Rose, Rose Where Are You?

by Nicola Thorne

  “Madame Barbou does.”

  “I think my mother does too. Every time anything goes wrong for the de Frigecourts they all shake their heads and mutter about the curse.”

  She looked at me and tears came into her eyes. “I spoke about him in the present tense. I can’t believe he’s dead.” She broke down and sobbed.

  “Oh, Michelle. Did you care for Laurent very much?”

  “Oh, I didn’t care for him. I adored him. It was puppy love, but it lasted even when I was grown up. Whenever I used to see him, the occasional times he visited, I thought he was a real fairy-tale prince, so tall and handsome. The family has always been a legend in our town, and when he came with his wife and I met him again, he seemed to me to embody the hero of olden days. Everything about him was beautiful and perfect. And I was a rather plain country girl. He never looked at me, of course, in that way, but he was always very kind to me, as he was to us all. It is an adolescent craze that I’ve never outgrown.”

  I was rather surprised by what I was hearing. And here was I rejecting the fairy-tale prince. But that, after all, was what love was all about. Laurent was undeniably handsome, but for me he didn’t have the kind of glamour he had for Michelle. Of course, the local lord, the Marquis, the great family home, the wealth. I could see how appealing it all must be to a young country girl, even though she had grown up and become a doctor – an achievement in itself, but nothing to compare with the charisma of the fairy prince.

  “Did Laurent know how you felt?”

  “Of course not! He hardly noticed me. I was the doctor’s daughter; that’s about all he knew, and he smiled at me as he did at everyone else. Why shouldn’t he have? He would never have looked at me in any other way. Elizabeth was also from a wealthy family; they attract one another, those kinds of people.”

  She was wrong; but I couldn’t tell her.

  “I never hoped for anything from Monsieur Laurent, please don’t misunderstand me. Even when his wife died it never crossed my mind. I just hero-worshipped him, that’s all, and because of him I loved the children so much, and the place and everything to do with him.”

  Michelle blew hard on her handkerchief and made a visible effort to control herself. At last she managed a wan smile.

  “Well, now you know.”

  “There’s nothing wrong in what you tell me. You mustn’t be ashamed of it. Listen, Michelle, Laurent would never have gone out without wearing life jackets, himself and the children, would he?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, aren’t they inflatable?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how can they drown?”

  “Clare, in that water they would die of cold. It’s nearly November.”

  “I’d forgotten about that,” I said. “And their bodies will be ...”

  “Washed up on the tide,” she said. “Here or somewhere else.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Jeanne was standing in the doorway. How long she’d been there I didn’t know. Had she heard any of our conversation concerning her? I didn’t think so because it was a slight movement that alerted me to her presence, and I thought that must have been when she’d arrived. She had just come in, looking like a Nineteenth-Century schoolmistress in a curious little black straw boater and a drab green coat that reached to her calves; she carried a small black handbag and wore black gloves. She was staring at us, her face white, petrified.

  “What bodies?”

  “Oh, Jeanne!” Michelle and I went up to her together.

  The sight of her looking so striking made me inwardly reproach myself for what I’d said about her.

  “What bodies?” she repeated monotonously.

  “Jeanne.” Michelle took her arm, obviously feeling as I did. “The family, there’s been a horrible accident. We’re afraid they’re dead, all except Fabrice and Lisa.”

  “In the boat,” she said, staring at us. “I told them they shouldn’t go in the boat. The Marquis laughed at me, only this morning at breakfast. I pleaded with him. I said it was too windy, the wrong time of the year. I had some awful foreboding; I knew something would happen. I know these things.”

  Jeanne sat down, staring straight in front of her, her lips quivering.

  “She’s in shock,” Michelle said. “Give her a small brandy.”

  It frightened me, the way Jeanne sat there, clutching her handbag on her lap, her hands still gloved, staring, muttering. I held the brandy glass to her lips, but she refused to take it.

  “I never touch alcohol.”

  “It’s medicine,” Michelle insisted. “I’m telling you to take it.”

