The Chateau on the Lake (39 page)

‘Enough!’ shouts Furet, striking him across the face with the flat of one hand.

Jean-Luc gasps and then snatches Furet’s wig askew before yelling a torrent of abuse at him, fighting against the guards all the time.

Citoyen Furet glances at me, frowning. ‘Who is Madeleine?’

Etienne shrugs. ‘He often sees people who aren’t there. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a madman?’

Furet straightens his wig. ‘As you say, Citoyen, the man is a lunatic. Guards, take him away!’

Fighting and screaming, Jean-Luc is dragged up the path towards the house. Digging his heels into the gravel, he looks back at us over his shoulder as the soldiers push him through the doorway. ‘A curse on you all! May you burn in hell!’

Etienne, Furet and I look at each other as the racket fades away and finally the garden is quiet again.

‘I can almost find it in my heart to feel sorry for him,’ I say.

‘It is disconcerting to see how an apparently sane man can be overcome by madness in a matter of moments,’ says Furet, shaking his head. ‘I shall tell the Tribunal what I have witnessed and, if he is not found guilty of the crimes of which he is accused, I shall recommend that he be incarcerated for the rest of his life.’

‘There are many who have suffered at his hands who would be relieved to hear that,’ says Etienne.

‘Indeed,’ says Furet. ‘I shall take my leave of you.’

Once he has disappeared indoors, Etienne collapses on the bench, his face as grey as ashes.

My knees give way and I flop down beside him. Shock and relief make my teeth chatter.

Etienne wraps his arms around me. He rests his chin on the top of my head and utters soothing, nonsense words. We hold each other in silence for a long time while I try to banish the image of my last sight of Jean-Luc, spitting fury and with venom in his eyes.

At last Etienne tips up my chin so that he can look into my face. ‘My brave and clever Madeleine,’ he says.

And then he kisses me.

The trembling and shaking of my limbs ceases as the warmth and sweetness of his kiss works its magic. I press myself against him, drawing strength from his closeness and feeling the blossoming of joy inside me.

Then there is a scream and the sound of shattering china.

We break apart to see Madame Brochard with her hand to her mouth and shock in her eyes. A silver tray lies on the gravel with an overturned coffee pot and shards of broken china all around.

I jump up to go and help her but she holds up her hand in horror. ‘Sodomites!’

‘Madame Brochard…’

‘Get away from me!’ She picks up her skirts and runs back indoors.

Etienne looks at me and a corner of his mouth twitches. ‘Poor woman, what a shock for her to find two men canoodling in her garden.’

‘Etienne, it’s not funny!’ But then a giggle bubbles up in my chest.

‘No, of course not,’ he says, chuckling.

We collapse into each other’s arms, whooping with laughter.

A few minutes later I wipe tears of merriment from my eyes. ‘I think it’s time I went to put on a dress and curl my hair again, don’t you?’

October arrives, bringing heavy rain that sweeps over Paris, turning the street dust to mud and causing the citizens to hurry by with sacking held over their heads. Etienne and I sit beside a small fire in the drawing room of Dr Dubois’s house but it does little to dispel the damp chill in the air.

Etienne sits close to the hearth, apparently reading a book, while I stare out of the window, waiting, and making bets with myself as to which drop of rain running down the glass will reach the bottom first.

Madame Brochard has forgiven us for the shock we gave her when she came upon us in the garden and, although it has taken two weeks for Etienne’s wound to heal, at last he has regained his strength. Despite that, we are both suffering from a malaise as heavy as the leaden sky outside.

Etienne stares morosely into the flames, lost in thought.

For my own part, anxiety and disappointment make me dejected. Regardless of Jean-Luc’s confession that he murdered Isabelle, Etienne hasn’t proposed to me, even though he’s now free to do so. I try to comfort myself by thinking that he’s still recovering from the shock of Jean-Luc’s betrayal.

I go to the window and stare miserably outside at the rain until I see a figure in a brown greatcoat hurrying along the street.

‘Etienne, he’s coming!’

He drops his book in his haste to reach the window.

A few minutes later there are footsteps in the hall and then the drawing-room door opens. Dr Dubois shakes rain from his hair as he comes towards us.

