Now and then he addressed Genevieve and I noticed how his eyes rested on her. He had given me his polite attention but the intentness of his scrutiny of her surprised me. He cares deeply for her, I thought. Why should she think herself unloved for I had come to the conclusion that this was one of the main reasons for her bad behaviour when she had such a doting grandparent.
He wanted to hear what she was doing, how she was progressing with her lessons. I was surprised that he spoke of Mademoiselle Dubois as though he knew her intimately while I had gathered from Genevieve that he had never actually met her. Nounou he knew well, of course, for she had once been part of his household, and he spoke of her as though she were an old friend.
“How is Nounou, Genevieve? I trust you are kind to her. Remember she is a good soul. Simple, perhaps, but she does her best. She always did. And she is good to you. Always remember that and treat her kindly, Genevieve.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“I hope you don’t grow impatient with her.”
“Not often. Grandfather.”
“Sometimes?” He was alert, uneasy.
“Well, only a little. I just say: ” You are a silly old ‘oman”.”
“That’s unkind. Did you pray afterwards to the saints for forgiveness?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“It is no use asking for forgiveness if you commit the same sin immediately afterwards. Guard your temper, Genevieve. And if you are ever tempted to do foolish things remember the pain that causes.”
I wondered how much he knew of the wildness of his granddaughter and whether Nounou paid him visits and told him. Did he know that she had shut me in the oubliette^ He sent for wine and the biscuits which were usually served with it.
These were brought by an old woman whom I guessed to be one of the Labisses. She wore a white cap on her grey hair, and somewhat morosely set down the wine without a word. Genevieve murmured a greeting and the woman bobbed a curtsy and went out.
While we were drinking the wine the old man said: “I had heard that the pictures were to be restored but I did not expect a lady to do them.”
I explained about my father’s death and that I was completing his commitments.
“There was a little consternation at first,” I said, ‘but the Comte seems pleased with my work. “
I saw his lips tighten and his hand clench on the rug.
“So … he is pleased with you.” His voice and his whole expression changed. I saw that Genevieve was sitting on the edge of her chair nervously watching her grandfather.
“At least he implies that he is, by allowing me to continue with the pictures,” I said.
“I hope,” he began, and his voice sank and I did not catch the rest of the sentence.
“I beg your pardon.”
He shook his head. The mention of the Comte’s name had evidently upset him. So here was another who hated that man. What was it in him that inspired such fear and such hatred? Conversation became uneasy after that and Genevieve, seeking to escape, asked if she might show me the grounds.
We left the main hall and went through several passages until we came to a stone-floored kitchen; she took me through this to a garden.
“Your grandfather is pleased to see you,” I commented.
“I believe he would like you to come often to see him.”
“He doesn’t notice. He forgets. He is very old and hasn’t been the same since … his stroke. His mind isn’t clear.”
“Does your father know you come?”
“He doesn’t ask.”
“You mean he never comes here?”
“He hasn’t been since my mother died. Grandfather wouldn’t want him, would he? Can you imagine my father here?”
“No,” I answered truthfully.
I looked back at the house and saw the curtains in an upper room move.
We were being watched. Genevieve followed my gaze.
“That’s Madame Labisse. She’s wondering who you are. She doesn’t like it the way it is now; she would like to go back to the old days. Then she was parlour maid and Labisse was footman. I don’t know what they are now.
They wouldn’t stay except for the fact that Grandfather has left them a legacy provided they’re in his service when he dies. “
“It’s a strange household,” I said.
“That’s because Grandfather is only half-alive. He has been like it for three years. The doctor says he cannot live for many more years so I suppose the Labisses think it worthwhile.”
Three years, I thought. That was the time of Francoise’s death. Was he so affected that he had had a stroke? If he loved her as he obviously did his granddaughter, I could understand it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” cried Genevieve.
“You’re thinking that that was the time my mother died. Grandfather had his stroke a week before she died. Wasn’t it strange … everyone was expecting him to die, but she was the one.”
How strange! She had died of an overdose of laudanum a week after her father had a stroke. Had it affected her so much that she had taken her life?
Genevieve had turned back to the house and I walked silently beside her. There was a door in the wall and she quickly passed through it holding it for me to do the same. We were in a small cobbled courtyard; it was very quiet here. Genevieve walked across the cobbles and I followed, feeling as though I were joining in a conspiracy.
We were standing in a dark lobby.
“Where is this?” I asked, but she put a hand to her lips.
“I want to show you something.”
She crossed the lobby and led the way to a door which she pushed open.
It was a room bare of everything but a pallet bed and a priedieu and a wooden chest. The floor was of stone flags and there were no rugs or carpets.
“Grandfather’s favourite room,” she said.
“It’s like a monk’s cell,” I said.
She nodded delightedly. She looked about her furtively and opened the chest.
