Rose, Rose Where Are You?

by Nicola Thorne

  When I returned, Madame Gilbert nodded her approval of the large piece of gauze which almost obscured my cheek.

  “Ah, bon. Doctor Bourdin is very skilled; he is from the faculty at Amiens. Now, ma cherie, I will get Martine to escort you to your house. You must rest; it has been a shock.”

  “Not at all, Madame.” But I was trembling again, a delayed reaction. How sweet of her to be so perceptive.

  “We must take care of you. After the accident to Rose, someone will think the people of Port St Pierre do not like the English.”

  I looked at her, and the idea gave me another shock. Perhaps she was right.

  I gave in and allowed Martine to come home with me, and then after she had gone I lay on the couch and dozed off. I had really had a terrible fright.

  But my adventures were not over for the day. Just before dark there was a knock on the door, which I always left open, as people do in the country. Thinking Martine had been sent to look in on me, I called out to come in without getting up. I felt silly when Laurent de Frigecourt put his head round the door and seemed surprised and embarrassed to see me a la Recamier.

  Indeed, I don’t know which of us was more confused, especially as he held a large bunch of flowers in his hand. My goodness, was I being courted? No, he’d heard about the accident, of course.

  But he hadn’t. He stared at my face, and his concern was gratifying.

  “Clare! What have you done?”

  “I’ve been shot,” I said proudly. “I was nearly a victim of La Chasse and would have appeared, stuffed, on Madame Gilbert’s wall, as a warning to all future tenants.”

  He stopped me, laughing, and I had to explain what had happened.

  “But this is serious,” he said.

  “Of course it is, or was.”

  “And no one appeared?”

  “Not a soul.”

  Laurent sat down next to me on the sofa.

  “That I can’t understand. Anyone who was near enough to hit you must have known.”

  That uneasy feeling was with me again. “Don’t say that,” I said. “It makes it sound ... deliberate.”

  Laurent spoke with concern. “Oh, I didn’t mean they intended to shoot you, but they must have known there had been an accident. Why they didn’t come forward I don’t understand.”

  “I do. I mean, people do become cowards about accidents. Maybe when they saw I was all right, they thought they wouldn’t bother.”

  “That isn’t very gallant,” Laurent protested.

  “Oh, it’s certainly not gallant, but it is understandable. That is” – I paused – “unless, as Madame Gilbert suggested, someone doesn’t like the English.”

  “You mean, after Rose; but that is absurd.”

  If he thought it was absurd, he still wasn’t smiling. I realized that Madame Gilbert’s remark had struck a chord. Someone who didn’t like the English, who didn’t like the Burgundians, who seemed to hate them in fact ... but it was all such a long time ago. The Hundred Years War finished in the Fifteenth Century, five hundred years ago. The English and the Burgundians were then allies against the French monarchy, and both were equally culpable for Joan’s death.

  Did Jeanne, for some extraordinary reason, have a fixation about the subject of my study? About her namesake? We knew she had intense feelings about the Burgundians. I was suggesting that Jeanne had something to do with Rose’s death and my accident. But we knew on both occasions she had been in the house.

  “What are you thinking?” Laurent asked. It had been a long silence.

  “Oh, nothing.” I smiled vaguely. “Why are you here, and with flowers?”

  Laurent rose and began to pace back and forth, frowning.

  “I’ve come to ask a great favour.”

  “Of me? Well, anything I can do ...” I felt nonetheless apprehensive. I knew I’d been a hit with him personally last night, but these flowers and the letter from Tom were complicating things. It was flattering, but no man had fallen so fast.

  “It’s that Cecile had an accident on the stairs yesterday and twisted her ankle. The sprain is so bad, she can’t move.”

  I almost laughed with relief. Really I had too exalted an opinion of myself. Here I was thinking he was about to make some sort of intimate suggestion, and all he wanted was a new kitchen maid. But me?

  “You want me to help in the house?” I must have sounded slightly incredulous.

