The Chateau on the Lake

by Charlotte Betts

  ‘Enjoying the view?’ There’s a distinct twinkle in his eye.

  The warmth rises in my cheeks. He’s very engaging and also easy to read, quite unlike Monsieur d’Aubery who gives away little of his feelings. ‘This place looks so mysterious in the mist, doesn’t it?’ I say.

  ‘But very beautiful.’

  I see the same fond expression in his eyes as I saw in Monsieur d’Aubery’s when we arrived. ‘Have you always lived on the estate?’

  He nods. ‘It’s my home and I intend never to leave it. But tell me about yourself. Where do you and Madame Levesque come from? You don’t sound as if it’s from around here.’ He smiles. ‘Everyone in the château wants to know who the mystery guests are. And why it is that Madame Levesque travels without the protection of her husband?’

  I hesitate, unsure what story Monsieur d’Aubery might have fabricated to explain our presence.

  ‘She’s but recently widowed,’ I improvise, with some sense of satisfaction at having done away with Charles Levesque and explained Sophie’s unhappy demeanour at one stroke.

  Then we hear a shout and a small figure runs towards us. It takes me a moment to recognise the boy from the stable.

  He comes shuddering to a halt before us, heaving for breath. ‘Monsieur Viard, sir…’ he pants.

  ‘What is it, Jacques?’

  ‘It’s Diable. He’s gone! I was polishing the saddles when I heard a horse trotting out of the yard, but by the time I ran outside I saw Diable’s box was open and he’d gone.’

  ‘I saw Monsieur d’Aubery ride him away a few moments ago,’ I say. ‘He went into the woods over there.’

  ‘But he can’t have,’ says the boy.

  ‘I know it was Diable. It was misty but I would swear it was Monsieur d’Aubery riding him at breakneck speed.’

  ‘But Monsieur Alphonse arrived only half an hour ago to visit the master and his horse is still in the stable.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asks Monsieur Viard.

  Jacques nods vigorously.

  The boy scurries off back towards the stables and Monsieur Viard and I return inside.

  We cross the hall and Monsieur Viard knocks on the door to the estate office before opening it.

  Monsieur d’Aubery is sitting at his desk beside another gentleman, bent over some architectural drawings. He looks up at us with raised eyebrows.

  ‘I apologise for the interruption, Etienne,’ says Monsieur Viard, ‘but someone has ridden Diable out of the stables.’

  Monsieur d’Aubery rises to his feet, scraping back his chair in alarm.

  ‘I thought it was you I saw galloping off a few moments ago,’ I say, perplexed. ‘The rider was wearing a black riding cape like yours.’

  ‘I’ve been closeted here with Monsieur Alphonse studying the plans for the new cottages.’ Monsieur d’Aubery’s jaw clenches. ‘Whoever stole Diable may rue the day.

  ‘I apologise,’ he says to his visitor, ‘but we will have to reconvene.’ He strides from the office, closely followed by Monsieur Viard.

  Monsieur Alphonse sighs and begins to fold up his plans.

  At the stables Jacques comes to greet us, his eyes wide and frightened.

  ‘Where is Colbert?’ demands Monsieur d’Aubery.

  ‘My father went to see the blacksmith,’ stutters Jacques. ‘I was polishing the saddles when I heard a horse in the yard. I knew they were all in their stalls so I went to see what was happening and there was Diable galloping off. I’m sorry, master…’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ says Monsieur d’Aubery. ‘But you didn’t see who was riding him?’

  Jacques shakes his head. ‘I knew it wasn’t you, though.’

  ‘How was that?’ asks Monsieur Viard.

  ‘Too small.’ Jacques sucks his teeth. ‘And not a good rider.’

  ‘One of the village children, do you think?’

  ‘None of them would dare,’ says Monsieur Viard.

  I stroke Minette’s velvety muzzle. Suddenly she blows through her nose and lifts her head, shaking her mane. I glance behind me and see Diable emerging from the woods. ‘Look!’ I say.

