Виктория Холт - King of the Castle читать онлайн

I went to bed early on the night of the ball. I could hear the music now and then from the ballroom as I lay trying to read but actually picturing the brilliant scene. On the dais the musicians would be playing behind the banks of carnations which I had seen the gardeners arranging during the day. I pictured the Comte opening the ball with his cousin’s wife. I imagined myself in my green dress with the emerald brooch I had won at the treasure hunt pinned to it. Then I began thinking of the emeralds in the portrait and myself wearing them. I should look like a comtesse.

I gave a snort of laughter and picked up my book. But I found it difficult to concentrate. I thought of the voices I had heard from the top of the staircase which led to the dungeons and I wondered whether those two were together now. Were they congratulating each other on their cleverness in arranging this marriage which brought her under his roof?

What an explosive situation! What would come out of it? It was small wonder that scandal surrounded the Comte. Had he been as reckless in his treatment of his wife?

I heard footsteps in the corridor outside my room. I listened. They had stopped outside my door. Someone was standing there. I could distinctly hear the sound of breathing.

I sat up in bed, my eyes fixed on the door; then suddenly the handle turned.

“Genevieve!” I cried.

“You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been standing outside wondering whether you were asleep.”

She came and sat on the bed. Her blue silk ball dress was charming but her expression sullen.

“It’s a hateful ball,” she said.

“Why?”

“Aunt Claude!” she said.

“She’s not my aunt. She’s the wife of Cousin Philippe.”

“Speak English,” I said.

“I can’t when I’m angry. I have to think too much and I can’t be angry and think at the same time.”

“Then perhaps it would be an even better idea if you spoke English.”

“Oh miss, you sound just like old Esquilles. To think that woman is going to live here …”

“Why do you dislike her so?”

“I don’t dislike her. I hate her.”

“What has she done to you?”

“She’s come here to live. If she would stay in one place all the time I wouldn’t mind because then I shouldn’t have to go where she was.”

“Please, please, Genevieve, don’t plan to shut her in the oubliette.”

“Nounou would get her out so that wouldn’t be any good.”

“Why have you turned against her? She’s very pretty.”

“I don’t like pretty people. I like them plain like you, miss.”

“What a charming compliment.”

“They spoil things.”

“She’s hardly been here long enough to spoil anything.”

“She will, though. You’ll see. My mother didn’t like pretty women either. They spoilt it for her.”

“You can’t know anything about that.”

“I do, I tell you. She used to cry. And then they’d quarrel. They quarrelled quietly. I always think quiet quarrels are worse than noisy ones. Papa just says cruel things quietly and that makes them more cruel. He says them as though they amuse him . as though people amuse him because they’re so stupid. He thought she was stupid. It made her very unhappy. “

“Genevieve, I don’t think you should go on brooding on what happened so long ago, and you don’t really know very much about it.”

“I know that he killed her, don’t I?”

“You know no such thing.”

They say she killed herself. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t have left me all alone. “

I laid my hand over hers.

“Don’t think about it,” I begged.

“But you have to think about what’s happening in your own home! It’s because of what happened that Papa hasn’t got a wife. That’s why Philippe’s had to get married. If I had been a son it would have been different. Papa doesn’t like me because I’m not a son.”

“I’m sure you imagine your father doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t like you much when you pretend. You’re like all grownup people. When they don’t want to answer they pretend they don’t know what you’re talking about. I think my father killed my mother and she comes back from the grave to have her revenge on him.”

“What nonsense!”

“She walks about the chateau at night with the other ghosts from the oubliette. I’ve heard them, so it’s no use your saying they’re not there.”

“Next time you hear them, come and tell me.”

“Shall I, miss? I haven’t heard them for a long time. I’m not frightened, because my mother wouldn’t let them hurt me. Remember you told me that?”

“Let me know when you hear them next.”

“Do you think we could go and look for them, miss?”

“I don’t know. We would listen first.”

She leaned towards me and cried: “It’s a promise.”

At the chateau there was talk of little else but the ball for

the servants and the vine-workers, and preparations went on with more feverish activity than for those given by the Comte for his friends.

There was chattering in courtyards and corridors and the servants were obviously humoured during that day.