  “No, no, not at all! It’s simply that without Cecile, Jeanne has even more to do. Just at the moment Cecile is hard to replace; it’s the end of the holiday season and the hotels are still fairly full. I only wondered – as you like the children and the chateau – if you would consider moving in for a few days, just to keep an eye on things until I have a new nanny? I’m going to Paris tomorrow to find one.”

  Was Laurent still unhappy about Jeanne? I found the whole thing very puzzling. I was also reluctant to fall in with his suggestion. Something seemed to tell me that I was becoming too involved with the de Frigecourt family.

  But how could I refuse? Laurent was looking at me anxiously. A man one could not help liking, even admiring. And, yes, it would be exciting to live in the chateau for a while, to explore it, to have the library to explore and see that enchanting view of the bay.

  “May I let you know tomorrow? I can’t say ‘yes’ now. I must think about it and see how I feel.”

  “Please couldn’t you ...”

  “No, tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Or not at all. The chances are that I will agree, but I have my work.”

  He could see I meant what I’d said. He moved to go.

  “Will you have a drink before you leave?”

  “No, I must go. Jeanne has had the afternoon off.”

  “Jeanne wasn’t in the chateau this afternoon?”

  “No. As I see so little of the children, I like to have them to myself sometimes, to give them lessons about their family history.”

  “When would Jeanne have left the chateau?” I asked idly.

  “When?” Laurent screwed up his eyes. Obviously he hadn’t a clue as to what I was getting at. “Just after twelve. I saw her take the Renault out just before we had lunch, and we ate early.”

  I’d been shot at about half-past one.

  CHAPTER 6

  There was no question now that I had to go to the chateau. I felt I owed it to Rose, and I owed it to myself as well. There had been two accidents, one fatal, within a week of each other. And, I wondered, how did Cecile come to fall down the stairs? I thought Rose was the link, Rose who had been at my house – she had talked to somebody and thus linked me with the de Frigecourt family.

  I drove myself up to the chateau and found Laurent waiting impatiently for me. He looked tense and ill at ease, and I wondered what else had happened, but he smiled when he saw me and showed me where to leave the car.

  “You don’t want this old crock to spoil the reputation of the chateau,” I said, noticing it was well out of sight.

  “On the contrary, I think it would enhance it. The children are very excited about seeing you.”

  “I thought you looked worried.”

  “Well” – he hesitated – “it’s Jeanne. I don’t think she’s very pleased.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. But I shall be very discreet and not interfere with her authority.”

  “That’s what I told her. I said you really wanted to stay in the chateau for your research, but you would give her any help she needed.”

  “And?”

  “She said she didn’t need any help; it was a housemaid that was wanted and could you clean?”

  At this piece of impertinence I laughed aloud. “I would, but according to my husband, that’s one of the many things I’m no good at.”

  “He’s hurt you, hasn’t he?”

  We were climbing the stairs.

  “Tom? I’m a bit fragile emotionally, yes. I suppose I’ve hurt him, too. I was actually the one who moved out.”

  “The children are
in the schoolroom. I’ll take you up and show you your bedroom.”

  I had never been upstairs. The grand staircase curved at the top so that one could approach the first floor from either the right or the left. The corridor was wide, with a thick carpet, and hung with scenes of La Chasse, prints, lithographs, and one or two oils.

  “The children are on this floor, and so are you. The schoolroom and their playroom is on the next floor as well as my bedroom and some guest rooms. Jeanne took a fancy to the tower, so she has a room in the front turret.”

  The one I saw her looking down from, I thought.

  “The back of the house we keep closed. In fact, it’s far too big a house altogether; it should be a hotel or something. But Elizabeth loved it as soon as she saw it, and ...”

  “Maybe she’ll see it again soon,” I said.

  “Somehow I don’t think she will,” Laurent said quietly.

  “Oh, Laurent, was that why you were looking so anxious?”

  “In part. The news is not good. She’s in a coma again, and I must hurry off to Paris today. I’m so grateful to you, Clare. Here, this is your room.” He flung open the door of a large, sunny room. “Rose’s room.”

  “Rose’s room,” I breathed, entering.

