The Secret of the Chateau

by Kathleen McGurl

  She finally drifted off into a deep, black sleep, thoughts of little Michel and Jeanne with her until the last.

  Chapter 29

  Lu

  Steve and I just stared at each other, and then back at the spiral staircase.

  ‘Why on earth was it hidden? That panelling …’ I shook my head in confusion.

  ‘I’m wondering if the entrance was always hidden – maybe it was meant to be secret. Even before the plaster was put on, if you didn’t know this part of the panelling opened, you wouldn’t know there was a door here. And if a piece of furniture or a wall-hanging was in front of it …’

  ‘Well, are we going up or just going to discuss it?’ I said. I couldn’t wait to go up and see what was in the room above.

  ‘Sure, but … I need to fetch a torch first. It’s pretty dark and that staircase might be unsafe. Stay here – don’t go up alone.’

  I peered through the doorway at the stairs. They were made of stone, like the ones from the lower floor up to the room we were in. They looked firm enough. A little blackened, as though from soot – had the fire reached here, then? Or the smoke at least? But Steve was right – it was too dark to attempt to climb them with no torch.

  He was back in minutes, with Manda, Phil and Gray right behind him.

  ‘Wow, a secret staircase! I feel like suddenly we’re in the middle of a Famous Five mystery! Where’s Timmy the dog?’ Gray said, with a laugh.

  ‘More Scooby Doo, I’d say,’ Phil added. ‘Lu can be Velma, Steve is Shaggy.’

  ‘Calm down, chaps. Chances are there’s nothing up here. Just a dusty attic room. Don’t get too excited,’ Steve said.

  But I was already extremely excited – something told me this was going to be a significant discovery. The hairs on the back of my neck were all standing on end. ‘Who’s going up first?’

  ‘You or Steve,’ Manda said. ‘You found it.’

  ‘All right.’ I held out my hand to Steve for the torch. I didn’t mind going first.

  ‘I think just one at a time, in case the stairs are fragile,’ Manda said.

  ‘They’re stone – I think they’re OK.’ I switched on the torch and shone it up the spiral. It didn’t reach far, but I could see the steps looked sound enough. I ducked through the doorway – it was lower than normal – and began ascending, holding the torch in my left hand and feeling my way up the spiral with my right. The stairs turned once, twice, and then stopped. In front of me was a door – wooden, solid but like the stairs, blackened.

  I called down to the others. ‘The stairs are safe, but up here there’s a door.’

  ‘Can you open it?’ Phil’s voice.

  I couldn’t see a handle. I shone the torch around the edges, then spotted it. A ring, recessed a little into the wood. I grasped it and pushed – nothing. Pulled (carefully so I didn’t topple backwards) – no movement. I tried twisting it, one way and then the other, but no joy. And then I spotted a keyhole, just beneath the ring. ‘I think it’s locked.’

  ‘Ah, darn it! So near, yet so far.’ Gray’s voice.

  But then I realised there was a strip of light shining from beneath the door. Just a sliver, as though the light from the window was finding its way out. The gap at the bottom of the door was sizable – unlike the door in the panelling, it was not a close fit. I angled my torch through the keyhole and gasped. It looked as though the key was in the lock – the other side. Locked from the inside. Locked by whom?

  The gang’s talk of Famous Five and Scooby Doo gave me an idea. Steve had come up behind me – feeling his way and using his phone as a torch.

  ‘Can you get me a sheet of newspaper and some stiff wire – like a coat-hanger or something?’ I asked him.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I think the key’s in the lock, the other side.’

  He raised his eyebrows but went back down – backwards as there was no easy way to turn around on the narrow spiral. A minute later he returned. I unfolded a sheet of the newspaper he’d brought and pushed it through the crack under the door. It slid through easily enough – nothing stopped it. Shuffling it about I made sure it was right underneath the lock. And then I took the piece of wire – Steve had quickly cut off a length of wire from a coat-hanger – and pushed it into the keyhole, jiggling it about.