I wore my green dress for the occasion. I felt the need for confidence. I dressed my hair high on my head and the effect was pleasing.

I was thinking a great deal about Gabrielle Bastide and wondering whether she had come to any decision.

Boulanger, the sommelier, was the master of ceremonies, and he received everyone in the banqueting hall of the castle. There was to be a buffet supper during the evening and the newly married pair, together with the Comte and Genevieve, would appear when the ball was in progress. They would slip in, so I was told, unceremoniously and dance with a few of the company; and then Boulanger would as if by chance discover their presence and propose the health of the newly married couple which would be drunk by all in the best chateau wine.

The Bastide family had already arrived by the time I joined the ball.

Gabrielle was with them, looking very pretty, although melancholy, in a dress of pale blue which I guessed she had made herself, for I had heard that she was very good with her needle.

Madame Bastide had come on the arm of her son Armand; and she took an early opportunity of whispering to me that Jean Pierre did not yet know; they hoped to have discovered the name of the man and have arranged a marriage by the time he did.

Jean Pierre sought me out and we danced together to the tune of the Sautiere Charentaise which I had heard before in the Bastide house and to which the words Jean Pierre had once sung to me were set.

He sang them softly as we danced:

“Qui sont-ils les gens qui sont riches …”

“You see,” he said, ‘even here, in all this splendour, I can still sing those words. This is a great occasion for us humble folk. It is not often that we have an opportunity of dancing in the chateau ballroom. “

“Is it any better than dancing in your own home? I did enjoy Christmas Day so much and so did Genevieve. In fact I am sure she preferred your celebrations to those of the chateau.”

“She is a strange girl, that one.”

“I loved to see her so happy.”

He smiled at me warmly and I kept thinking of Gabrielle coming in with the crown on the cushion and later when he had kissed us as a privilege due to the King for the day.

“She has been happier since you came here, perhaps,” he added.

“She is not the only one.”

“You flatter me.”

“Truth is not flattery, Dallas.”

“In that case I am pleased to know I am so popular.”

He pressed my hand lightly.

“Inevitably so,” he assured me.

“Ah, look the great ones are with us. I do declare Monsieur Ie Comte has his eyes on us. Perhaps he is looking for you, as the one who not being as humble as his servants or those who work in his vineyards, as a most suitable partner.”

“I am sure he thinks no such thing.”

“You are hot in his defence.”

“I am quite cool and he has no need of my defence,” “We shall see. Shall we have a little bet you and I? I will say that the first one he dances with will be you.”

“I never gamble.”

The music had stopped.

“As if by chance,” murmured Jean Pierre, “Monsieur Boulanger has given the discreet sign. Stop dancing! The great are among us.” He led me to a chair and I sat down. Philippe and Claude had separated from the Comte, who was coming in my direction.

The music struck up again. I turned my head towards the musicians, expecting every moment to see him standing there, for I, like Jean Pierre, had thought he would choose to dance with me.

I was astonished to see him dance past with Gabrielle.

I turned to Jean Pierre with a laugh.

“I rather regret I do not gamble.”

Jean Pierre was looking after the Comte and his sister with a puzzled look.

“And I regret,” he said, turning to me, ‘that you will have to be content with the master of the vineyard instead of the master of the castle. “

“I am delighted to do so,” I replied lightly.

As we danced I saw Claude with Boulanger and Philippe with Madame Duval, who was the head of the female staff. I supposed the Comte had chosen Gabrielle as the member of the Bastide family, who were the head of the vineyards.

When the dance was over Boulanger made his speech, and the health of Philippe and Claude was drunk by everyone present. After that the musicians played what I learned was the Marche pour Noce and this was led by Philippe and Claude.

It was then that the Comte approached me.

In spite of my determination to remain aloof I felt my cheeks flush slightly as he took my hand lightly and asked for the pleasure of the dance.

I said: “I am not sure that I know the dance. This seems to be something indigenous to France.”

“No more than the noce itself, and you cannot pretend, Mademoiselle Lawson, that we are the only nation who marry.”

“I had no intention of doing so. But this dance is unknown to me.”

“Did you dance much in England?”

“Not often. I rarely had the opportunity.”

“A pity. I was never much of a dancer myself but I