Виктория Холт - King of the Castle

“She was a silly old woman.”

“That’s no reason for being unkind to her.”

She laughed rather slyly.

“Well, you came out of that affair well, didn’t you? It’s a lovely dress my father gave you. I don’t suppose you ever had a dress like that in your life before. So you see I really did you a good turn.”

“I don’t agree. It was an embarrassing situation for us all.”

“Poor old Esquilles! It wasn’t fair really. She didn’t want to go. You wouldn’t want to go either.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I’m very interested in my work.”

“And in us?”

“Certainly I hope to see you more fluent in your English than you are.” Then I relented and said: “No, I should not want to leave you, Genevieve.”

She smiled, but almost immediately the malicious look came into her face.

“Nor my father,” she said.

“But I don’t think he will be taking much notice of you now, miss. Did you see the way he looked at her!”

“At her?”

“You know who I mean. Mademoiselle de la Monelle. And she is beautiful.”

She rode on and looked over her shoulder at me, laughing.

I touched Bonhomme’s flanks and broke into a gallop. Genevieve was beside me.

I could not get Mademoiselle de la Monelle’s beautiful face out of my mind, and both Genevieve and I were silent as we rode back to the chateau.

The next day I came face to face with the Comte on my way to the gallery. I thought as he was no doubt preoccupied with his guests he would merely greet me and pass on, but he paused.

“And how is my daughter progressing with her English?”

“Very well. I think you will be pleased.”

“I knew you would be an excellent teacher.”

Did I look so much like a governess? I wondered.

“She is interested, and that is a great help. She is happier now.”

“Happier?”

“Yes, haven’t you noticed?”

He shook his head.

“But I accept your word.”

“There is always a reason why young people want to destroy things … without reason. Do you agree with me?”

“I am sure you are right.”

“I think she feels the loss of her mother deeply, and misses the fun that most children have.”

He did not flinch at the mention of his dead wife.

“Fun, Mademoiselle Lawson?” He repeated.

“She has been telling me how they used to put their shoes in front of the fire on Christmas Eve … rather wistfully I thought.”

“Isn’t she rather old for that sort of thing?”

“I don’t think one is ever too old.”

“You surprise me.”

“It’s a pleasant custom,” I insisted.

“We have decided that we will follow it this Christmas and … perhaps you will be surprised by my presumption but…”

“You have ceased to surprise me.”

“I thought that you might put your present with the others. That would delight her.”

“You think that by finding a gift in a shoe instead of shall we say at the dinner-table, my daughter is less likely to play childish tricks?”

I sighed.

“Monsieur Ie Comte, I see I have been presumptuous. I’m sorry.”

I passed quickly on and he did not attempt to stop me.

I went to the gallery, but I could not work. I felt too disturbed. I had two images in my mind: the proud innocent man showing a defiant face to the world and . the callous murderer.

Which was the true one? I wished I knew! But then what concern was it of mine? I was concerned with the pictures, not the man.

On Christmas Eve we all went to the midnight service in the old Gaillard church. The Comte sat in the first of the pews reserved for the chateau family with Genevieve beside him and the guests in the pews immediately behind. Farther back I sat with Nounou; and as the servants were all there the chateau pews were full.

I saw the Bastide family in their best clothes. Madame all in black and Gabrielle looking very pretty in grey. There was the young man with her whom I had seen now and then about the vineyard; he was Jacques, who had been with Armand Bastide at the time of the accident; I knew him by the scar on his left cheek.

Yves and Margot could scarcely keep still; Margot was no doubt counting the minutes now instead of the hours.

I saw that Genevieve was watching them and I guessed that she was wishing that instead of going back to the chateau she was going to the Bastides’ house that she might join in the fun which only children can give to Christmas.

I was glad I had announced that I was going to put my shoes by the schoolroom fire and suggested that she did the same. It could not be but a quiet little party when compared with the frivolity which would take place on Christmas morning round the Bastide fireplace, but still, it would be better than nothing; and I had been surprised by Genevieve’s enthusiasm. After all, she had never been used to a large family; and when her mother had been alive it must have been the three of them Genevieve, Francoise, Nounou and perhaps the governess of the time. And what of the Comte? Surely when his wife was alive and his daughter young, he would have joined in the Christmas customs.

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.

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.

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.

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.