  ‘Picking locks a speciality of yours, is it?’ Steve asked.

  ‘Not picking it, just trying to push the key out,’ I replied.

  ‘Where did you learn this trick?’

  ‘An Enid Blyton book, I think,’ I replied, and he laughed. ‘I’ve no idea if it’ll actually work.’

  But it seemed to be working – I could feel the key beginning to shift, and then suddenly with a clatter it fell out of the keyhole. Had it landed on the newspaper? That was the burning question now. I handed the wire and torch to Steve, and took hold of the newspaper with both hands, tugging it carefully back through the crack under the door. Slowly, slowly. It felt heavier – that meant the key had landed on it and not bounced off. Gradually it came through, and with it, the key. It was a large old iron key, almost three inches in length. ‘Bingo,’ I said.

  ‘What’s going on up there?’ called Phil.

  ‘Hold on,’ I replied, as I fitted the key into the lock and attempted to turn it.

  ‘Is it working?’ Steve asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Won’t budge an inch.’

  ‘WD40?’

  ‘Worth a try.’

  So poor old Steve once more went backwards down the stairs, down to our tool store and returned a minute later with a can of WD40. I squirted some oil into the lock, jiggled the key, and had another go. And this time, it worked. The key turned, the lock clicked. I put my hand on the ring and twisted it, pushing at the door, and it opened, stiffly, with a creak and a sigh, as though it was happy to be giving up its secrets at long last.

  ‘It’s open,’ I said, sounding breathless even to myself.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Steve said, giving me a gentle nudge. ‘I can’t get past you, so you’ll have to go in first, but be careful, in case the floor isn’t sound. Use your torch.’

  ‘It’s well lit.’ The sun was streaming in through the little window. The air however smelled stale and musty as I pushed the door open wider. Behind me I could hear the others coming up the spiral staircase, and Steve was right behind me as I took a cautious step into the room. My first impressions were that it was a similar size and shape to the one below. My second was that there was a pile of rags against the far side of the room. I moved away from the door, allowing space for Steve to enter, and looked more closely at the rags.

  And then I gave a little scream.

  ‘What is it? Lu, are you all right?’ Phil called from the stairs.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, it’s just …’

  ‘What?’ Steve was beside me. ‘Oh! Oh my God!’

  There, on a thin mattress and covered with a rotting blanket, lay the remains of a woman. Her long auburn hair partly covered her face – or what would have been her face. Now it was just a skull, the eye sockets staring blindly at us. Some sort of white fabric covered her upper body, then the grey blanket covered the rest of her. A bony hand lay across her chest. It was as though she’d lain down there to sleep, and never woken up.

  ‘Christ!’ Phil, Manda and Gray had all entered the room. Clearly we were happy the floor was sound, then.

  ‘Ugh!’ Manda said, her hand over her mouth as she retreated to the doorway. ‘Not sure I want to look any closer. I’m going back down.’

  ‘How long has she been here?’

  ‘Who knows.’ But I thought I did know. Could this be the missing Catherine? Had she been here since revolutionary times? It’s funny – I had a bit of a fear of bones usually but I felt quite calm crouched beside this complete skeleton. I felt as though she was glad she had been found at last. As though she felt she’d soon be at peace.

  Phil had come to stand at my side, gazing down at her. ‘Did she get trapped in here do you thin
k?’ He shuddered. ‘What a horrible way to die.’

  ‘I don’t think she was trapped. The door was locked from the inside.’

  ‘How did you open it, then?’

  ‘Ah ha. My little secret.’ A thought occurred to me. Maybe she had been trapped, but not by being locked in. The fire – it hadn’t burned this part of the château but perhaps she’d been up here when it was burning, and unable to get out. I looked closely at the walls. There was some blackening – could it be soot? If Catherine had come up here to escape the fire, then succumbed to the smoke … But why come up to a tower room, better to get out of the château if it was burning. And why lock herself in?

