This was a wonderful Christmas.
It was my first opportunity to wear the new dress. As I put it on I felt excited strangely expectant as though the fact that I was wearing a dress he had chosen for me made a different woman of me.
But of course he hadn’t chosen it. He had merely asked the Paris house to send a dress to fit a woman who had worn the black velvet. Yet the colour was the most becoming I could have worn. Was that chance? Or had he suggested it? My eyes looked brilliantly green and my hair was the colour of polished chestnuts. I believed I was almost attractive in that dress.
It was in a mood of exhilaration that I started down the stairs, and as I did so I came face to face with Mademoiselle de la Monelle. She looked enchanting in a gown of lavender chiffon trimmed with green satin bows; her fair hair was worn in curls held high with a clip of pearls and some glistening coils falling over her long slender neck.
She looked at me in some bewilderment as though she were trying to remember where we had met before. I imagined I looked very different in this gown from how I looked in my shabby riding-habit.
“I’m Dallas Lawson,” I said.
“I’m restoring the pictures.”
“You are joining us?” There was a cold surprise in her voice which I found offensive.
“On the Comte’s invitation,” I replied as coolly.
“Is that so?”
“Indeed, yes.”
Her eyes were taking in the details of my dress, assessing its cost; it seemed to surprise her as much as the Comte’s invitation.
She turned and went on ahead of me. The gesture seemed to imply that even if the Comte was so eccentric as to invite someone who was working for him to mingle with his friends, she did not wish to know me.
The guests were gathered in one of the smaller rooms near the banqueting hall. The Comte had already become deep in conversation with Mademoiselle de la Monelle and was unaware of my entrance, but Philippe made his way towards me. I fancied he knew that I might be feeling a little uneasy and had been waiting for me. Another example of his kindness.
“May I say how elegant you look.”
“Thank you. I wanted to ask you whether the Mademoiselle de la Monelle who is here is a member of the family whose collection of paintings you mentioned.”
“Why … er … yes. Her father is here too. But I hope you won’t mention this to my cousin.”
“Of course not. In any case I think it would be very unlikely that I should leave the chateau to go to her home.”
“You may think that now, but… if at any time …”
“Yes, I will remember it.”
Genevieve came over to us. She was wearing a dress of pink silk and looked rather sullen-scarcely a hint of the girl who had crowned the King for the day a short while ago.
At that moment dinner was announced and we went into the banqueting hall, where the glittering table was lit by candelabra placed at intervals.
I was seated next to an elderly gentleman who was interested in pictures and we talked together. I supposed I had been put there to entertain him. Turkey was served with chestnuts and truffles, but I did not enjoy it as I had that at the Bastides’ perhaps because I was so conscious of Mademoiselle de la Monelle seated next to the Comte, who seemed absorbed in her animated conversation.
How foolish I was to think I was attractive because I was wearing a beautiful dress! How much more foolish to imagine that he who had known many charming women would be aware of me when he was in the company of this one. Then I heard him mention my name 169
“Mademoiselle Lawson has to answer for this.”
I looked up and met his eyes, and I did not know whether he was displeased with me or merely amused.
I fancied he had disapproved of my taking his daughter to eat Christmas dinner with his work-people, that he knew I was aware of this, and that he wanted me to be in doubt of what form his disapproval would take.
Mademoiselle de la Monelle was looking at me too. Her eyes, I thought, are ice-blue, cold and calculating. She was irritated because I, for the second time this evening, had been brought to her notice.
“Yes, Mademoiselle Lawson,” went on the Comte.
“Last night we were looking at the picture and your work on my ancestress was greatly admired. She has lived under a cloud for so many years. Now she has emerged, so have her emeralds. It’s those emeralds …”
“Every so often interest in them is revived,” said Philippe.
“And, Mademoiselle Lawson, you have started the new revival.” He was looking at me in mock exasperation.
“And don’t you wish for one?” I asked.
“Who knows? One of these new outbursts of interest may result in their discovery. Last night when the pictures were examined someone suggested a treasure hunt and the cry went up. So a treasure hunt there has to be. You must join in, of course.”
Mademoiselle de la Monelle laid a hand on his arm.
“I shall be terrified to wander about this place … alone.”
Someone replied that he very much doubted she would be allowed to do that; and there was laughter in which the Comte joined.
Then he was looking at me again, the laughter still in his eyes.
“A mock treasure hunt. You’ll hear about it later. We’re going to start soon because we don’t know how long it will last. Gautier has been preparing the clues all morning. “
It was an hour or so later when the treasure hunt started.
Clues had been written on pieces of paper and hidden at certain places all over the chateau. Everyone was presented with the first clue from which they had to work out from the cryptic message where to go for the second; if they found the right place they would discover a little pile of papers there from which they would take one on which the next clue would be written; obviously the one who solved the final clue first would be the winner.
There was a great deal of chatter and exclamations of horror while they read their clues. Several of the guests went off in pairs. I could see neither the Comte, Philippe nor Genevieve and I felt as though I was in a household of strangers. No one approached me.
