Виктория Холт - The Demon Lover

The journey would have been tiring but for the fact that I was so excited by everything I saw. I had never been out of the country before and I was eager to miss nothing. The crossing was smooth and after what seemed like an interminable train journey we arrived at Rouen. There we took another train which would carry us to Centeville.

It was late afternoon when we arrived. We had been travelling since the early morning of the previous day and in spite of the interest of the journey I was immensely relieved to have come to the end of it.

As we left the train a man in livery approached us. I detected a look of disbelief in his eyes and I guessed that this was surprise at seeing a man and woman when he had been expecting a man only.

My father was the first to speak. His French was quite good and mine was adequate, so we had few qualms about language difficulties.

“I am Kendal Collison,” he said.

“Might you be looking for me? We were told that we would be met at the station.”

The man bowed. Yes, he said, he had come to meet Monsieur Collison on behalf of Monsieur de Manner, Steward of the Chateau de Centeville.

“Then I am your man,” said my father.

“And this is my daughter, without whom I do not travel nowadays.”

I received the same courteous bow, which I acknowledged by inclining my head, and the man then proceeded to lead us towards a carriage. It was magnificent-dark blue in colour and emblazoned on it was a coat of arms, presumably that of our illustrious patron, We were helped in and told that our baggage would be brought to the chateau. I was relieved because it was certainly not worthy to grace such a vehicle. I looked at my father and almost giggled. It was sheer nervousness, of course. The ceremonial nature of our reception had had this effect, reminding me that we were about to face the consequences of our very rash act.

The horses were whipped up and we bowled along through the most enchanting countryside. It was wooded and hilly and suddenly we saw the castle perched above the town-a Norman, grey stone and impregnable fortress with its massive cylindrical columns, its long narrow slits of windows, its rounded arches and machicolated towers.

It looked forbidding-a fortress indeed rather than a dwelling place, and I felt a shiver of apprehension run through me.

We were climbing the gradual slope and as we grew nearer to the castle, the more menacing it seemed to be. We should have explained, I told myself. We have come here under false pretences. What will they do if they discover? Well, they can only send us back.

I looked at my father. I could not tell from his expression whether he felt the brooding power of the place as I did.

We passed over a moat and under a portcullis and were in a courtyard.

The carriage stopped and our splendid driver jumped down from his seat and opened the door for us to alight.

I felt suddenly small standing beside those immense walls of stone. I turned to look up at the Keep, with the tower on it which must give a view of miles surrounding the castle.

“This way,” said our driver.

We were facing a studded door. He rapped on it sharply and it was opened immediately by a man in livery similar to that worn by the driver.

“Monsieur and Mademoiselle Collison,” said the driver as though announcing us at some function. He then bowed to us and prepared to leave, having delivered us into the hands of our next guide.

The servant bowed in the same ceremonious fashion and signed for us to follow him.

We were taken into a large hall with an arched roof supported by thick round stone columns. There were several windows but they were so narrow that they did not let in a great deal of light; stone benches were cut out of the wall; there was a long, beautifully carved table in the centre of the hall -a concession to a later period, for I presumed the hall itself was pure Norman, and another concession was that there was glass in the windows.

“Excuse me for one moment,” said the servant.

“I will acquaint Monsieur de Marnier of your arrival.”

My father and I looked at each other in suppressed awe when we were alone.

“So far, so good,” he whispered.

I agreed, with the proviso that we had not yet come very far.

In a very short time we were making the acquaintance of Monsieur de Marnier who quickly let us know that he held the very responsible post of Majordomo, house steward of the Chateau de Centeville. He was a very impressive personage in a blue coat with splashes of gold braid on it and large buttons which depicted something. As far as I could see at the time it seemed to be some sort of ship. Monsieur de Marnier was both gracious and disturbed. He had been misled. He had been told one gentleman.

“This is my daughter,” explained my father.

“I thought it was understood. I don’t travel without her. She is necessary to my work.”

“Of course, Monsieur Collison. Of course. An oversight. I will discover … It will be necessary to have a room prepared. I will see to that. It is a bagatelle… of no importance. If you will come to the room which has been prepared for Monsieur, I will arrange for one to be made ready for Mademoiselle. We dine at eight of the clock.

Would you care for some refreshment to be sent to your room meanwhile? ”

I said some coffee would be excellent.

He bowed.

“Coffee and a little gouter. It shall be done. Please to follow me. Monsieur de Mortemer will see you at dinner. He will then acquaint you with what is expected.”

He led the way up a wide staircase and along a gallery. Then we came to a stone spiral staircase-typically Norman, which was a further indication of the age of the castle, each step being built into the wall at one end leaving a round piece at the other as the shaft. I was a little concerned for my father as his eyes might fail him in the sudden change of light on this rather dangerous staircase. I insisted that he go ahead and I walked close behind him in case he should stumble.