  There were two windows looking directly over the bay. One could see Le Hourdel from one, from the other Port Guillaume. The windows were covered with gay chintz curtains and the floor with a simple pink carpet. There was a huge comfortable-looking double bed, a big old-fashioned wardrobe and a tallboy, a dressing-table, a chair, and a small table set by the window. The walls were painted white, and on them were hung a long gilt mirror and one or two pictures. It was an attractive room and very French-looking.

  “It’s charming,” I said.

  “You don’t mind it being Rose’s room?”

  “Of course I don’t! Just put the case on the floor, Laurent, and I’ll unpack later on.”

  “It’s one of the prettiest rooms on this floor,” he said. “Jeanne thought you would like it.”

  “How kind of her,” I said, wondering why Jeanne should be so concerned about me.

  Rose’s room. Did I mind? Of course I didn’t.

  Laurent left before lunch to go to Paris. He’d said goodbye to the children at breakfast and stayed only to see me installed. I saw him off and then wandered back into the house feeling strangely lonely, wondering what I’d done. It was all unfamiliar, and I wasn’t really wanted. The house seemed to echo hollowly as I went slowly through the hall and upstairs. Tucked away in the schoolroom, the children were remote, and the large rooms and corridors seemed deserted. In the kitchen Madame Barbou would be preparing lunch. I hadn’t met her yet.

  I finished unpacking, putting a few personal things round the room, and then shut the shutters against the hot noonday sun. With the light suddenly gone, Rose’s room looked like a tomb, I thought irrationally, as I left and went down to lunch.

  Jeanne was in very good form during the meal, and the atmosphere was relaxed. The children were chatty, and Fabrice even fell off his chair with excitement. He was immediately reproved by Jeanne. She did have a strong influence on them, there was no doubt about that. If she laughed, they laughed, and if she was grave they were grave. When she smiled, I saw that she had attractive teeth, very white, and she looked almost pretty.

  After lunch the children went into the garden to play, and we had coffee in the salon by the bay window, where we could keep our eyes on them. It looked almost like summer; the trees in the garden were still green, the tide was high, and the bay sparkled with a summer-like haze. I suddenly felt happy and optimistic; I was going to enjoy my stay here, all would be well.

  “Milk with your coffee, Madame?” Jeanne stood at the side table where Madame Barbou had put the tray.

  “Please call me Clare, if we are to live together. Yes, milk please, Jeanne. Thank you.” I took the cup from her, looking into her eyes, and went on, “I think Monsieur de Frigecourt was only thinking of you as well as my research when he asked me to stay. I shan’t interfere, only to give you moral support.”

  Jeanne’s expression was inscrutable. “It was very kind of the Marquis to be so thoughtful. You must let me know if there is anything you want.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble, especially with the shortage of staff.”

  “You will be no trouble, Madame ... Clare.”

  “Do you find it a strain teaching children of different ages?”

  “No, we have a big schoolroom. Philippe is quite a scholar, though Noelle has natural brilliance. Fabrice is good with his hands; he will he an engineer or a soldier.”

  “Where were you before, Jeanne?”

  “I taught at a school,” she said and got up, putting her half-empty cup on the table beside her. “Oh dear, I told the boys not to climb trees.”

  I had the feeling she had deliberately interrupted the conversation, perhaps because it was too personal. I joined her at the window and saw Philippe slithering down a tree and jumping to the ground. But there was no sign of Fabrice.

  “I hope Fabrice isn’t up in that tree,” I said in alarm. “It is much too high for him, the trunk is too smooth.”

  We both hurried to the door, possessed with a single thought, and when we arrived at the terrace we saw that Fabrice had appeared, clinging to the tree and looking fearfully down at the ground. When he saw us he began to cry, like a frightened kitten that has lost its nerve. I rushed down the steps calling words of encouragement.

  It was only as I stood underneath the tree that I realised the real danger Fabrice was in. He was very high up indeed. How he’d got there in that short a time I had no idea. He wailed loudly and uncontrollably.

  “Fabrice, it’s all right,” I called. “Don’t worry, don’t panic.” Philippe, white-faced, stood by my side. “Philippe, how did Fabrice get up there?”

