Philippa Carr - Voices in a Haunted Room

“It is always a good thing to act the fool,” said David. “It makes others feel superior, and that is what they enjoy.”

“Well, I did quite well really. There was a girl who served the wine. What was her name? Marie… that’s it. She took pity on me and used to talk to me. I marked her down. I could discover a good deal from her, I believed. I could ask her what I dared not ask the others. I did rather well with Marie. I would creep out of the wine shop and join the others, who were sleeping in the cart. In time I got Marie to talk to me about the old days and the family at the château. What scandals I heard, dear Step-mama!”

“There are always scandals about people like my father.”

“It seems he was quite good at making it. I heard about his romantic marriage with your mother and how she died. That was shocking. I plied Marie with the grape and finally I discovered that Armand had died and they had buried him at the château. His companion had left, so there were only three women at the château then.

“They were suspicious of them. How did they live? Mademoiselle Sophie was a kind of invalid but she was an aristocrat… and Jeanne and the old housekeeper were a smart pair. They must have held something back… and what were they doing anyway living with an aristocrat!

“Someone must have warned Jeanne that feelings were rising against them and she decided to move on, and one day it was discovered that there was no one at the château. How long they had been gone, no one was sure. Where had they gone? I wondered. Marie was a well-informed girl. She could guess there were two places to which they might have gone. The old housekeeper who was known as Tante Berthe had a family somewhere in the country. And Jeanne Fougère came from the Dordogne district. She was a secretive person but Marie remembered that one day someone had come from Périgord, and had seen Jeanne when she was shopping and had asked her name. When this person had been told that she was Jeanne Fougère who looked after a sick woman at the château, he said he thought he had recognized her for he knew the Fougère family who lived in Périgord.

“That was the best clue we could get, so we left for the south at once, driving the poor old horse over those rough roads, for we had to keep well away from the towns. Few showed any interest in us, so I suppose we looked like good old compatriots. Charlot sung the ‘Marseillaise’ with fervour and I learned to sing it with ‘Ça Ira.’ These are the great songs of the revolution and a knowledge of them is considered by the peasants necessary to a good patriot.

“I won’t dwell on the details now, but I can tell you we had many a narrow escape. There were many occasions when we almost betrayed ourselves—and how near we came to disaster! It is very hard for an aristocrat—and Charlot is one if ever there was one—not to assume an air of superiority at times. I do believe I played my part with distinction—the half-witted loony from some vague spot in the south where they spoke a patois almost unrecognizable to good citizens of the République. It was easier for me than for Charlot.

“After many vicissitudes which I shall recall later—if any of you should be desirous of hearing them—we tracked down the good Jeanne’s family. There was only a brother and sister left in the little farmhouse. They had taken in the wandering jewel-laden pair and tried to make a good little peasant out of Sophie—not with any great success, and there they were.

“The housekeeper had made her way back to her own family and Jeanne and Sophie were on their own. Well, they joined us in the cart… Sophie as Charlot’s mother—a role which I think she rather enjoyed since she had to play a part—and Jeanne was the wife of Louis Charles. There was no one for me and I felt a little piqued at first—but of course it was due to necessity.”

“It must have been doubly alarming travelling as you were with Sophie and Jeanne carrying the jewels,” I said.

“Well, it was. But Jeanne is a clever woman. Sophie did as well as she could but Jeanne was wonderful. She went into the little towns to shop for us and of course she did not have to change her personality as we did ours.”

“Did she go into the town with the gems sewn into her petticoats?” I asked.

“She must have done so. She did not tell us about the jewels until we were on the boat crossing the Channel.”

“What would you have done had you known?”

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. “What could we do? We shouldn’t have left them behind. But I think our anxieties would have been increased. Jeanne knew that, so she decided not to place that extra burden on our shoulders. One of these days I’ll tell you about some of the adventures we passed through, all the alarms and escapes. It will take weeks. And in any case I can’t remember them all. When we finally got to Ostend Charlot decided he would go back to France and the army; and of course Louis Charles went with him. So they entrusted to me the task of bringing Sophie and Jeanne to England. I remember how we slipped away and they stood on the shore watching us.” He turned to my mother. “Charlot hoped you would understand. He was very definite about that. He wanted you to know that he could not continue to live quietly in England while his country was in turmoil.”

“I do understand,” said my mother quietly.

She had been deeply moved when Jonathan was talking and Dickon watched her anxiously.

He rose and said: “Let us go up.”

He and my mother said good night and left us—myself sitting between David and Jonathan.

We were silent for a while. I stared into the fire and saw pictures there. Jonathan in the wine shop with Marie… and I wondered what that had entailed. How strange that of all the adventures I should think of that. I pictured his trundling across France, playing his part. I was sure that he had enjoyed the danger of it… just as his father had. David would have hated it. He would have seen only the squalor, the pity, and the futility of it all.

A log had collapsed, sending out a spray of little sparks. Jonathan rose and filled his glass with the port wine he had been drinking.

“David?” he said, the decanter poised.

David said: “No thanks.”

“Claudine?”

I too declined.

“Oh come, just a little toast to my safe return.”