  She opened her lips obediently and I poured the liquid between them. The colour slowly came back to her face.

  “I knew all day that something was wrong. I couldn’t place it, it was such a lovely day. I saw them in the bay on the boat, and I waved to them from my window; then I saw them turn back into the bay and, thinking they were on their way home to safety, I went to Boulogne with a happy heart, but when I got there I was unhappy, restless. I went into the church for a long time and prayed, the lovely church on the hill. I prayed very hard to St Jeanne d’ Arc, but I always do.”

  Just then Fabrice came running in, followed by Lisa, and we all tried to assume cheerful expressions, all except Jeanne, who maintained that awful pose, staring straight in front of her.

  “Papa is lost!” he said to me with excitement. “And Noelle, and Philippe. Lisa told them it was too cold; she warned them and got out of the boat. But we thought it was fun! Now they’re lost.”

  He said it with a self-satisfied little smile and my heart went out to the baby so unaware of what tragedy can bring. Madame Barbou came in with a tray and laid the table for his tea.

  “Fabrice will take his tea in the kitchen,” Lisa said. Madame Barbou looked at her with dislike and marched out again. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Lisa; her poor command of French was a disadvantage, so that what was a simple request seemed like an order. Lisa was about to follow Madame Barbou, taking Fabrice by the hand, when Jeanne interrupted her fixed stare to look sharply at Lisa.

  “You!” Lisa stopped, looking surprised. “Why did you get out of the boat?”

  At first, Lisa didn’t understand, and we all went over Jeanne’s question very carefully.

  “It was too cold,” she answered. “We have not enough clothes on.”

  “Then Papa said take me,” Fabrice chimed in. “But I had my big sweater on and I wanted to stay.”

  “You should have known,” Jeanne said and turned her head away in a gesture of disgust.

  Lisa shrugged her shoulders, gave a sign to indicate she thought Jeanne was crackers, and took Fabrice into the kitchen.

  “Jeanne, why don’t you go upstairs and have a rest?” Michelle suggested. “It’s been a very great shock for you. We have had time to absorb it.” But Jeanne went on staring into the distance, her face gradually brightening. Then she looked at us, smiling.

  “They’re not dead,” she said. “I can see them. They will return. Now I think I will rest” - and gathering up her things, she went slowly out of the room. Michelle and I stared after her.

  “I think she is mad,” I said. “If that isn’t mad I don’t know what is.”

  “That’s an oversimplification,” Michelle said, still frowning. “She is in shock, that’s certain; her pupils were quite dilated. As for the knowing ...” She shook her head.”We shall see. Let us hope she’s right. Thank God Nicolas comes back on the tide tonight. He may be able to tell us something. On the other hand, maybe they won’t be back until tomorrow. He said they were going into the North Sea in search of herring. It will depend on the size of the catch. I wish he were here; he’s a great source of strength.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “He’s like a rock.”

  Michelle smiled, the first time I’d seen her smiling like that since I’d arrived. “Be very careful,” she said. “He always likes older women; he may be after you.”
>
  “That will be a nice change,” I said. “It will make me feel wanted again. I must go now, Michelle. We must try to keep things normal for the sake of Fabrice.”

  “I’ll stay here for a bit and then I’ll go,” Michelle said. “I can’t believe it’s happened. I just can’t believe it.”

  I could hear Fabrice chattering away in the kitchen as I crept out the back way. The sound of his voice made tears come to my eyes. It was the first time I’d cried in months, and I wept all the way home, great huge sobs that, thankfully, nobody could hear.

  There was a letter from Tom waiting for me when I got home. It was very brief. He said he’d been in Edinburgh and had only just received mine, “which I am going into very carefully and will write to you.” Well, that was something. No protestations of undying love. I wondered why he’d been to Edinburgh. I suddenly felt very far away from Tom, and I wondered if I’d lost him and if I really cared.

  I cooked supper and ate it hunched over the stove. I even wondered if I could continue to live in Port St Pierre, to be reminded every time I passed the shuttered chateau of those splendid children and that handsome, tragic man, and of poor little Fabrice being brought up somewhere by a distant aunt.