  ‘Thank God,’ says Monsieur d’Aubery. ‘You all stay here and I’ll catch him.’

  He approaches slowly, calling out to the horse and slowing as Diable snorts and tosses his head. At last Monsieur d’Aubery manages to sidle closer, catch hold of the trailing reins and lead the horse back to us.

  ‘Whoever tried to steal him will be sorry for it,’ says Monsieur d’Aubery, running a hand down Diable’s fetlocks, ‘if he isn’t already dead.’ He stops and pulls free a shred of material tangled up in one of the stirrups. ‘Oh!’

  ‘What is it?’ asks Monsieur Viard.

  ‘It seems our thief was wearing clothing embroidered with pink rosebuds.’ He smoothes out the scrap of fabric on the palm of his hand.

  Monsieur Viard snorts with laughter, his expression incredulous.

  I gasp. ‘But that’s from Sophie’s nightgown.’

  Monsieur d’Aubery gives me a sharp glance. ‘Where is she?

  ‘I left her in bed this morning. We argued…’

  ‘Go and see if she’s still there. Hurry now! And, Colbert, go with Monsieur Viard and start searching the woods.’

  I run as fast as I can, race up the stairs two at a time and burst into Sophie’s room. The bedclothes are flung back and the room is deserted.

  Guilt floods over me for arguing with her when she was distressed. If anything terrible has happened…

  My stomach is knotted with anxiety as I run downstairs and rap on the housekeeper’s door. Without waiting for an answer I turn the handle.

  Madame Viard is sitting at a table and looks up at me, mouth pursed in annoyance. ‘Is there something you require, Mademoiselle Moreau?’

  ‘Have you seen Madame Levesque?’

  ‘But no. Not since she sent the maid away with her luncheon uneaten. Again.’

  ‘She’s missing. And I’m very afraid she may have met with an accident. Please will you ask the rest of the servants if they’ve seen her in the last hour or so?’

  ‘As you wish, Mademoiselle.’

  The stables are deserted when I return. The mist is thickening as twilight approaches. There’s no time to waste. I run towards the woods.

  The ground is uneven beneath the trees and I stumble several times as I call Sophie’s name. There’s no sign of the others although I hear the echoes of their cries in the distance. It grows darker as I venture deeper into the woods and panic flutters in my chest. What if we don’t find her? Or what if Diable has thrown her and trampled her underfoot? Brambles tear at my clothing as I fight my way through the undergrowth and a sob bubbles up in my chest.

  A piercing whistle makes me stop in my tracks.

  ‘Here! She’s here!’ shouts a voice.

  A volley of calls respond and I run towards them, ducking under tree branches and scrambling over snow-covered logs. I don’t see the tangle of ivy until I trip and fall headlong. The ground comes up to meet me, slamming into my chest with the force of a sledge hammer. It feels as if a giant hand is squeezing my lungs and I remain face down on the snow, heaving for breath.

  Strong hands pull me into a sitting position. ‘Breathe slowly,’ says Monsieur d’Aubery in the same tone of voice that he used to calm Diable. His dark eye look into mine, willing me to obey.

  I focus on his irises, umber with flecks of gold, until I begin to breathe evenly again.

  ‘Can you stand?’

  I scramble to my feet. My chest aches and my coat is crusted with ice and pieces of twig but there isn’t time to brush myself down.

  He keeps a firm grip on my elbow and I’m thankful for it since I have begun to shake, whether from the shock of my fall or from fear of what we might find, I don’t know.

  Monsieur Viard is kneeling on the ground, while Colbert, Jacques and three other men are gathered in a circle around him. I run to them, my heart in my mouth.

  Sophie lie
s unmoving on her back, eyes closed, looking innocent and childlike in her rose-embroidered nightgown with the black wings of the riding cape spread out beside her. Blood seeps from her head, staining the icy ground with scarlet.

