Castle of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The Earl and Jacina were alone in what seemed like an endless wilderness.

  A wind began to whistle about them, as they rode down into the ravine. The rocks rose sheer and dark on either side.

  The ravine path was rocky and the horse stumbled in places, but Jacina always felt secure with the Earl’s strong arms around her.

  They passed a frozen waterfall. It looked like a mirror hung in mid-air. After an hour’s ride the ravine widened out into a valley. Snow must have fallen heavily here last night. The whole valley was under a pristine, shining coat of white. In the distance, Jacina made out a huddle of red roofs around a steeple.

  In leaving the ravine they also left behind the cold wind. Jacina threw back the hood of her cloak, the better to feel the bracing air on her face.

  The Earl’s arms seemed to tighten around her. She felt his warm breath on her neck.

  If only they could travel like this for eternity, thought Jacina. She felt neither hunger nor thirst nor fatigue. Her blood beat with the thrill of feeling the Earl so close to her.

  Rougemont was silent when they reached it. They rode into a deserted village square. Looking about them, the Earl and Jacina noticed that four streets led off the square.

  One street ended abruptly in a wall of snow-covered debris that rose to a height of twenty feet or so. Here and there the peak of a gable thrust through. Otherwise the surface was unbroken.

  They sat sombrely for a moment, transfixed by this ominous sight. The Earl quickly dismounted. He extended his arms and Jacina slid from the horse’s back. For one second, the Earl seemed to clasp her to him as though he would never let go. Then he stood back. He did not meet her eye, but looked about him.

  A small boy in lederhosen had appeared in the square. The Earl beckoned to him. The boy approached warily at first, but his pace quickened when the Earl took out some coins. The boy promised to see to it that the horse was fed and watered.

  When the Earl asked whom he might approach for information, the boy gestured towards a large house with red painted shutters that stood on the other side of the square.

  “Ma grand-mere!” he said gravely. “Elle connaît tout.”

  The Earl gave a slight smile.

  “Well,” he said to Jacina. “Let us see if his grandmother does indeed know everything!”

  They crossed the square to the house with red shutters and the Earl raised the knocker on the front door. The knock seemed to resound through the whole village. Jacina sensed faces peering from windows all around.

  Slow, shuffling steps could be heard on the other side of the door. The door creaked open and a bent, wan little old woman stood before them.

  “Oui? Que voulez-vous?”

  The Earl gave a bow. “Madame, we are seeking – nous cherchons – Mademoiselle Felice Delisle.”

  At this, a shudder seemed to run through the old woman. She closed her eyes and gave a sigh. Then, trembling, she raised a claw-like finger and pointed in the direction of the steeple that Jacina had spied from afar.

  “La petite est là,” she said, and closed the door.

  The Earl had paled as he followed the direction of the old woman’s pointing finger.

  He strode off without another word. Jacina hurried bleakly in his wake. The Earl seemed to have forgotten her completely. It was as if he were hurrying to some assignation, the import of which was a secret harboured only in his own heart.

  She was aware of faces watching from half open doors as they passed by.

  At the end of the street the Earl turned a corner. Jacina ran to catch up. She saw the Earl open the wicket gate of the churchyard and pass through.

  Her heart flew against her breastbone like a bird beating itself against glass.

  Was it here, in this churchyard, in this icy earth, that the Earl would finally find his Felice?

  She followed his progress amongst the headstones with her eyes. She saw him stop short at one grave, stare, and move slowly on to the next. Here he staggered for a moment and then steadied himself to stay, his head lowered, his shoulders sagging as if under some sudden unbearable burden.

  Jacina slowly followed his track through the churchyard.

  She glanced at the first headstone that had arrested him. It read

  Madame Hermione Gravalt,

  Née en Genève Avril 10 1810

  Mort en Rougemont Mars 25 1857

  She realised that this must be the Headmistress with whom Felice had lived.

  The words on the second tomb seemed to leap at her darkly from the stone.