“Genevieve,” I said, ‘you have no right. “
But curiosity would not let me resist looking at what lay there. I thought in astonishment, it’s a hair shirt. There was something else that made me shudder. A whip!
Genevieve let the lid of the chest fall.
“What do you think of this house, mademoiselle?” she asked.
“It is as interesting as the chateau, don’t you think?”
“It is time we left,” I said.
“We must say goodbye to your grandfather.”
She was silent all the way home. As for myself I could not get that strange house out of my thoughts. It was like something that clings to the memory after a nightmare.
The guests who had been staying at the castle left and I was immediately aware of the change. I became less aloof from the life of the place. For instance when I was leaving the gallery one morning I came face to face with the Comte.
He said: “Now that all the visitors have gone, you should dine with us now and then, Mademoiselle Lawson. En famille, you understand? I am sure you could enlighten us all on your favourite subject. Would you care to do so?”
I replied that it would be a pleasure.
“Well, join us tonight,” he said.
I felt elated as I went to my room. My encounters with him were always stimulating although often they left me tingling with rage. I took my black velvet dress and laid it on my bed, and while I was doing this there was a knock on my door and Genevieve came in.
“Are you going out to dinner tonight?” she asked.
“No, I’m dining with you.”
“You look pleased. Did Papa ask you?”
“It is a pleasure to receive an invitation when they are rather rare.”
She stroked the velvet thoughtfully.
“I like velvet,” she said.
“I was just going to the gallery,” I told her.
“Did you want to see me about something?”
“No,
I only wanted to see you.”
“You can come to the gallery with me.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
I went alone to the gallery and was there until it was time to change for dinner. I sent for hot water and washed in the ruelle in an absurd but happy state of expectation. But when I came to put on my dress I stared at it in horror. I could not believe what I saw. When I had laid it out it had been ready to slip on; now the skirt hung in jagged and uneven strips. Someone had ripped it from waist to hem; the bodice, too, had been slashed across.
I picked it up and stared at it in bewilderment and dismay.
“It’s not possible,” I said aloud. Then I went to the bell rope and pulled.
Josette came hurrying to me.
“Why, mademoiselle …”
As I held out the dress to her she clapped her hands over her mouth to stop the exclamation.
“What does it mean?” I demanded.
“Oh … but it’s wicked. Oh, but whyY ” I can’t understand it,” I began.
“I didn’t do it, mademoiselle. I swear I didn’t do it. I only came to bring the hot water. It must have been done then.”
“I didn’t think for a moment that you did it, Josette. But I’m going to find out who did.”
She ran out crying almost hysterically.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I won’t be blamed.”
And I stood in my room staring at the ruined dress. Then I went to my wardrobe and took out the grey with the lavender stripe. I had only just hooked it up when Josette appeared dramatically waving a pair of scissors.
“I knew who’d done it,” she announced.
“I went to the schoolroom and found these … just where she’d laid them down. Look, mademoiselle, pieces of velvet are still in them. See these little bits. They’re velvet.”
I knew, as I had known almost as soon as I had seen the ruined dress.
Genevieve. But why had she done this?
Did she hate me so much?
I went along to Genevieve’s room. She was sitting on her bed staring blankly before her while Nounou was pacing up and down crying.
“Why did you do it?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
Nounou stood still staring at us.
“You behave like a baby. You don’t think before you act, do you?”
“Yes, I do. I thought I’d like to do it, so when you went to the gallery, I went for my scissors.”
“And now you’re sorry?”
“I’m not.”
“I am. I haven’t many dresses.”
“You might wear it all cut up. It might be becoming. I’m sure some people would think so.” She began to laugh helplessly and I could see that she was near to tears.
“Stop it,” I commanded.
“It’s a foolish way to behave.”
“It’s the way to cut up a dress. Whish! You should have heard the scissors. It was lovely.” She went on laughing and Nounou put a hand to her shoulder only to have it shaken off.
I left them; it was useless to try to reason with her while she was in that mood.
The dinner to which I had looked forward was an uncomfortable meal. I was conscious all the time of Genevieve, who had appeared, sullen and silent. She was watching me furtively all through the meal, waiting, I knew, for me to betray her to her father.
I talked a little, mostly about the pictures and the chateau, but I felt I was being rather dull and disappointing to the Comte, who had wanted perhaps to provoke spirited answers to his teasing manner.
I was glad to escape to my room, which I did immediately the meal was over. I was turning over in my mind what I should do. I should have to reason with Genevieve; I should have to explain to her that she could not find lasting pleasure in behaving as she did.
It was while I was meditating about this that Mademoiselle Dubois came to my room.
“I must talk to you,” she said.
“What a commotion!”
“You’ve heard about my dress?”
“The whole household knows of it. Josette went to the sommelier and he went to the Comte. Mademoiselle Genevieve has played too many tricks.”