  I guessed we’d never know. And of course, we didn’t know for certain that it was Catherine. I crouched beside the skeleton and looked more closely, gently easing the rotting blanket away to see more. Among the bones of one hand lay a ring. A large red stone, garnet perhaps, with a ring of small diamonds surrounding it, set in gold. I reached out and picked it up, then held it to the light. Inside there was an inscription. I went to the window and peered at it, but no use. I’d need my reading specs which were several floors beneath me.

  ‘Here, let me look,’ Steve said. He’s short-sighted. He pushed his glasses up onto his head and held the ring inches from his nose. ‘There are some initials. C.A. and P.A. And a date – Juillet 1784.’

  I felt a rush of excitement. ‘C.A. could be Catherine Aubert. And P.A. could be Pierre Aubert. If they married in July 1784 …’

  ‘… That would mean this is your Catherine, and that’s her wedding ring,’ Steve finished for me.

  ‘Yes! Well, I hopefully will be able to find when they married,’ I said. It was pre-revolutionary so I’d need to rely on church records, but there were plenty of searchable websites that might have the information.

  ‘What are we going to do with the poor woman?’ Phil was standing quietly beside her, his hands clasped together in front of him, almost as if he was at prayer.

  ‘I suppose we need to inform the gendarmerie,’ Steve said.

  ‘Or start with the mairie. Aimée will know what to do,’ Gray added. ‘I’ll call her.’

  ‘I think she deserves a proper burial. Perhaps with Pierre Aubert, in the Aubert tomb in the cemetery.’ Assuming I could confirm this was Catherine, that felt like the right thing to do. ‘Poor woman. She’s been waiting to be found for so long.’

  ‘Our resident ghost, do you think?’ Gray said.

  I nodded. ‘I’d assume so. Trying to let us know where she is. We’ve found you now, Madame Aubert. We’ll reunite you with your husband. And that ring of yours – perhaps your many-greats grandson would like it.’

  Perhaps it was my imagination, or perhaps it was just a draught finding its way in through the little window somehow, but I thought I heard a gentle murmur of thanks, a sigh of relief, as I spoke.

  Chapter 30

  Claudette, 1794

  ‘So, young lady, what are you planning to do with these children?’ Claudette’s mother was standing with her hands on her hips, watching Michel as he curled in a corner of the cottage’s kitchen with his thumb in his mouth, whimpering quietly.

  Claudette sat at the battered table that took up most of the space. She was cradling Jeanne, trying to rock her to sleep.

  ‘I’ll look after them, Maman. They will be safe. I promised as much.’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘You know the Auberts will never come back for them, don’t you? They won’t be able to. Despite Monsieur Aubert’s brave words, he’ll be caught along with his fancy wife, and they’ll be tried.’

  ‘Ssh, Maman. Michel is old enough to understand what you are saying.’ Jeanne was asleep now, so Claudette took her through to the tiny room she’d used as a bedroom as a girl and laid her on the bed. She returned to the kitchen, scooped up Michel and held him tightly.

  ‘Where is Papa?’ Where is Maman?’ the little boy was saying.

  Claudette sat down with the boy on her knee. ‘They have had to go away for a while. You and Jeanne will live with me and my mother. It is an adventure, no?’

  ‘I want my Maman,’ he whimpered, but he clung to Claudette in a way that told her he would soon get used to it and accept his new place in life. She held him tight. Thank God both children were used to her caring for them. If the worst happened and their parents were not able to return for them, it made it all a little easier. They would not feel completely abandoned, the poor little mites.

  It was a difficult situation. She believed in the Revolution. It had been well past time to get rid of the monarchy and nobility, to make things fairer and more equal, and to share the lands of the nobles and the church among the common people. And yet it was hard to see how it was affecting these innocent children, and their parents who had committed no real crimes.

  ‘They’ll be executed, you know,’ her mother was saying. ‘They’ll be found guilty and put to the guillotine.’

  ‘No! Not the guillotine. They’ll just be imprisoned.’