  Mademoiselle Felice Delisle

  Née en Genève Novembre 12 1836

  Mort en Rougemont Juin 1857

  Felice Delisle had died in June, three months after the avalanche.

  Tears sprang to Jacina’s eyes, though whether for the Earl, herself or Felice she was not certain. All she was aware of was this stark tomb under a lowering sky and the Earl, seemingly crushed at the loss of his fiancée.

  At last the Earl stirred. He lifted his head and started at the sight of Jacina, as if only just aware that she was beside him.

  “It ends here,” he said simply. “The life – of my brother Crispian – ends here.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I always felt that in honouring his choice of wife, I honoured his memory. I felt that I could keep something of him alive in this world. Now it is over.”

  Jacina bowed her head. “I am – so sorry – my Lord.”

  “I do not mourn a woman I loved,” murmured the Earl, “for I never knew her. I mourn the woman my brother loved. For my brother’s sake, I wished to make her happy. Now that can never be.”

  Jacina clasped her hands together and said nothing.

  The Earl drew a deep breath and straightened.

  “Though Felice is dead,” he said, “the story is not yet ended. We must now discover the identity of the woman who calls herself my wife. My suspicions are that she also came from this village.”

  “Perhaps we should try the parish priest,” suggested Jacina.

  The Earl thought this was a good idea. He and Jacina soon found the priest’s house. It stood opposite the church and boasted green shutters and a bell at the door.

  A maid showed them into a study where a cheerful fire burned. The priest entered soon afterwards. He was grave and stooped. He introduced himself, in excellent English, as Father Lamont and welcomed them to Rougemont.

  “Though alas,” he added mournfully, “you come to a village that has lost its heart. A village in shock. You have heard, I suppose, of the tragedy that befell us?”

  “I have,” replied the Earl soberly. “Indeed, I have been personally touched by it, for I have lost a young woman whom I held in great esteem. Her name was Felice Delisle.”

  “Ah! Mademoiselle Felice!” The priest looked at him sadly. “I knew her, monsieur. She was a gentle, pious soul. I am so glad that at last someone has come to pay their respects.”

  The Earl frowned. “I would have come before,” he said, “had I known. Why was my family not informed?”

  Father Lamont’s sighed. “You were not informed? I see. I see. Well, there is much to be explained. You must understand, monsieur, that there were – certain anomalies – after her death. I will tell you all. But first, let me ring for some tea.”

  At the sound of the bell the maid came in. The priest ordered tea and then sat back in his chair, the tips of his fingers together under his chin.

  “Spare me no details,” invited the Earl quickly. “I want to know everything. Begin please with the avalanche.”

  The priest’s eyes took on a stricken look.

  “Oh, monsieur – how can I describe such a night? How can I describe a vision of hell? The mountain roared and rushed down upon us. It came in a tumult of rock and ice and snow. Many villagers were killed, many injured. Twenty dwellings were destroyed. One of those was the house of Madame Gravalt.”

  The Earl nodded. “In Savrin,” he said softly, “I was told that two young women were rescued
alive from that house.”

  “That is right,” murmured the priest. “Mademoiselle Felice and another young woman. How they survived is almost a miracle, monsieur. Everyone else in that house died. Madame Gravalt – Madame Frouleau, an elderly teacher who was lodging with her – their maid.” The priest paused and shook his head.

  “The two young women were alive, but Mademoiselle Felice was badly injured. She lay in a coma for many weeks. The doctor did all he could to save her, but God’s will was stronger.”

  The Earl bowed his head. “She never regained consciousness?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  The Earl rose from his seat and walked to the window.

  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the mountain that loomed over the village.

  “Who was – the other young woman?” he asked.

  “The other young woman,” Father Lamont echoed in an unhappy tone. “She, monsieur, is a large part of the story I have to tell you. When Madame Gravalt was running the school in Geneva she was kind enough to take in her orphaned niece.

