and so did I. Philippe was uneasy. He came to me when I was in the gallery almost shyly as though he did not want to be discovered there. I imagined that he was afraid of his wife as well as the Comte.

“I hear that you have had a disagreement with … my wife. I’m sorry about it. It’s not that I wish you to go, Mademoiselle Lawson. But here in this house …” He lifted his shoulders.

“I feel I should finish what I have begun.”

“And you will do so … soon?”

“Well, there is more to do yet.”

“And when it is finished you can rely on me to help if I can … but if you should decide to go before, I could probably find you other similar work.”

“I will remember.”

He went away rather sadly and I thought: He is a man who is all for peace. He has no spirit. Perhaps that is why he is here.

Yet strangely enough there was a similarity between him and the Comte;

his voice was like the Comte’s, his features too. Yet one was so positive, the other negative. Philippe must have lived in the shadow of his rich and powerful relations. Perhaps that had made him the man

he was 2. timidly seeking peace. But he had been kind to me from the first and I believe now that he wanted me to go because of the conflict between myself and his wife.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I should leave as soon as I had finished the picture on which I was working. No good could come of my staying here. The emotions the Comte aroused in me could only become more involved;

the scars which separation must necessarily inflict would only be deeper.

I will go, I promised myself. And then because in my heart I was determined not to leave, I began to look for the wall-painting which I suspected might be hidden under the lime wash that covered the walls. I could become absorbed again in this work and forget the conflicts which swirled about me; and at the same time give myself an excuse for staying at the chateau.

The room I was particularly interested in was a small one leading from the gallery. There was a window facing north which gave an excellent light and from it I could look across the gentle slopes of vineyards in the direction of Paris.

I remembered how excited my father had been on the occasion when he had seen a wall rather similar to this. He had told me then how in many English mansions wall-paintings had been hidden under coats of lime-wash. They had been covered, he said, perhaps because they had been damaged or because the pictures had become no longer pleasing.

The removal of coats of lime-wash and there could be several was a delicate operation. I had watched my father perform it and had even helped him; I had a natural flair for this type of work. It is difficult to say but perhaps it is an instinct my father had it and I seemed to have inherited it but from the moment I. had seen that wall I had been excited by it and I was ready to swear that the lime-wash was hiding something.

I set to work with a palette knife, but I could not loosen the outer coat and I could naturally use only the lightest touch; one careless move could ruin what might prove a very valuable painting.

I worked at this for an hour and a half. I knew that it was unwise to work longer since the utmost concentration was needed, and during that time I had discovered nothing to substantiate my suspicion.

But the next day I was fortunate. I was able to flake away a small piece of lime-wash- no more than about one sixteenth of an inch it was true, but I was certain on that second day that there was a picture on the wall.

This was indeed the wisest thing I could do, for it took my mind from the rising emotional tension of the chateau.

I was working on the wall when Genevieve came into the gallery.

“Miss!” she called.

“Miss, where are you?”

“Here,” I answered.

As she ran in I saw that she was distraught.

“It’s a message from Carrefour, miss. My grandfather is worse. He’s asking for me. Come with me.”

“Your father …”

“He is out… riding with her. Please, miss, do come. Otherwise I’ll have to go with the groom.”

I stood up and said I would change quickly and see her in the stables in ten minutes’ time.

“Don’t be longer,” she begged.

As we rode to Carrefour together she was silent; I knew that she dreaded these visits and yet was fascinated by them.

When we reached the house Madame Labisse was in the hall waiting for us.

“Ah, mademoiselle,” she said, “I am glad you have come.”

“He is very ill?” I asked.

“Another stroke. Maurice found him when he took his

2. petit dejeuner. The doctor has been and it was then that I sent for mademoiselle. “

“Do you mean he’s … dying?” asked Genevieve in a hollow voice.

“We cannot say. Mademoiselle Genevieve. He still lives, but he is very ill.”

“May we go to him now?”

“Please come.”

“You stay,” said Genevieve to me.

We went into that room which I had seen before. The old man was lying on the pallet and Madame Labisse had made some attempt at comfort. She had put a coverlet over him and had placed a small table and chairs in the room. There was even a rug on the floor. But the bare walls decorated only by the crucifix and the priedieu in the corner preserved the appearance of a monk’s cell.

He was lying back on the pillows a pathetic sight, his eyes set in dark caverns and the flesh falling away from each side of his long nose. He looked like a bird of prey.

“It is Mademoiselle Genevieve, monsieur,” murmured Madame Labisse.

An expression flickered over his face so that I guessed he recognized her. His lips moved and his speech was slurred and muffled.

“Granddaughter…”

“Yes, Grandfather. I am here.”

He nodded, and his eyes were on me. I did not believe he could see with the left one; it seemed dead, but the right was alive.

“Come closer,” he said, and Genevieve moved nearer to i the bed. But he was looking at me. “

“He means you, miss,” whispered Genevieve. So we changed chairs and I took the one nearest him, which seemed to satisfy him.

“Francoise,” he said. Then I understood, he was under the impression that I was Genevieve’s mother.

“It’s all right. Please don’t worry,” I said.

Don’t. ” he muttered.

“Careful. Watch …”

“Yes, yes,” I said soothingly.

“Should never have married… that man. Knew it was … wrong .. “

“It’s all right,” I assured him soothingly.

But his face was contorted.

“You must… He must…”

“Oh, miss,” said Genevieve, “I can’t bear it. I’ll come back in a minute. He’s rambling. He doesn’t know I’m here. Must I stay?”

I shook my head and she went away leaving me in that strange room alone with the dying man. I sensed that he had noticed her disappearance and was relieved. He seemed to make a great effort.

Trancoise . Keep away from him. Do not let him . “

“Why?” I said.

“Why keep away from him.”

“Such sin … such sin,” he moaned.

“You must not distress yourself,” I said.

“Come back here … Leave the chateau. There is only doom and disaster there … for you.”

The effort required for such a long speech seemed to have exhausted him. He closed his eyes, and I felt afraid and frustrated for I knew he could have told me so much.

He opened his eyes suddenly.

“Honorine, you’re so beautiful. Our child … What will become of her? Oh, sin … sin.”

Exhaustion overcame him. I thought he was dying. I went to the door to call Maurice.

“The end cannot be far off,” said Maurice.

Labisse looked at me and nodded.

“Mademoiselle Genevieve should be here.”