Etienne’s fingers close around my hand in a grip so tight it makes me wince. ‘Well?’ he asks.

Dr Dubois nods, his face grave. ‘It is done.’

I hear Etienne’s breath slip away in a long sigh. His eyes glitter with sudden tears.

‘Was it very terrible?’ I ask.

‘Jean-Luc ranted and raved to the end,’ says Dr Dubois. ‘His bitterness and fury before the Tribunal only served to convince them that he’d lost his reason. They had to chain him to carry him to the guillotine. But it was swiftly done and all his troubles are at an end now.’

‘It appears he always coveted my name,’ says Etienne, ‘and finally he achieved his ambition, if not in the way he wished. Now the man known as Etienne d’Aubery is no more,’ he says in a low voice. ‘So where does that leave me? Who am I now?’

My heart bleeds for him, hearing such grief in his voice.

Dr Dubois opens the cupboard and takes out a bottle of brandy and three glasses.

The spirit stings my throat but then warmth courses through my veins.

‘It’s strange,’ says Etienne, cradling his glass in his palm, ‘but it’s hard to feel anything but sorrow for him now. I know Jean-Luc murdered most of the people I loved, I know he incited an uprising, stole my estate and betrayed me, but all I can think of is the boy with the infectious smile who grew up by my side. I remember us shooting ravens from the tower and swimming in the lake and sharing midnight feasts in the stables. Where did that boy, my best friend, go?’

I can hardly bear to hear the anguish in his voice and take him in my arms. His shoulders heave and he clings to me.

A moment later Etienne regains control of himself and I judge it best to leave the two men with their brandy.

 

 

Etienne and Dr Dubois are already at breakfast when I come downstairs the following morning.

Etienne smiles at me but there are deep shadows under his eyes.

‘It doesn’t look as if you slept any better than I did,’ I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

‘I’m going back to Château Mirabelle,’ he says.

Coffee slops from my cup on to the starched tablecloth. ‘Etienne, you can’t!’

He blots the stain with his napkin. ‘I have to.’

‘But…’

‘I think he must,’ says Dr Dubois. ‘He will never rest until he sees for himself what the situation is there.’

‘You don’t understand! I
was
there and I saw how Jean-Luc turned the servants and villagers against Etienne. They’ll kill him if he returns.’

We argue for nearly half an hour but he is determined to have his way and I grow angry with Dr Dubois, who supports him. It’s no use wasting my breath any more and I retire to the morning room while Etienne packs for his journey.

I sit hunched in an armchair by the fire, listening to his booted feet moving about in the guestroom above. Then he comes to say goodbye.

‘Please understand that I must do this.’

‘Then take me with you!’

He shakes his head. ‘Too dangerous.’

There’s no alternative for me but to accept the inevitable. ‘Then Godspeed and come back safely.’

 

 

The following week drags by painfully slowly. A deep depression has settled over me and despite Dr Dubois’s sleeping draughts I am tormented by dreams of Sophie and Marianne crying out to me for help. But the worst part of my misery is fear for Etienne.

As we move into the second week of Etienne’s absence there’s still no word from him and a sliver of ice grows in my heart. Has the horde inhabiting Château Mirabelle captured and killed him? I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved and am lonely and fearful for the future.

One day I catch sight of my reflection in the hall mirror. I have grown thin and pale and there are shadows under my eyes. I look very different from the self-confident young woman I had been a year ago and I don’t like what I see. But then I had Mama and Papa to love me, my teaching to give me a purpose in life, and no concerns as to what the future might bring.

A week later there is still no word from Etienne. Most days I sit by the window waiting for him and watching the endless tumbrils rattle past, taking the convicted to the guillotine, while I grow more and more frightened.

At dinner one day I say to Dr Dubois, ‘I’ve decided I must make plans for the future.’

‘There’s time enough for that when Etienne returns.’

‘But what if he doesn’t return? After all this time I can only fear the worst. I’m homesick. I have no family to care about me. I’m uncertain and afraid here in Paris so I shall travel back to London as soon as I can find a way to do so.’

Dr Dubois shakes his head. ‘It’s far too treacherous.’

‘If Etienne managed it then I’ll find a way.’

‘But can you return to the life you left behind?’