  I fall to my knees beside Monsieur Viard. ‘Is she…’

  ‘Unconscious,’ he says.

  I pick up one of her hands and chafe it in mine. ‘She’s frozen!’ I wrap the black cloak over her torn nightgown.

  ‘We must take her back without delay,’ says Monsieur d’Aubery. He unbuttons his coat and lays it over Sophie.

  Monsieur Viard pushes him aside then, gathers Sophie into his arms as if she weighs no more than a feather, and sets off.

  I stifle a sob as I see blood dripping from her dark hair, leaving a trail of crimson drops in the snow.

  Later, the door to my friend’s room opens and the doctor emerges.

  ‘How is she?’ I ask.

  ‘Awake,’ he replies, rocking his portly figure slightly on his heels.

  ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘Once the wound to her temple has healed there should be no lasting physical damage.’

  Sophie lies propped up in bed, her head bandaged, and the sight of her makes me forget my annoyance. ‘Why did you do it? You must have known that Diable might have killed you?’

  She heaves a deep, sobbing sigh. ‘I hoped a fall would make me miscarry.’

  ‘Oh, Sophie!’ I hug her tight, full of miserable guilt. ‘But the fall hasn’t damaged the baby?’

  She shakes her head. ‘The doctor says not.’ She yawns. ‘Oh, Maddy, I’m so very tired!’

  I sit beside her until her eyelids droop and at last she sleeps. Quietly, I leave the room.

  Monsieur d’Aubery is in the estate office, resting an elbow on the mantelpiece while he pushes the logs further into the hearth with the toe of one shoe. I watch him unobserved for a moment from the doorway. Something about the elegance of his wiry figure reminds me of Papa and I try to ignore the swift shaft of pain in my heart.

  ‘Monsieur d’Aubery?’

  He glances at me, his brow furrowed with anxiety. ‘How is Madame Levesque?’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it. The thought of another tragedy at Château Mirabelle was almost too much to contemplate. Did she say why she did it?’

  ‘In her misery I’m not sure she even knew what she was doing today. You know how wretched she was after her…’ I hesitate ‘… after her friendship with Mr Fielding came to an end. She wanted to escape from London but now that she has, she misses her son terribly.’

  ‘And, of course, since England and France are at war, she cannot return home.’ He pulls out a chair for me beside the desk.

  ‘Monsieur d’Aubery, as soon as Sophie has recovered from her fall, we’ll thank you for your hospitality and move on. My purpose in coming to France is to seek out my father’s family. If it’s not convenient for us to stay with them we shall rent a country cottage where we can live quietly until the war is over.’

  He’s silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth. ‘It may be too unsafe for you and Madame Levesque to travel alone. Should it be suspected that you have come from England your situation would be perilous indeed.’

  ‘And you’re concerned you’d be accused of being a traitor to France because you brought us into the country?’

  Monsieur d’Aubery sighs and picks up a pen. ‘I don’t think you understand how vulnerable we all are. I should like to escort you to visit your father’s family in Fontainebleau. If they invite you to stay then I shall be happy for you, but if there is any… awkwardness, then I can bring you back here.’

  ‘Awkwardness?’

  Monsieur d’Aubery lays down his quill pen and moves the bottle of ink a fraction, lining up both items precisely with the blotter. ‘You should ask yourself why your father left his family all those years ago and never returned.’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ I say. ‘All my life I have yearned to know. And now it’s even more important that I meet Papa’s relatives. I miss my parents more than I can say. Nothing can take away that pain, but to know that I have a link, a blood connection, to someone else is essential for me. Family is everything. Surely you can understand that?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He sighs. ‘I know a little about the Moreau family. Louis-François, your grandfather, died some years ago. His wife survives him, I believe, and there is another son, Auguste.’