“And so … he knows.”
She regarded me slyly.
“Yes … he knows.”
“And Genevieve?”
“She’s in her room cowering behind the skirts of Nounou. She’ll be punished and she deserves it.”
“I can’t think why she takes a delight in doing such things.”
“Mischief! Malice! She’s jealous of your being asked to dine with the family and the Comte taking such an interest.”
“Naturally he would be interested in his pictures.”
She tittered.
“I’ve always been careful. Of course when I came here I had no idea what sort of place it was. A Comte … a chateau … it sounds wonderful. But when I heard those terrible stories, I was quite terrified. I was ready to pack my bags and go. But I decided to give it a chance, though I saw how dangerous it was. A man like the Comte, for instance …”
“I should not think you would be in any danger from him.”
“A man whose wife died like that! You are rather innocent, Mademoiselle Lawson. As a matter of fact I had to leave my last post because of the unwelcome attentions of the master of the house.”
She had grown quite pink with, I told myself cynically, the exertion of imagining herself desirable. I am sure all the near-seductions she talked of had only taken place in her imagination.
“How awkward for you,” I said.
“When I came here I knew I had to take special care in view of the Comte’s reputation. There will always be scandal surrounding him.”
“There will always be scandal when there are those to make it,” I put in.
I disliked her for so many things; for her enjoyment of others’ discomfort, for her stupid simpering suggestions that she was a femme fatale; and irrationally, for her long nose, which made her look like a shrew-mouse. Poor woman, as if she could help her appearance! But the meanness of her soul was in her face that night and I disliked her. I told myself I hated those who stood in judgment on others.
I was glad when she had gone. My thoughts were occupied by Genevieve.
Our relationship had suffered a big setback and I was disappointed.
The loss of my dress troubled me little compared with the absence of the confidence I had felt I was beginning to inspire. And oddly enough, in spite of what she had done, I felt a new tenderness towards her. Poor child! She was in need of care; and she was groping blindly, trying to call attention to herself, I was sure. I wanted to understand her; I wanted to help her. It occurred to me that she received very little help and understanding in this house despised and rejected by her father, spoiled by her nurse. Something should be done, I was sure. It was not often that I acted on impulse but I did then.
I went to the library and knocked at the door. There was no answer so I went in and pulled the bell-rope. When one of the menservants appeared, I asked if he would take a message to the Comte as I wished to speak to him.
Only when I saw the surprise in the man’s face was I aware of the
greatness of my temerity, but I still felt that the need to act was so urgent that I didn’t care. On reflection I expected him to return and say that the Comte was too busy to see me and perhaps a meeting could be arranged the next day, but to my surprise when the door opened it was to admit the Comte.
“Mademoiselle Lawson, you sent for me?”
I flushed at the irony.
“I wished to speak to you, Monsieur Ie Comte.”
He frowned.
“This disgraceful affair of the dress. I must apologize for my daughter’s behaviour.”
“I had not come for an apology.”
“You are very forgiving.”
“Oh, I was angry when I saw the dress.”
“Naturally. You will be recompensed and Genevieve shall make you an apo
logy.”
“That is not what I want.”
The puzzled expression on his face might have been feigned. He gave the impression, as he so often did, of knowing exactly what was going on in my mind.
“Then perhaps you will tell me why you … summoned me here?”
“I did not summon you. I asked if you would see me here.”
“Well, I am here. You were very quiet during dinner. It was no doubt due to this foolish affair, and you were being discreet, displaying national sang-fro id and hiding the indignation you felt towards my daughter. But now the secret is out and you no longer have any need to fear you are telling tales. And so … you have something to say to me.”
“I wanted to talk about Genevieve. Perhaps it is presumptuous of me . ” I paused for reassurance that this was not so, but it did not come.
“Please go on,” was all he said.
“I am concerned about her.”
He signed for me to be seated and sat opposite me. As he opened his eyes wider and sat back in his chair folding his hands with the carved jade signet ring on his little finger, I could believe all the rumours I had heard of him. The aquiline nose, the proud set of the head on the shoulders, the enigmatic mouth, and the eyes whose expression was unfathomable, belonged to a man who was born to rule; a man who believed in his divine right to have his own way and found it natural to remove anything or anyone who stood in his path.
“Yes, Monsieur Ie Comte,” I went on, “I am concerned for your daughter. Why do you think she did this?”
“She will no doubt explain.”
“How can she? She doesn’t even know herself. She has suffered a terrible ordeal.”
Was it my imagination or did he seem to grow a little more alert?
“What ordeal was this?” he asked.
“I mean … the death of her mother.”
His gaze met mine, steady, implacable, arrogant.
“That was several years ago.”
“But she found her mother dead.”
“I see that you have been well informed of the family’s history.”
King of the Castle Page 13