  “The name of her niece was Lisette. Lisette and Mademoiselle Felice were – polar opposites, do you say? Felice was so quiet, she loved books, study and prayer. She had a delicate constitution. This Lisette was – well, she was different. She made her aunt’s life a misery. Yet such is the mystery of God’s plan, that it was Lisette who survived that terrible night and not Felice.”

  “Were she and Felice friends?” asked the Earl.

  The priest considered. “In Geneva, I don’t know for sure. But when Madame Gravalt retired to Rougemont her niece came with her. Felice joined them after her illness – and certainly then the two girls were thrown very much into each other’s company. Monsieur, we villagers mourned the loss of Felice very much. She was what we call ‘tres sympathique.’ Whereas Lisette –”

  He paused as the maid entered with the tea. As she set out the cups he gently asked her something. The maid frowned and said, “elle avait une âme très cruelle!”

  “There you have it,” said Father Lamont. “Lucille was a friend of Madame Gravalt’s maid, the one who died. ‘A very cruel soul’ is how her friend used to describe Lisette. I would not go so far as that – but she was certainly – troubled.”

  He paused to take a cup of tea from Lucille and then he continued.

  “You know, Madame Gravalt was not running a charity school. Her niece was expected to work for her keep. This did not suit such a girl as Lisette Gravalt. She wanted more in life. In Geneva she took a lover. This lover was the son of a local magistrate but his father had thrown him out of the family home because of his gambling.

  “He was a bad influence on Lisette. She would sneak out at night to join him in taverns and gambling dens. She and her lover planned to elope. Madame Gravalt discovered their intentions and put a stop to it. I think this is one of the reasons she decided to retire to Rougemont and bring her niece with her. Far from temptation.”

  Lucille growled and said something in French as she left. Father Lamont sighed as the door closed behind her.

  “As Lucille said that was not the end of it. We discovered later that the lover simply followed Lisette. He did not come to Rougemont – we have you see, only one tavern here! But he went to a neighbouring town, Valabre. There he took some lodgings and as far as we know continued with his gambling and drinking.”

  The Earl was listening intently.

  “You said there were reasons you did not inform me of Felice’s death,” he reminded the priest. ‘Anomalies’ you called them. What were they?”

  “Monsieur, Felice was a very private person. We knew that she had a guardian in England and a fiancé in India – but that was all. We did not know the names of these people or where they lived exactly and – it is not our custom to pry. We heard that her guardian died in February and that she was very sad, but she did not seem to want to speak about it to anyone.

  “When the avalanche struck, there was so much confusion and grief with so many injured – you can imagine. It was a while before we could think of who we needed to contact on her behalf and by then – Lisette was in control.”

  The Earl turned sharply from the window. “What do you mean?”

  Father Lamont looked uncomfortable. “I mean, Monsieur, Lisette was nursing her in the new house she had taken and was dealing with all her correspondence. You may say we were negligent in this matter, having some knowledge of Lisette’s character but – Monsieur, she seemed to take her charge so seriously.

  “She seemed a reformed character and besides, there were so many families to look after, so much to do. Even yet we have not even cleared the debris from that night and now the new snows are upon us. It seemed as well to leave Felice to the care of Lisette. Then sadly Felice died. And within hours, Lisette had simply disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” echoed the Earl. Jacina glanced at him. His face was drawn and grim.

  The priest nodded. “We did not know what to do. We searched Felice’s room for correspondence that might tell us how to contact her fiancé in India but – we found nothing.”

  “Nothing?” The Earl looked perplexed. “But she received many letters from my brother, my grandfather and myself. She wrote to me once that she kept them all. The executor of my grandfather’s will wrote to her at least two letters this year –”

  “Monsieur, we found only a letter that Felice had written, not received. It was folded in her Bible, but she had not got as far as writing out an envelope so, it was of little use to us. The person she was addressing was a – Hugo. Is that you, monsieur?”

  The Earl nodded. Father Lamont rose and went to his desk where he opened a drawer and took out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to the Earl who opened it and read it through. A strange look crossed his face. He glanced at Jacina and then put the letter in his waistcoat pocket.