  And then, absurdly, I thought of the ghost. The ghost Noelle claimed to have seen before her mother’s death. No one had reported seeing a ghost before the deaths of three of the family. A tiny flame of hope surged inside me. Could Jeanne be right after all? But I passed a troubled night. The wind was up, and I seemed to see the swirling seas of the bay and the flickering of the light at Le Hourdel. There seemed to be a woman with a lamp beckoning a ship onto the rocks, and I woke up in an awful sweat. It was the wind buffeting the door. I listened. No, it was calm, and dawn was streaking the sky. What had awakened me was an urgent knocking on the door downstairs. I lay there fearfully; I didn’t want to leave my warm bed for – what, this time?

  I dragged myself downstairs, fumbled with the key and then the outside shutters. It was Michelle. It was raining and she looked cold and wet, as though she’d just come out of the sea, but her face was transformed. It was shining and she hugged me excitedly.

  “They are safe! They are safe! Nicolas brought them in on the night tide. Oh, they are safe!”

  I dragged her in, half-laughing and weeping as she was, and drew her to the stove. “Let me make coffee, let’s put brandy in it. Oh, Michelle, tell me.”

  She followed me into the kitchen as I found the matches and lit the stove.

  “He did see them. Nicolas did see them, and they set out together. He told Laurent he shouldn’t go too far because the wind was strong on the other side of the bay. Nicolas passed them and saw them turn round, just before Le Hourdel, and when he was in the Channel he turned again to look at the bay, to see which ship was following him, when he saw the boat with Laurent and the children listing heavily out of control and drifting beyond Le Hourdel, where it was caught in the cross currents. The wind was rising and the sea was rough; they were all leaning heavily trying to right the boat, but the sail was almost in the water. Nicolas changed course and got to them, throwing a rope just as they were flung into the sea and the boat went under. Laurent caught the rope and the children held on to him. Nicolas said it was a miracle they survived.”

  “But why didn’t they come back?”

  “It was too late. The tide had turned and the boat would have foundered on the sand in the middle of the bay.”

  “But they could have made for a nearby port!”

  “You don’t know Nicolas when he goes fishing. It is his living and he takes it seriously. They were safe, and he wouldn’t dream of missing a day’s catch.”

  “He can have no imagination,” I said bitterly.

  “He hasn’t,” Michelle agreed, warming her hands on the hot cup of coffee. “He is a peasant, you know. Laurent apparently protested that people would worry, but Nicolas said he should have been more careful and they could help with the catch. That was that. At least he came back last night instead of going up towards Holland as he’d intended.”

  “Decent of him,” I said, wondering if he’d realised how upset his sister had been, to say nothing of anybody else.

  “You could have told me earlier,” I said. “I’ve had an awful night. I dreamt Jeanne was beckoning a ship onto the rocks with a lamp, like the Cornish wreckers.”

  “But Jeanne knew they were safe; it’s extraordinary, isn’t it? She was so happy when she saw them that she wept. I think we have been awful about Jeanne.”

  “Awful?”

  “The evil eye.”

  “You’re not telling me you think she’s normal?” I replied incredulously.

  “Well, what is normal? A lot of people have precognition, and she says she has. And as for not telling you earlier, I’m sorry. Nicolas at least brought them to our house before going back to unpack his catch; some of it has to be in Paris by morning. My mother gave them a meal and Father checked to make sure they were all right. I took them up to the chateau, and then we put the children to bed and sat about chatting. I haven’t been to bed.”

  But she looked so blissfully happy, I knew she didn’t care.

  A sort of shyness overcomes one when people have survived a disaster. So it was with me when I went up to the chateau later and found a party in full swing, with everyone kissing and congratulating Laurent and his two children. All three of them looked remarkably well, I thought, hovering at the edge of the group when Laurent looked up and saw me. I’d seen his drowned face in my sleep, and there was such happiness to see it living and breathing that I gave a gasp, and the expression on my face made his eyes light up. The crowd seemed to part for me and I walked up to him and shook his hand.