  “On my shoulder, Madame.”

  “It was very naughty of you. Hurry and find a ladder.” As he turned and ran back to the house, I looked at Jeanne, who remained where she was on the small terrace at the top of the steps. Maybe it was a trick of the sun, which was shining directly on her, or of my eyes – I don’t know – but she was staring at Fabrice with an intensity of expression which frightened me, as though she was somehow willing him ...

  God! There was a crash and a scream, a branch hurtled down past me and, acting instinctively, I held out my arms and braced myself to receive the shock of Fabrice’s falling body. It was over in a second as I grabbed his waist and fell with him to the ground, cushioning his head in my arms. We lay still, Fabrice screaming at the top of his lungs, but I knew he was all right. Both our bodies seemed to tremble in unison.

  We were surrounded then by Jeanne and two others, Madame Barbou, who had come running from the kitchen, and a man who I suppose was the gardener, clutching a ladder. Hands reached out for us, and everyone spoke at once. Madame Barbou took Fabrice in her motherly arms and cradled him like a baby, murmuring soothing endearments.

  “He’s all right,” I stammered. “I knew I’d held him close.” I felt sick, and I was winded. Fabrice had fallen like a stone, his body heavier than he looked. The gardener gave me his arm and we all walked slowly towards the house. Once inside we were again inspected for cuts and bruises, but there was nothing.

  “You saved Fabrice’s life,” Noelle gasped, beginning to cry.

  “Nonsense,” Jeanne said, rather sharply. “Madame broke his fall, that is all. He was too near to the ground to be seriously hurt.”

  “He was halfway up the tree!” Philippe said in his grave voice. “I would not like to have fallen from that height.”

  I would not like to have fallen from it either and privately considered it a miracle that we were both unharmed. I was confused and disturbed; the incident seemed ordinary, yet it was unnerving. A boy falling from a tree – that happens every day. Again I thought of the light shining upon Jeanne’s face and the look in Jeanne’s eyes as she gazed steadfastly at
Fabrice.

  I shivered suddenly, and Madame Barbou suggested I go to bed and she would bring me a hot drink “pour vos nerfs, Madame.” The dear French, what a useful word “nerf” was. Unlike “nerves” in English, it could mean many things – shock, remorse, anger, any physical or mental disturbance. Madame Gilbert’s “nerfs” were most agile.

  “And Fabrice will go to bed, too,” Madame Barbou continued, “and I will bring him some nice hot milk.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed!” Fabrice stormed, still sobbing.

  I sat down with him and took him on my lap rubbing his tousled blond head. “There. If Mademoiselle Jeanne permits, neither of us will go to bed. We shall just sit here and have our nice hot drinks and perhaps play something together. That will make us forget better, won’t it?”

  “Play soldiers?” Fabrice inquired, visibly brightening.

  My heart sank. I had planned to do some reading, my work had been neglected. However, I looked at his sturdy body and his tear-stained face, and I was so grateful he was whole and unbroken that I would have done anything for him.

  “We’ll do anything you like,” I said. “But first we shall sit here quietly, while Madame Barbou brings us our drinks and the others go off to the schoolroom.”

  If Jeanne resented my assumption of authority she didn’t show it. She looked much paler than usual, and she seemed to smile gratefully at me as she ushered the other children out of the room, speaking in the hushed tones one reserves for the sick.

  “Venez, leave Madame and Fabrice to rest; they have had a shock.”

  Fabrice gave a deep sigh – maybe seeing the others shooed off to the schoolroom had a soporific effect-and sank back against my chest. I hugged his legs and held him close, looking out over the bay; the tide had turned and the ships anchored there were leaning over on their keels. His little blond head sank, his breathing became regular, and I knew he was asleep. He was such a trusting, loving child. The line between life and death, happiness and tragedy, was so fragile. Thank God he was safe.

  By the time Madame Barbou came in with the drinks, I was drowsy too.

  “Le pauvre,” she said bustling up to us, her kind face creased with concern.