The Changeling (64 page)

It was Thérèse with a tray on which was a brioche and pieces of hot crusty bread, a little pot of butter, a cup and saucer and two jugs, one containing coffee, the other hot milk, both covered with woolen cozies to keep them warm.

“
Petit déjeuner,
Mademoiselle,” she told me.

With her was another maid who carried a big metal jug full of hot water which she placed in the
ruelle.

I thanked them and, smiling, they departed.

The coffee was delicious, so were the hot bread and brioche.

While we were at dinner on the previous night our luggage had been brought to our rooms. I had been too tired to unpack last night and had just taken out things I needed for my immediate use.

I put on a dark blue dress and hung up the rest of my clothes in the wardrobe. While I was doing this, there was a knock on my door and before I could answer Belinda walked in.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” she demanded. “Isn’t it fun? Do you like your room? It’s very like mine.”

“I suppose most of the rooms are rather alike.”

“I’m longing to explore. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s all so fascinating. You are very lucky, Lucie.”

“Am I?”

“Oh, poor Lucie.” She rushed at me and put her arms round me in a protective gesture. “I do put my foot in it, don’t I? But you’ve got to stop thinking of all that. Life goes on. Mon père says we’ve got to make you see that. We’re going to make you happy here. He says so.”

“That’s very good of him.”

“He is good … really. Oh, I know he sounds a little cynical sometimes, but he has
lived,
Lucie, really
lived.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t kind. He talks a lot about you. He says you ought to be enjoying life because you’ve got so much to make you.”

“It is certainly good of him to give so much attention to my affairs.”

“He likes you. He wouldn’t have asked you to come here if he hadn’t.”

“Oh, that was to please you.”

“Oh no it wasn’t … although it does please me. He was the first one to suggest it.”

“Oh well, here I am.”

“And we’re going to have a lovely time. I’m going to make you enjoy it.”

“Thank you, Belinda.”

“Well, hurry up and finish and we’ll go down. I wonder if mon père is already up?”

“Where is your room, Belinda?”

“On the other side of the château.” She went to the window. “I’ve got a different view. I look out on the lake. Well, it’s like a lake. There’s a stream, too … part of the river, I think … and it flows into the lake. There are swans on the lake. Two black ones. I haven’t seen black ones before. It’s lovely.”

“So, we are quite away from each other.”

“Well, it is a big château.”

“Your father said it was of medium size.”

“He was comparing it with the royal ones … chateaux of the Loire … Blois and places like that. This is a nobleman’s château, not a king’s.”

“I see.”

“Well, hurry up. I’ll be down in the hall. You’ll find your way down.”

“I hope so.”

“And don’t be long.”

The morning was spent exploring the castle.

“It is essential that you do so, otherwise you will be hopelessly lost,” explained Jean Pascal. “I am going to take you outside and bring you in as though you are just arriving.”

“It was too dark for us to see properly last night,” said Belinda.

“I want you both to like the château. It’s very important to our family.”

“And yet,” I said, “you left it.”

“Ah, Lucie, it was a wrench. But our country was in turmoil. We did not know which way we were going. Memories are still with us of the great Revolution, which took place only about a hundred years ago. The Emperor and Empress went into exile. You cannot imagine what that did to our country. We thought it was coming again. Fortunately, tragic though this was … it was not of the same magnitude as that which our country had suffered before.”

“But you were able to keep the château,” I said, “and it is still yours.”

“Yes … and I am a frequent visitor here. In fact I believe I am here more than anywhere else. The wine … well, shall we say it is a kind of hobby. I wish I could persuade my mother to return … but she is there with the Empress. Perhaps one day it will change.”

“Celeste never comes here,” I said.

“Celeste … oh, poor Celeste! Her marriage took her away and she became a politician’s wife.”

“Perhaps now she would like to come back?”

“She does not say she would.” He lifted his shoulders. “She knows it is her home … the family home … if she wants to come, she can do so.”

“It may be that she will. She is not very happy in London.”

“No. But we are not here to talk of sad things. This has to be a happy time. I insist. So does Belinda, do you not?”

“Yes, I insist. So stop being morbid, Lucie. You’ve got to enjoy all this.”

“You see,” said Jean Pascal, “it is an order. Now we are outside we will approach the château as though we are entering it for the first time.”

We ascended the imposing marble steps at the bottom of which stood two huge marble containers, full of green shrubs which trailed their leaves over the pedestals on which they stood.

Looking back, we could see that the tree-lined drive opened onto the lawn which was immediately in front of the house.

Jean Pascal made us turn our faces to the château.

“You see, the building is dominated by the tower,” he said. “In the old days it was called the watch tower; and in times of trouble a man would be posted up there, his sole duty being to watch and give warning of any suspicious person or persons approaching. He used to while away the time by singing songs or playing the flute. A musician always had to be chosen for the job because he could practice his art while watching. I remember its being done when I was here in the ‘70s, at the time when we were expecting trouble. People would hear the singing or the flute playing and know that all was well. We had our watcher. The songs were called Watchman’s Songs and they were often his own compositions. In French we called them
chansons de guettes.
You see, the tower is right in the center … just below is what is called the palace. That is the part where the family live.”

He waved his arms toward the lawn and went on, “Tournaments used to be held here … tilting and jousting. The château was the center of life in the neighborhood at that time. You see how that staircase is supported by the vaults. Beggars and hangers-on used to congregate there. They were given the remains of food after meals. Everything is different now.”

We mounted the steps and went into the hall.

“This was the main living room in medieval days,” he continued. “Look up and you will see the hole in the roof where there was once a vent to let out the smoke. But that was changed a hundred years ago and we have our big fireplace over there, you see, and our chimney to take away the smoke. If you look closely you can see, in the center of the hall, where the fire used to be. You see those tiles? The château has indeed changed since medieval times, but we are still proud of the past and my family have always kept as much intact as possible, but when it was excessively uncomfortable then we felt it advisable to move with the times.”