  “Thank you for safeguarding this letter,” he said in a low voice. “But I do not understand why you found no others.”

  Father Lamont sighed. “The night Felice died, an old woman went to lay her out. This old woman said Lisette came to Felice’s room and took away a large bronze box. We came to the conclusion this box held the personal belongings of Mademoiselle Felice. Not only did we find no letters, we found no other personal effects. Jewellery and such things. Everything belonging to Felice, except her clothes, had gone with Lisette.”

  The Earl’s face set sternly. “And where is Lisette now?”

  The priest shook his head. “We do not know, monsieur. She vanished that night. All we know for certain is that she was glimpsed two days later in Valabre with her lover. They hired some horses there. After that, the trail goes cold.”

  The Earl lifted his head and stared bleakly at the priest.

  “And the lover? What was the name of this lover?” he asked in a low voice.

  Both the Earl and Jacina paled as the priest replied.

  “Fronard, monsieur. His name was Philippe Fronard.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Earl arranged for the upkeep of the graves of both Felice and Madame Gravalt. He ordered fresh flowers to be placed there every day. Then he and Jacina took their leave of Father Lamont.

  The Earl had chosen not to tell the old priest of his belief that Lisette had come to Castle Ruven in the guise of Felice Delisle. He felt Father Lamont had burdens of care enough.

  The Earl seemed lost in thought. He walked swiftly and Jacina hurried to keep pace with him.

  A tavern was open on the square. The Earl took Jacina’s elbow and guided her towards it. The door opened into a fug of warmth and pleasant odours. The Earl sat Jacina down at a table by the tiny latticed window.

  He ordered hot milk for Jacina and a brandy for himself. Then he took out the letter from Felice that the priest had given him earlier. He handed it to Jacina and she looked questioningly at him.

  “Read it,” he said. His eyes gave nothing away.

  Jacina saw that the letter was d
ated March 24th 1857. The day before the avalanche!

  ‘Dear Hugo’, she read,

  ‘I know you are honouring both the memory of your grandfather and your brother in pursuing marriage with me and indeed I have been a willing accomplice in this plan. I believed that you might come to replace my beloved Crispian and that in time I would forget him.

  Now that I have recovered fully from my illness and am here in this peaceful place I have had time to reconsider. The truth is I have come to believe I could not make you a good wife. I do not believe I could be happy so far away from this country. It is after all the country where Crispian and I met.

  It was amid these mountains that we fell in love and it is amid these mountains that I have now found a measure of serenity. I wish to remain here and train to be a teacher under the guidance of my kind friend, Madame Gravalt.

  I hereby release you from any obligation you may believe you owe me.

  Your affectionate friend, Felice Delisle.’

  Jacina’s eyes rose slowly from the page.

  “You have read it?” the Earl asked gruffly.

  “Y-yes, my Lord. I cannot help but believe that – Felice has now found peace and tranquillity – buried here amidst her beloved mountains.”

  The Earl nodded. “Let us hope so.” He took the letter from her and put it back in his waistcoat pocket.

  For a moment he and Jacina sat in silence, Jacina with her eyes cast down. Finally the Earl spoke,

  “Had things run their natural course and this letter had been sent – I should have been a free man when I arrived back at Castle Ruven.”

  “Yes, m-my Lord.”

  “But for now I am still yoked.”

  Jacina looked up and caught the Earl’s gaze. She thought she saw a yearning expression in his eyes, but if she did it was quickly stifled. He gave her in its place a bitter smile.

  “Still yoked,” he repeated, “until I have brought that fiendish pair to justice.”

  He drained his glass and rose from the table.

  “It is noon,” he said. “We must leave for Savrin at once.”

  This time the Earl placed Jacina behind him in the saddle. His body shielded her from the cold wind that arose as they left Rougemont. It began to snow lightly and the village was soon lost in a white, fluttering veil.