Perhaps they wondered why a woman who was merely in the chateau to work for the Comte should have been asked to join the party. I supposed that had I lived in France I should have gone home for Christmas; did the fact that I was here brand me as someone with nowhere to go?
I saw a young man and woman slip out hand in hand and it occurred to me that the object of a game like this was not so much to solve the clues but to give opportunities for flirtation.
I turned my attention to the clue and read:
“Go to do homage and drink if you are thirsty.”
After a few seconds’ reflection that seemed simple. To do homage was to court and in the courtyard was a well.
I made my way through the loggia to the courtyard and sure enough there on the parapet around the well was a large stone under which the clues had been put. I took one out and hurried back into the castle. I looked at the next clue, which took me to the top of the tower. The castle had been especially lighted for this occasion and on the walls candles glowed in branches of three.
By the time I discovered three of the clues I became excited by the game, and I found myself playing it with a great determination, for there is something fascinating about a treasure hunt even a game especially when it is played in an ancient chateau. And although this was a game there had been other more serious hunts. How they must have searched for those emeralds!
The sixth clue took me down to the dungeons where I had only once been before, with Genevieve. The stairs were lighted so I did not think I had been mistaken in imagining I should find the clue somewhere down there.
Down the narrow stairs I went, clinging to the rope. I was in the dungeons. No, it couldn’t be there there were no lights. Gautier would not have set a clue in this gruesome place.
I was about to mount the stairs when I heard voices just above.
“But
Lothair … my dear.”
I stepped back into the darkness, although there was no need to for they were not coming down the stairs.
I heard the Comte’s voice, warm as I had never heard it before.
“I shall have to be content to have you here . always. “
“Have you thought what it will be like for me … living under the same roof?”
I should not have stood there, but I could not decide what I should do. To mount the stairs and confront them would embarrass us all.
Perhaps they would go away and never know that I had overheard them.
The woman was Mademoiselle de la Monelle and she was speaking to the Comte as though he were her lover.
“My dear Claude, you will be happier this way.”
“If it could be you .,. instead of Philippe.”
“You wouldn’t be happy. You would never feel safe.”
“Do you imagine I should think you were going to murder me!”
“You don’t understand. The scandal would be revived. You can’t
imagine how unpleasant it would be. It would be a canker to destroy everything. I have vowed never to marry again.”
“So you would have me go through this farce with Philippe.”
“It will be better for you. Now we must go back. But not together.”
“Lothair … just one moment.”
There was a short silence during which I imagined their embrace. Then I heard the footfalls growing fainter and I felt most desolately alone in the darkness.
I remounted the steps, no longer thinking of the clues. I knew that the Comte and Mademoiselle de la Monelle were lovers-or in love -and that he would not marry her. A man who had been suspected of murdering his first wife would be watched with suspicion if he took a second. It would be a delicate situation which only a strong-minded woman who loved him devotedly could handle. I did not think Mademoiselle de la Monelle fitted into that category. Perhaps he knew it too, for he was shrewd and I imagined that his head would always command his heart. So, if my inference was right, he had devised a scheme for marrying her to Philippe and keeping her in the house. It was cynical; but then so was he. It was, I told myself bitterly, typical of the man. Through the ages kings had found complaisant husbands for their mistresses because they could not-or would not -marry them themselves.
I was disgusted. I wished that I had never come to the chateau. If I could escape . Take the way out Philippe had offered and go to the home of Mademoiselle de la Monelle . As if I should escape that way!
And how strange that it should have been to her home he had suggested sending me! There was only one retreat home to England. I played with the idea, knowing very well I would not leave the chateau until I was forced to.
And what concern of yours are the murky love affairs of a dissolute French Comte? I asked myself. None whatever.
And to prove it I took a fresh look at the clue. It led me, instead of to the dungeons, to the gun gallery in which was the oubliette. I hoped I should not have to descend the ladder; surely Gautier would not have laid a clue there. I was right. I found what I wanted on the window seat; and when I read what was written on the paper I was told to report to the banqueting hall with all the clues, for that would take me to the end of the treasure hunt.
When I arrived there it was to find Gautier seated at a table drinking a glass of wine.
When he saw me he stood up and cried: “Don’t tell me you’ve found them all. Mademoiselle Lawson!”
I said I had and gave them to him.
“Well,” he said, ‘you’re the first in. “
“Perhaps,” I said, thinking of the Comte and Mademoiselle de la Monelle, ‘the others didn’t try very hard. “
“Well now, all you have to do is to go to the cabinet there for the treasure.”
I went to it, opened the drawer he indicated and found a cardboard box about two inches square.
“That’s it,” he said.
“There’ll be a ceremonial presentation
He picked up a brass bell and began to ring it.
It was the signal that the hunt was over and everyone should return to the hall.
It took some time for them all to assemble; I noticed that some were flushed and a little ruffled. The Comte, however, arrived looking as cool as ever; he came in alone and I noticed that Mademoiselle de la Monelle was with Philippe.