Dubois has voiced my innermost fear. ‘I shall return to teaching. And then there’s Sophie’s son. I loved little Marianne but I haven’t forgotten Henry. To have lost his mother is a very dreadful thing for a child. I want him to grow up knowing that she loved him, and that I will always be his friend as well as his godmother.’

Dr Dubois sighs. ‘I beg you not to make any imprudent decisions.’

‘I can’t stay here living on your charity for ever.’

‘Etienne would never forgive me if I let any harm come to you.’ Dr Dubois rests his hand on my shoulder for a moment. ‘Wait a while. If he hasn’t returned in another week, I’ll go and look for him.’

 

 

One morning when Dr Dubois is out visiting a patient, I’m afraid when a chanting mob marches down the road, rattling the shutters, hammering on the door and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Later, Dr Dubois returns with the news that Queen Marie Antoinette has been beheaded on trumped-up charges of incest with her son.

Sickened by this society corrupted by its hunger for power, I determine to find a way to return to London. But how can I contemplate leaving France until I know what has happened to Etienne? In my heart I believe he’s dead, killed by the very villagers he strove so hard to provide for, their minds poisoned by Jean-Luc.

Later that afternoon I’m in the morning room when I feel a draught on the back of my neck. I turn, expecting to see Madame Brochard with my coffee tray, but instead, leaning in the doorway, is Etienne.

I stare at him, wondering for a moment if I have summoned him up out of my hopeful imagination.

‘Madeleine?’

And then I’m in his arms and he’s smothering my face and throat with kisses and murmuring words of love in my ears.

‘You were away so long we had almost given up hope of you.’ My knees are trembling so much that, if he weren’t holding me tightly, I would be unable to stand.

‘Did you not receive my letter?’

I shake my head.

‘It must have gone astray.’

‘I was sure you were dead.’ Tears roll down my cheeks and he kisses them away.

‘I wouldn’t have worried you for the world.’

‘I was so frightened that you’d been caught and executed.’

He sits on the sofa and draws me on to his knee. ‘As you see, I’m safe but I’ve lost the estate and the château. Most of my wealth has gone with them.’ His face is as expressionless as a mask.

Anger at the injustice of it cuts me like a knife. The hurt and loss that Etienne must be experiencing are unimaginable to me. Generations of the d’Aubery family have lived at Château Mirabelle and now all that tradition counts for nothing. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. The words are totally inadequate for the magnitude of his loss.

‘The place has been emptied of anything of value. The villagers ran wild,’ continues Etienne, ‘and drank all the wine stored in the
chai
. Mayor Prudhomme has taken the opportunity to confiscate my home, allegedly for the benefit of the Republic, and is now in residence there with his wife. I daresay he pays a small rent to the state for the privilege.’

‘That’s no more than legalised theft. I never trusted that man!’

‘I’ve come to the conclusion that he used Jean-Luc.’

‘In what way?’

‘I believe Prudhomme encouraged him and his mother to stir up the villagers’ resentment and always had the intention of taking over the château once they’d done their worst. Prudhomme’s making the villagers suffer now by paying reduced wages and threatening to turn them out of their homes.’

‘So can’t you persuade them to throw him out and then you can take the château back?’

‘Not now that it’s been confiscated by the state. The Committee would have my head if I tried. Besides, it’s still on record that I’m a traitor to the Revolution. As it is, Prudhomme thinks I’ve been guillotined. No one, except Madame Viard, seems to care that Jean-Luc has vanished without trace.’

‘What about the vineyard?’

Etienne turns up the palms of his hands and shrugs. ‘The recent heavy rain destroyed most of the crop. It will be a very small harvest this year.’

‘After all our hard work! But how did you find out what was happening?’

Etienne smiles briefly. ‘Madame Gerard. She kept her family away while the rioting went on and gave me shelter when I reached the village. There is one piece of good news, though. Victor has been returned to her.’

‘The army have let him go?’

‘Invalided out. He was shot in the leg. He limps so he’s no use for marching, but he’ll still make a fine carpenter.’

I cannot contain myself. ‘Etienne, why were you away for so long? I’ve been mad with worry.’

‘I couldn’t walk away from my estate until I knew there was no hope of recovering it. But there was an even more important issue at stake. I had to find out about Isabelle.’