  “I’m so glad,” I said. “So relieved.”

  Then Noelle and Philippe surged up and had to be kissed, and Fabrice had to be consoled for not being a hero.

  “It’s not fair,” he kept on saying to anyone who would listen. “Not fair!”

  “I thought of you,” Laurent whispered, “I knew how worried you’d all be. That cretin Nicolas, I nearly threw him into the sea.”

  “I can’t exactly picture it,” I said laughing. “He’s about twice your size. But Laurent, how did you lose control of the boat?”

  “It was the tiller. It stuck, and the boat veered to starboard and we couldn’t right it; then we were just swept out on the current. I’d just been turning at the point. It was pretty awful, I can tell you. Thank God the kids didn’t seem to realise what danger we were in. Papa was there and that kind of thing; consequently they didn’t panic. Ah, there is our rescuer.”

  Everyone stopped talking as Nicolas came into the room, looking grim and taciturn. He had a strange attraction, I thought. I’d certainly not like to cross him. He went straight up to Laurent, whispered something to him I couldn’t hear, and the two of them left the room. It seemed to be a signal for the party to break up. The mayor and Dr Bourdin left together, Madame Gilbert and Martine waved to us and departed, and soon the room was empty except for Michelle, the children, Jeanne, and myself.

  “I must go too,” I said. “Leave you to try and get back to normal as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, stay for lunch,” Jeanne pressed. “I know the Marquis would like you to.”

  “Do you know or did he tell you, Jeanne?” I asked.

  “How do you mean, Clare?” Jeanne was very cool; she knew quite well what I meant.

  “I’m talking about your second sight, your remarkable gift.” I heard Michelle quickly draw in her breath, but I didn’t care. If I needled Jeanne perhaps she’d be less withdrawn for a change.

  “You’re mocking me; you shouldn’t, Clare.”

  “I’m not mocking you, Jeanne. I simply don’t understand you. You said you had a premonition of disaster. You saw them go out to sea, turn to come home, and yet you didn’t see the yacht founder. That I can’t understand, because it must have happened almost simultaneously.”

  “What are you
trying to say, Clare?”

  “I’m wondering if you did see the accident, see them rescued, if you could have saved us all a lot of worry. I’m just wondering how much about you, Jeanne, is pretence!”

  “Clare!” This time it was Michelle, the tone of her voice reproving me. But something had got me worked up; this awful calm of Jeanne’s, this terrible air of knowing. Rose was right. Jeanne was weird, she was sinister, and, for all I knew, she was evil.

  Jeanne and I were now glaring at each other; or rather Jeanne was looking at me in her infuriatingly calm way and I was snorting back like a young heifer.

  “You’re mistaken, Clare.” Michelle had begun to sound very annoyed with me. “Jeanne couldn’t possibly have seen the detail of the accident from here. Le Hourdel is just a dim point.”

  “You can see the lighthouse very clearly,” I said stubbornly.

  “Come up and see,” Jeanne invited, cloyingly sweet now, leading the way to the door.

  Her room was a long climb up. I had never been to the turret, and I was intrigued. After the second landing, where the children’s playroom and Laurent’s room were, there was a door and the staircase became narrow and circular. On the first floor Jeanne stopped outside her room and opened the door.

  The room was small, with a single bed, very little furniture, and few personal objects about. It looked neat and austere –like a nun’s cell, I thought, seeing the crucifix over the bed and the rosary and prayer book on the small table by her bedside. Jeanne swept to the window and we all looked out.

  It was quite true. Had I stopped to think I would have realised it before I made the accusation. Whereas Port Guillaume was very clear, Le Hourdel was right at the extremity of the bay and the boats that were coming in on the tide, even quite big fishing boats, were minute specks.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m too emotionally overwrought.”

  Jeanne was looking at me earnestly. “I’m your friend, but you don’t realise it, Clare. You’re resisting me. Why?”