He poured the wine into our glasses. I lifted mine. “Welcome home.”

His eyes met mine and I saw the blue flames which I remembered so well.

“You have been very lucky,” said David. “So… welcome home.”

“My dear brother, I am always lucky.” He looked at me and frowned; then he added in a low voice: “Well, not always but almost always, and when I am not I know how to make the best of the situation.”

“There must have been moments when you really thought the end had come,” said David.

“I never felt that. You know me. I would always find a way out, however impossible the situation seemed.”

“You certainly believe in yourself,” I said.

“With good cause, dear Claudine. With very good cause, I assure you.

“No wonder Lottie was a little upset by all those revelations,” said David. “That wine shop you were in with the girl… that must have been the one opposite the mairie where she was held on that awful night.”

“Yes,” I said. “I remember her telling how the mob ransacked the place and the wine ran out into the street all over the cobbles.”

“Our father brought her home far more dramatically than I brought Sophie and Jeanne,” said Jonathan.

“You brought them home. That was all that mattered,” I told him fervently.

“And came safely through myself. Surely that is a matter of some importance to you.”

“Of the utmost, of course.”

He leaned over me very closely and said: “Thank you, sister-in-law. That’s what you are now. You were step-sister before, weren’t you? Now you are sister-in-law and step-sister both. Mon Dieu, as they say in that benighted country which I am so thankful to have left, what a complicated family we are!”

We were silent, sipping our port and gazing into the fire. I was very much aware of Jonathan and it seemed symbolic in some way that I was sitting there between the two brothers.

I felt very disturbed. All the peace I had known in London was gone; and something told me that I should never know it again.

I had to get away.

“I’m tired,” I said. “I’m going to say good night.”

David said: “I’ll come up soon.”

I went to my room. I hastily got into bed. It was not true that I was tired. I was, in fact, wide awake. I was trying to look into the future and I did so with some apprehension. There was that in Jonathan’s attitude and one or two of his rather ambiguous remarks which had unsettled me.

I wished he had not come home. That was not true. I was wildly excited because he had come home. And I was looking into the future with trepidation because he would certainly be involved in it. I was fearful and yet awaiting what was to come with an intensity of feeling which I had never known before.

When David came up I pretended to be asleep.

He kissed me gently, tenderly, so as not—he thought—to wake me.

I resisted the impulse to put my arms about his neck and return his kiss. But I could not do that. I felt that if I did I might betray the inner excitement which possessed me and which he might guess had been engendered by Jonathan.

THE NEXT MORNING MY mother sent one of the grooms over to Grasslands to ask for the key of Enderby, as a prospective buyer, who was staying at Eversleigh, wished to look over it during the afternoon.

The groom came back with a message from the manager to the effect that Mrs. Trent and her grand-daughters had gone into the town and would not be back until later that morning. As he did not know where the key was he could not send it, but if we would be at Enderby at three that afternoon he would make sure that someone came to us with the key.

That was very satisfactory, said my mother.

Enderby was no more than ten minutes’ walk across country from Eversleigh, and Sophie said she would be quite happy to walk the distance; and she and Jeanne came along, with me to show them the way.

I said: “It is a big house and it will be dark soon after four, which leaves us about an hour to look round. But that will be enough for you to get an idea whether you want to think seriously about it. If you did, we could keep the key and you could browse there all through the next day. You might decide immediately that it is quite hopeless.”

“Everyone seems determined that we shall think that,” said Sophie. “But we shall make up our own minds, shan’t we, Jeanne?”

Jeanne said that that was what Mademoiselle usually did.

“Well, I shall not say a word—for or against,” I promised.

An early November afternoon was certainly not the best time to see Enderby. There was the faintest of mists in the air and little globules of moisture clung like crystal beads to the spiders’ webs festooned in large numbers on the overgrown bushes.

The house rose before us, grey, grim and ghostly, I thought. I glanced sideways at Sophie.

She was staring at it, but as her hood hid the side of her face from me, I could not tell whether she was experiencing pleasure or revulsion.

Then Mrs. Trent emerged from among the bushes; she was smiling and holding the key.

“Oh there you are Miss er… Oh it’s Mrs. now. Have to get used to that. No longer Mademoiselle de Tourville, but Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“That’s so. Thanks for bringing the key.”

Her grand-daughters came from round the side of the house.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Frenshaw,” said the girls.

Dorothy—Dolly—was looking at Sophie as though fascinated, and I saw that Sophie had noticed her too. There would be a fellow feeling because of their disfigurement, I guessed.

“This is the lady who is interested in the house, Mrs. Trent,” I said. “She does not speak much English. She is my mother’s half sister.”

“My word! Is she now! I’ll open the door for you. When these keys are not used often, they get hard to turn. Ah, there we are!”

The door was opened and we were in the hall. Sophie looked at Jeanne and gave a little gasp.

I stepped in with them. I had expected the Trents to go but they came in with us.

“My goodness,” said Mrs. Trent. “I’d forgotten how grand it was. Although I’ve got the key I never come in. That’s the gallery where the musicians play. We’ve heard a lot about that gallery, haven’t we?”