At length we came to another hall. We were very high and I could see that up here the light would be good and strong. We turned off the hall to a corridor. The servant opened the door to that room which had been allotted to my father. It was large and contained a bed and several pieces of heavy furniture of an early period. The windows were long and narrow, excluding the light; and the walls were decorated with weapons and tapestry.

I could feel the past all around me but here again there were a few concessions to modern comfort. I saw that behind the bed a ruelle had been made. It was an alcove in which one could wash and dress a kind of dressing-room which would have no place in a Norman fortress.

“You will be informed, Mademoiselle, when your room is ready for you,” I was told.

Then we were alone.

My father seemed to have cast off a good many years. He was like a mischievous boy.

“The antiquity of everything!” he cried.

“I could fancy I was back eight hundred years and that Duke William is going to appear suddenly to tell us that he plans to conquer England.”

“Yes, I feel that too. It is decidedly feudal. I wonder who this Monsieur de Mortemer is?”

“The name was spoken with such respect that he might be the son of the house.”

“Surely the Baron who is about to be married wouldn’t have a son … one who is old enough to receive us at any rate.”

“Could be a second marriage. I hope not. I want him to be young, unlined … Then he will look handsome.”

“Older faces can be more interesting,” I pointed out.

“If people realized it, yes. But they all long for the contours of youth, the un shadowed eyes, the matt complexions. For an interesting miniature give me the not so young. But so much depends on this. If we can make our subject look handsome … then we shall get many commissions. That is what we need, daughter.”

“You talk as though they are going to accept me. I have my doubts. At the Court of Francois Premier they might have done. He loved women in every way and respected their equal right to intelligence and achievement. I doubt we shall find the same in feudal Normandy.”

“You’re judging our host by his castle.”

“I sense that he clings to the past. I feel it in the air.”

“We shall see, Kate. In the meantime let us think up a good plan of action. I wonder where we shall be working. It’ll have to be lighter than these rooms.”

“I am beginning to wonder where this will end.”

“Let us concern ourselves first with the beginning. We’re here, Kate.

We’re going to meet this Monsieur de Mortemer tonight. Let’s see what he has to say to your presence here. “

While we were talking there was a knock and a maidservant came in carrying coffee and a kind of brioche with a fruit preserve. When we had eaten, she said she would return and take me to my room, which was next to my father’s. Then water would be brought for us to wash. We had plenty of time before dinner.

The coffee and brioche were delicious and my spirits rose. I began to catch my father’s optimism.

My room was very like his. There were thick carpets on the floor and the draperies at the window were of dull purple velvet. There was an armoire, some chairs and a table on which stood a heavy mirror. I knew I could be comfortable here.

My luggage was brought in and I prepared to change for dinner.

What did one wear in a place like this? I had imagined that there would be a certain amount of ceremony, and I was thankful for Lady Farringdon’s parties for which I had had several dresses made.

I chose a fairly sober one of dark green velvet with a full skirt and fitted bodice. It was by no means a ball gown but it had been suitable for the musical evenings which Lady Farringdon had given and I thought it would fit the present occasion. Moreover I always felt my most confident in that colour green jewel colour, my father called it.

“The old masters were able to produce it,” he said.

“No one else was very successful with it after the seventeenth century. In those days colour was important and great artists had their secrets which they kept to themselves. It’s different now. You have to buy it in a tube and it is not the same.”

When I was ready I went to my father’s room. He was waiting for me and I had not been there more than a few minutes when there was a discreet tap on the door. It was the steward himself who had come to conduct us down to dinner.

We seemed to walk some distance and were in another part of the castle. The architecture had changed a little. The castle was evidently vast and must have been added to considerably over the centuries. It seemed to have changed from early Norman to late Gothic.

We were in a small room panelled with a painted ceiling which caught my eye immediately. I should enjoy examining that at some later time.

In fact there were so many features of this place about which I had promised myself the same thing. We had been hurried through a. picture gallery and I was sure my father found the same difficulty as I did in not begging the steward to call a halt so that we might study the pictures.

This was like an anteroom the sort of place, I thought, where one might wait to receive an audience with a king. This Baron de Centeville seemed to live like a king. I wondered what sort efface he had. I had a strong feeling that it was not going to suit a miniature.

Someone had entered the room. I caught my breath. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He was of medium height with light brown hair and eyes; he was elegantly dressed and his dinner jacket was of a rather more elaborate cut than I was accustomed to seeing at home. His very white shirt was daintily tucked and his cravat was of sapphire blue. A single stone sparkled in it as only a diamond could.

He bowed low and taking my hand kissed it.

“Welcome,” he said in English, “I am delighted to receive you on behalf of my cousin, the Baron de Centeville. He regrets he is unable to see you tonight. He will be here tomorrow. You must be hungry.

Would you care to come to dinner immediately? It is a small affair this evening. We dine . a trois . very in time . I thought that best on the night of your arrival. Tomorrow we can make arrangements. ”

My father thanked him for his gracious welcome.

“I fear,”

he said, ‘that there may have been some misunderstanding and only I was expected. My daughter is also a painter. I find it difficult nowadays to travel without her. “