  Claudette’s mother shook her head and folded her arms. ‘Not what I’ve heard. The Comte de Custine was executed just last week. His trial only lasted half an hour, they say, and they chopped his head off the very next day. Wham, bam, all done.’ She made a chopping motion with her hand as she said these last words, and Claudette winced.

  ‘But Monsieur and Madame Aubert have not committed a crime. Only the crime of their birth.’

  ‘You said they were members of the old Court! You said Madame Aubert still loved the Austrian bitch. And they helped a non-conformist priest. You told me that, in this very room!’

  Claudette felt her eyes fill with tears. It was all true. What she was not so sure of now, was whether those facts were genuine crimes or not. Whether it was right that the parents of these children, who she loved as though they were her own, should die just because of the accident of their birth.

  ‘Well, whatever, it’s happening now,’ her mother continued. ‘One way or another those Auberts will be caught and tried, and these children will end up as orphans. You’d better find yourself a husband who’s willing to adopt these two mites. I can’t see another way. Good job you have some money to get yourself started, and those jewels he gave you.’

  Claudette sniffed, and nodded. Her mother was right. That was the way ahead. She bent over Michel’s soft head and kissed it. No matter what, the children would stay with her and she would do all she could for them. They were no doubt safer with her, than if they’d stayed in the château with their parents. Sooner or later the mob would come for the Auberts, no matter what. She had done the right thing, for this way the children would be saved.

  As she sat there cuddling Michel, she made a silent promise to him and his sister. She’d tell them, when they were older, and when things had settled down in France, who their parents really were. She’d make sure they knew they were Auberts, and that had things been different, they would have been aristocrats, living in a grand château. But she would also make sure they were brought up to be good, kind and fair. New citizens for this new France.

  It was a couple of days after Claudette and the children had left the château that the grisly discovery of Pierre Aubert’s body beneath the wash house floor was made. Temperatures had risen, sending more meltwater down the mountainsides into the river, and there’d also been a night of rain. With the river level high, washerwomen had tried to raise the floor but had struggled, as there seemed to be something caught in the mechanism. Upon investigation, Pierre’s bloated body was found. No one knew how he’d got into the river. His remains were retrieved and buried in his family tomb. Claudette used a little of the money he’d given her to have his name inscribed beneath that of little Louis.

  ‘What happened to his wife?’ Claudette’s mother asked her. ‘Will we find her in the river too? Perhaps washed further downstream. Or did she burn in the château?’

  ‘The remains of the château have been searched for her body, but she’s not there,’ Cl
audette replied. She’d assumed Catherine perished in the fire too, but it seemed not. She was nowhere to be found – not in the priest’s cottage or anywhere else in the château’s grounds. What had been discovered, however, was a carriage supplied with clothes and food and items for the children, and with jewels and money hidden within, stored in a barn a little way down the valley. It was clear the Auberts had planned to make their escape at some point, and perhaps go into exile. The men were saying it was just as well they acted when they did, or the Auberts might have got away and never faced justice. It was just a shame Madame Aubert couldn’t be found.

  Claudette found herself quietly hoping that Madame might have got away. Who knew where, or how, but perhaps she had, and was living quietly, hidden, biding her time until she could come back for her children. Meanwhile, Claudette would make sure they wanted for nothing.

  The château was only partially burned – the newer parts, built by Pierre Aubert’s grandfather, were destroyed but the original structure including the tower had survived and were habitable. It was declared public property, and a couple of families moved in, relishing living in the grand château, but soon they moved out again, declaring it uncomfortable and draughty. They reported strange unexplained noises at night, and rumours began that it was haunted, presumably by the ghost of Pierre Aubert.

  Claudette could not bring herself to walk past the château. If she needed to go that way, she would take a detour rather than look upon her one-time home. A year later she married a man from a neighbouring village and moved there. He knew where the children had come from, but her new neighbours were all told they were hers, by her first husband who had sadly died. No one questioned her, in these troubled times. The children grew up strong and healthy, bringing her joy. They called her Maman, and although she would often tell them the story of their real parents, they treated it just as a fairy tale, and would beg her to tell them another tale of the Auberts and their magical children.