I said it and he laughed and made me say it again.

“Very good, Dallas,” he said.

“But then everything you do you do well.”

I told him about my parents and how I had helped Father in his work.

Somehow it came through that they had dominated my life and kept me from marriage. He mentioned this.

“Perhaps it was better so,” he said.

“Those who don’t marry, often regret the omission; but those who do so, often regret far more bitterly. They long to go back in time and not do what they did. Well, that’s life, isn’t it?”

“That may be so.”

“Take myself. I was married when I was twenty to a young woman who was chosen for me. It is so in our families, you know.”

“Yes.”

“These marriages are often successful.”

“And yours was?” My voice was almost a whisper.

He did not answer and I said quickly: “I’m sorry. I am being impertinent.”

“No. You should know.”

I wondered why, and my heart began to beat uncomfortably.

“No, the marriage was not a success. I think I am incapable of being a good husband.”

“Surely a man could be … if he wanted to.”

“Mademoiselle Lawson, how could a man who is selfish, intolerant, impatient and promiscuous be a good husband?”

“Simply by ceasing to be selfish, intolerant and so on.”

“And you believe that one can turn off these unpleasant qualities like a tap?”

“I think one can try to subdue them.”

He laughed suddenly and I felt foolish.

“I amuse you?” I said coolly.

“You asked an opinion and I gave it.”

“It’s absolutely true, of course. I could imagine you subduing such unpleasant characteristics if only I could so far stretch my imagination as to picture you possessing them. You know how disastrously my marriage ended.”

I nodded.

“My experiences as a husband have convinced me that I should abandon that role for ever.”

“Perhaps you are wise to make such a decision.”

“I was sure you would agree.”

I knew what he meant. If what he suspected was true and I had allowed my feelings for him to become too deep, I should be warned.

I felt humiliated and wounded and I said briskly: “I am very interested in some of the wall surfaces I have noticed about the chateau. It has occurred to me that there might be some murals hidden beneath the lime wash.”

“Oh?” he said; and I thought he was not paying attention to what I said.

“I remember my father’s making a miraculous discovery on the walls of an ancient mansion in Northumberland. It was a wonderful painting which had been hidden for centuries. I feel certain that there must be similar discoveries here.”

“Discoveries?” he repeated.

“Yes?”

What was he thinking of? That stormy married life with Francoise? But had it been stormy? Deeply unhappy, entirely unsatisfactory since he had determined never to run the risk of such an experience again.

I was aware of an intense passion engulfing me. I thought: What could I do? How could I leave this and go back to England back to a new life where there was no chateau full of secrets, no Comte whom I longed to restore to happiness?

“I should like to have a closer look at those walls,” I went on.

He said almost fiercely, as though denying everything that had gone before: Dallas, my chateau and myself are at your disposal. “

Nine

A few days later Philippe and Claude returned.


“And where is Mademoiselle Lawson?”

“I have told them to take up her tray. She cannot expect to eat at table with us. After all, she is not a guest; she is employed to work here.”

I saw his face darken with contempt for her and . regard for me.

“What nonsense, Boulanger, another place please. And go at once to Mademoiselle Lawson’s room and tell her that I am looking forward to her presence at dinner.”

I waited. The food on the tray was getting cold.

It did not happen as I had hoped. There was no message. Now if ever I should see what a fool I was. This woman was his mistress. He had married her to Philippe so that she could be at the chateau without arousing scandal, because he was wise enough to see that he could afford no more scandal since even kings in their castles had to be a little careful.

As for me I was the odd Englishwoman, who was so intense about her work and to whom it was amusing to talk for a time when one was indisposed and confined to the chateau.

Naturally her presence was not needed when Claude was at hand.

Moreover Claude was the mistress of the chateau.

Startled out of my sleep, I awoke in terror, for someone was in my room, standing there at the bottom of my bed.

“Miss.” Genevieve glided towards me, a lighted candle in her hand.

“I heard the tapping, miss. Only a few minutes ago. You said to come and tell you.”

“Genevieve …” I sat up in bed, my teeth chattering. I must have had a nightmare in those seconds before waking.

“What’s the time?”

“One o’clock. It woke me up. Tap … tap … and I was frightened and you said we’d go and see … together.”

I put my feet into slippers and hastily put on my dressing-gown.

“I expect you imagined it, Genevieve.” She shook her head.

“It’s like it was before. Tap … tap … as though someone is trying to let you know where they are.”

“Where?”

“Come to my room. I can hear it there.” I followed her through the chateau to the nursery which was in the oldest part of the house. I said: “Have you awakened Nounou?” She shook her head.

“Nounou never wakes once she’s. She says once she gets off she sleeps the sleep of


I took the candle from her and led the way down the staircase to the lower floors.

Genevieve’s belief in my courage gave me that quality. I should have been very uneasy walking about the chateau alone like this at night.

We reached the door of the gun gallery and paused there listening.

Distinctly we heard a sound. I was not sure what it was, but I felt the goose pimples rising on my flesh. Genevieve gripped my arm and in the candle-light I saw her startled eyes. She was about to speak but I shook my head.

Then came the sound again.