The Comte smiled when he knew that I was the winner and I fancied he was amused.
“Of course,” commented Philippe with a friendly smile, “Mademoiselle Lawson had an unfair advantage. She’s an expert on old houses.”
“Here is the treasure,” said the Comte, opening the box to disclose a brooch a green stone on a slender gold bar.
One of the women cried: “It looks like an emerald.”
“All the treasure hunts in this chateau are for emeralds. Didn’t I tell you?” replied the Comte.
He took it from the box and said: “Allow me. Mademoiselle Lawson.” And he pinned it on my dress.
“Thank you …” I murmured.
“Rather thank your skill. I don’t think anyone else found more than three of Gautier’s clues.”
Someone said: “Had we known the prize was an emerald we might have tried harder. Why didn’t you warn us, Lothair?”
Several of them came up to admire the brooch, among them Claude de la Monelle. I could sense her indignation. Her white fingers touched the brooch quickly.
“It really is an emerald!” she murmured. And as she turned away she added: “Mademoiselle Lawson is a very clever woman, I am sure.”
“Oh, no,” I replied quickly.
“It was merely because I played the game.”
She turned back and for a moment our eyes met. Then she laughed and went to stand close to the Comte.
Musicians appeared and took their places on a dais. I watched Philippe and Mademoiselle de la Monelle lead the dance. Others fell in but no one approached me, and I felt suddenly so desolate that I wanted nothing so much as to slip away. This I did as quickly as possible and made my way to my room.
I unpinned the brooch and looked at it. Then I took out the miniature and thought of that moment when I had unwrapped it and seen who had sent it. How much happier I had been then than when he had pinned the emerald brooch on my dress! As my eyes fell on those white hands with the jade signet ring I had imagined them caressing Mademoiselle de la Monelle while they planned that she should marry Philippe because he, Lothair, the Comte de la Talle, had no wish to marry again.
There was no doubt that he saw himself as a king in his own world. He commanded and others obeyed; and no matter how cynical the proposal he put to those whom he considered to be his subjects, they were expected to obey.
How could I possibly make excuses for such a man?
Yet it had been such a happy Christmas until I had overheard that conversation.
I undressed thoughtfully and lay in bed listening to the far-off music. Down there they would be dancing and no one would miss me. How foolish I had been to indulge in daydreams in which I had deceived myself into believing that I was of some importance to the Comte. This night had shown me how preposterous that was. I didn’t belong here. I had not understood there were such men in the world as the Comte de la Talle. But I was beginning to. Tonight I had learned a great deal.
Now I must be reasonable, sensible. I tried not to think of the Comte and his mistress, and another picture came into my mind. Jean Pierre with the crown on his head King for a day.
I thought of his complacent expression, the pleasure he had taken in his temporary power.
All men, I thought, would be kings in their own castles.
And with that I fell into a sleep, but in my dreams I was disturbed and I was aware of a great shadow hanging over me which I knew was the hopeless future, but I covered up my eyes and refused to see it.
Seven
On the first day of the New Year Genevieve told me that she was going to ride over to Mai
son Carrefour to see her grandfather and wanted me to accompany her.
I thought it would be interesting to see the old house again so I readily agreed.
“When my mother was alive,” Genevieve told me, ‘we always went to see Grandfather on New Year’s Day. All children in France do the same. ”
“It’s a nice custom.”
“Cake and chocolate are brought for the children while the grownups drink wine and eat wine cakes. Then the children play the piano or the violin to show how they are getting on. Sometimes they have to recite.”
“Are you going to do this?”
“No, I shall have to say my catechism, though. My grandfather likes prayers better than the piano or the violin.”
I wondered how she felt about the visits to that strange house, and couldn’t resist asking: “You like going?”
She frowned and looked puzzled.
“I don’t know. I want to go, and then . when I’m there, sometimes I feel as though I can’t bear it any more. I want to run out… right away and never go there again. My mother used to talk of it so much that I sometimes feel I’ve lived there myself. I don’t know whether I want to go or not, miss.”
When we reached the house Maurice let us in and took us to the old man, who looked more feeble than when I had last seen him.
“You know what day it is. Grandfather?” asked Genevieve.
And when he did not answer, she put her lips to his ear and said: “New Year’s Day! So I’ve come to see you. Mademoiselle Lawson is here, too.”
He caught my name and nodded.
“Good of you to come. You will excuse my not rising.”
We sat down near him. Yes, he had changed. There was a complete lack of serenity in his eyes; they looked like those of a lost man who is trying hard to find his way through a jungle. I guessed what he was searching for was memory.
“Shall I ring the bell?” asked Genevieve.
“We are rather hungry. I should like my cakes and chocolate, and I’m sure Mademoiselle Lawson is thirsty.”
He did not answer so she rang the bell. Maurice appeared and she ordered what she wanted.
“Grandfather is not so well today,” she said to Maurice.
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