So he talked and I could visualize what it had been like in the old days. I could see the beggars under the steps, the guests in their brilliant costumes sitting on those same steps on a warm summer’s evening. I wondered about the long-dead Bourdons and what their lives had been like. They seemed to linger on … even in daylight.

He showed us the
salon
and the
salle à manger
which had been introduced into the château within the last two hundred years; we saw the extra wing which had been added to make more bedrooms. It was a mingling of the ancient and … well, not exactly modern, but later periods than those when the Château Bourdon had been erected.

I could see why he was proud of it, and how great a tragedy it must have been to his family when they had felt obliged to leave it.

I wondered why they had not been lured back.

Jean Pascal said, “My parents were devoted to Napoleon and Eugenie. They spent a great deal of time at Court … far more than they did here and when the Emperor and Empress were forced into exile, they had to join them.”

There was so much to see that the tour of the castle lasted a long time.

“Years ago,” he told us, “noble families would send their sons and daughters to be brought up away from their own homes. I don’t know why this was the custom; perhaps it was thought that parents would be too lenient. Young girls and young men were brought up here. The men would learn courtly manners, how to joust and so on, to make them worthy to go to Court when the time came.”

“And what of the girls?” asked Belinda.

“Oh, they were taught how to be good wives and mothers and please their husbands.”

“Were the men taught to please their wives?” I asked.

“Ah, Miss Lucie, that was something they knew how to do without tuition. I see you are skeptical. You do not believe that is something which comes naturally to a man?”

“I am sure it does not. I just wondered whether it might not have been a good idea to give them a little tuition as it was thought necessary for the women.”

He smiled benignly at me. “I think you may be right, Lucie,” he said. “Now let me show you where the girls used to come to learn how to embroider, how to sing, how to play some musical instrument and how to charm the men. It is called the Maidens’ Room or
La Chambre des Pucelles.
We always keep it just as it was. I like to think of the girls here … so young … so pretty … so docile … all so eager to learn.”

He was regarding me with an expression I did not understand, but it made me a little uneasy.

I wished that I could cast off that sense of foreboding which the place seemed to inspire in me. It was not as intense as it had been on the previous night, but it lingered. I told myself it was the strangeness of the place—and, of course, my fanciful nature.

We had explored the château and were back in the hall when the door was suddenly opened and a woman came in. She was in a riding habit of silver-gray, and her hair, which was luxurious and golden, showed beneath her gray riding hat.

“Jean Pascal!” she cried, coming toward him, smiling. “I heard you were home.”

Jean Pascal looked distinctly annoyed. I had never seen him look like that before. He seemed really angry.

“Oh, Clotilde,” he said. “I am busy now … showing my guests round the château.”

“How amusing!” She waited expectantly.

“I’ll see you later on.”

She looked amazed. I wondered why he did not introduce us. So did she evidently, because she came forward and stood looking at us expectantly.

There was no alternative then but for Jean Pascal to act as we all expected.

“My daughter Belinda … Mademoiselle Lansdon,” he murmured. “And … er … Madame Carleon.”

In our somewhat labored French Belinda and I said we were enchanted to meet her.

“Well, we must go,” said Jean Pascal. “I’ll see you at some other time, Clotilde.”

She stared at him for a second or two and then, turning, walked out of the hall. I listened to her footsteps on the marble steps.

Jean Pascal quickly recovered from what seemed to have been for him an unpleasant experience.

“You haven’t seen it all yet,” he was saying. “We have some magnificent stables and plenty of horses. So you will be able to ride round and explore.”

I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and I guessed that Madame Carleon was departing in anger.

I wondered what that was all about.

A few days passed. Jean Pascal seemed determined that we should enjoy our stay. I wondered whether he had it in his mind that Belinda should live here permanently. I had an idea that he was interested in her … and perhaps asking himself whether he wanted a grown-up daughter in his household. He might find it amusing for a while, certainly, but would he grow tired? I was sure that Belinda wanted to be with him. His mode of living would suit her, I was sure. It would be more exciting residing in the château, visiting royalty at Farnborough and traveling with her father. Quite different from the comparatively dull lives we lived in London.

But he did include me in everything. He would ask my opinion and always considered it carefully. He really did seem as though he were trying to please me. In fact there were times when I think Belinda grew a little impatient because he bestowed so much attention on me.

He told me that he had a few friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood and that we should have a dinner party; and he had no doubt that there would be invitations for us to visit.

Belinda was much looking forward to that. She had already been to Bordeaux and bought some clothes. She regretted that we were so far from Paris. How she would have loved to see the shops in that city!

I still kept to my plan to escape from them from time to time. I found a need to be alone. Every day I hoped there would be news of Joel. Celeste had assured me that she would let me know at once if she heard anything; and the Greenhams would of course keep her informed, knowing I was as anxious as they were.

The grounds about the château provided me with great pleasure. They were extensive; there was a small pine wood to which one could retreat and feel as though one were a long way from any habitation; it was always a pleasure to emerge from the trees and see the central tower of the château and the two round ones at either end of the building. Standing some distance from it, the symmetrical beauty of the place struck one forcibly.

I liked to wander along the banks of the lake and to watch the swans; both remained aloof and rarely came to the water’s edge. The big one, the cob, was always followed by his smaller mate. He looked very dignified with her always following in his wake. The little ducks were more friendly. They would come close, always hoping for some little tidbit to eat, I imagined.

On this particular day I was unusually deep in thought, telling myself that there must be news of Joel soon. Time was passing. Surely if anything was to be discovered it must be in the near future. It had been so long that I was beginning to despair and feel I might never see him again.