It was from the dungeons below.

There was nothing I wanted so much as to turn and go back to my room; I was sure Genevieve felt the same; but because she did not expect such behaviour from me I could not tell her that I, too, was afraid, that it was all very well to be bold by daylight and quite another matter in the dungeons of an old chateau at dead of night.

She pointed down the stone spiral staircase and holding up my long skirts with the same hand as that which grasped the candle, for I needed the other to grip the rope banister, I led the way down the stairs.

Genevieve, behind me, suddenly lurched forward. It was fortunate that she fell against me, thus preventing herself from tripping down the stairs. She gave a little scream and immediately clapped her hands to her mouth.

“It’s all right,” she whispered.

“I tripped over my dressing-gown.”

“For heaven’s sake hold it up.”

She nodded and for a few seconds we stood there on that spiral staircase trying to steady ourselves; my heart was leaping about uncomfortably and I knew Genevieve’s was doing the same. I believed that in a moment she would be saying: “Let’s go back. There’s nothing here.” And I would be willing enough.

But some persistent faith in my invincibility prevented her from speaking.

Now there was absolute silence everywhere. I leaned against the stone wall and could feel the coldness through my clothes in contrast to Genevieve’s hot hand which was gripping my arm. She did not look at me.

This was absurd, I thought. What was I doing wandering about the chateau at night? Suppose the Comte should discover me? What a fool I should look! I should go straight back to my room now and in the morning report the sounds I had heard during the night. But Genevieve would think I was afraid if I did that. She would not be wrong either.

If I did not go on now she would lose that respect for me which I believe was what gave me some authority over her; and if I was to help her overcome the demons in her which forced her to strange acts, I must retain that authority.

I gathered my skirts higher, descended the staircase, and when I reached the bottom pushed open the iron-studded door to the dungeons.

The dark cavern yawned ahead of us, and the sight of it made me more reluctant than ever.

‘^f sound comes from,” I whispered.


for I could see one or two of the cages with great chains which had held men and women prisoners of the de la Talles.

I said: “Is anyone there?”

My voice echoed uncannily. Genevieve pressed her body against me, and I could feel her shaking.

I said: “There’s no one here, Genevieve.”

She was only too ready to admit it.

“Let’s go, miss.”

I said: “We’ll come and have a look in daylight.”

“Oh yes … yes….”

She had seized my hand and was pulling me. I wanted to turn and hurry from the place, but in those seconds I was conscious of a horrible fascination. I could easily believe that somewhere in the darkness, someone was watching me . luring me onwards . farther into the darkness to some sort of doom.

“Miss … come on.”

The feeling had passed, and I turned. As Genevieve went before me up the staircase, I felt as though my feet were made of lead and I could scarcely lift them; I almost fancied I heard a footstep behind me. It was as though icy hands were laid on me pulling me back into the gloom. It was all imagination; my throat was constricted so that I could scarcely breathe, my heart a great weight in my chest. The candle dipped erratically and for one second of horror I was afraid it was going out. I felt we should never reach the top of that stairway.

The ascent could not have taken more than a minute or so, but it seemed like ten. I stood breathless at the top of the stairs . outside the room in which was the oubliette.

“Come on, miss,” said Genevieve, her teeth chattering.

“I’m cold.”

We climbed the stairs.

“Miss,” said Genevieve, ‘can I stay in your room for tonight? “

“Of course.”

“I… I might disturb Nounou if I went back.”

I did not point out that Nounou was never disturbed; I knew that she had shared my fear and was afraid to sleep alone.

I lay awake for a long time, going over every minute of that nocturnal adventure.

Fear of the unknown, I told myself, was an inheritance from our savage forebears. What had I feared in the dungeons? Ghosts of the past?

Something that did not exist outside a childish imagination?

Yet when I did sleep my dreams were haunted by the sound of tapping. I dreamed of a young woman who could not rest because she had died violently. She wanted to return to explain to me exactly how she had died.

Tap! Tap!

I started up in bed. It was the maid with my breakfast. Genevieve must have awakened early, for she was no longer in my room.

The next afternoon I went down to the dungeons alone. I had intended to ask Genevieve to accompany me, but she was nowhere to be found and as I was a little ashamed of my terror of the night before, I wanted to show myself - here was nothing to fear.


as I stepped farther into the dungeon, a heavy door closed behind me and I could not suppress a little scream for a dark shadow loomed up behind me and a hand caught my arm.

“Mademoiselle Lawson!”

I gasped. The Comte was standing behind me.

“I…”

I began.

“You startled me.”

“It was foolish of me. How dark it is with the door shut.” Still he did not open it. I was conscious of him very close to me.

“I wondered who was here,” he said.

“I might have known it would be you. You are so interested in the chateau. So naturally you love to explore… and a gruesome place like this would be particularly attractive.”

He had laid a hand on my shoulder. If I had wanted to protest at that moment I should have been unable to; I was filled with fear the more frightening because I did not know what I feared.

His voice sounded close to my ear.

“What did you hope to discover, Mademoiselle Lawson?”

“I hardly know. Genevieve heard noises and last night we came down to investigate. I said we would come back by daylight.”