  ‘Uncle Auguste,’ I say. ‘And I have a grandmother too.’ I smile as I try to picture her. Will we bear any resemblance to one another? Perhaps she’ll tell me stories of Papa’s childhood?

  ‘And nothing will change your mind about going to visit them?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Mr d’Aubery turns up his palms and shrugs. ‘Then so be it.’

  Chapter 12

  Two days later, at first light, Sophie, Monsieur d’Aubery and I make an early start for Fontainebleau. I’m so full of excited anticipation that it’s hard for me to sit still. I try to concentrate on watching the sky bloom pink and gold as the sun rises, while I plan what I’m going to say to my father’s family.

  ‘Nervous?’ asks Sophie, placing her hand over mine.

  I realise I’ve been twisting the fabric of my skirt into creases. ‘I’ve waited all my life for this day,’ I say.

  ‘What if they don’t believe who you are?’

  ‘They must.’ I reach into the neckline of my dress and pull out a ribbon with the Moreau ring threaded on to it.

  I watch the countryside rattle past while I consider different ways to introduce myself to my grandmother and Uncle Auguste. I wonder if he will look like Papa. Will they tell me what caused the family rift? Surely at least my grandmother will welcome me?

  It’s late-afternoon when we arrive at Villeneuve-St-Meurice, the village near Fontainebleau where Château de Lys is situated. Driving slowly along the rutted road it’s hard not to be dismayed by the rotting thatched roofs and general air of neglect. Pigs root in front of a tumbledown cottage and the acrid stench of dung makes my eyes water.

  A young woman holding a ragged child by the hand stands beside the road and Colbert stops the carriage to ask for directions to the château.

  She looks up with dull eyes and points along the road. ‘You can’t miss it,’ she says. ‘It has great stone gateposts with eagles on top.’

  Monsieur d’Aubery leans out of the window and drops a coin into her outstretched hand. As the carriage rolls away, I see her spit on the ground.

  Monsieur d’Aubery is watching me, a tense expression on his face. When I return his gaze, he opens his mouth as if about to speak then turns away to look out of the window. Too anxious to question him, I continue to imagine what my relatives will look like and how they will receive me.

  Five minutes later, we find the stone eagles. They stand sentinel, wings spread, on either side of a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates, staring fiercely at approaching visitors from hooded eyes.

  We wait for the lodge keeper to unlock the gates and then we turn in at a long carriage drive through rolling parkland studded with mature oaks. My heart begins to thud in anticipation. What will I say to my uncle and grandmother? Will there be a sense of connection between us?

  I jump as Sophie rests her hand on mine, and realise I’ve been drumming my fingers on the seat.

  ‘So much time has passed since the quarrel that I’m sure it will be forgotten now,’ she whispers.

  I look out of the carriage window again and there, in the distance, is a vast edifice on top of a hill, its numerous towers silhouetted against the sky.

  ‘Surely that’s not Château de Lys?’ asks Sophie, eyebrows raised.

  Monsieur d’Aubery nods.

  I’m speechless with shock. My father’s family must be immensely rich.

  As we draw closer the château appears to grow in size. Massive grey-stone walls loom above us, all reflected in the wide moat. It’s i
mpossible to count the number of windows but they’re on five floors, from a slit in the tallest turret to a small barred opening a few feet above the mossy waterline of the moat. The forbidding appearance of this place makes me shiver. It looks like a prison or a fortress and I cannot imagine a stronger contrast to the welcoming aspect of Château Mirabelle.

  Our carriage rattles over the wooden drawbridge and crunches to a halt on the gravel. Twin stone staircases curve up to a wide balustraded terrace.

  Sophie and I glance at each other. All at once I wish I hadn’t come. I’m totally unprepared for such grandeur.

  Colbert opens the carriage door.

  ‘Will you wait here while I announce you?’ says Monsieur d’Aubery as he alights.

  A footman in a powdered wig and a splendid blue and gold coat is hurrying down the steps and Monsieur d’Aubery goes to meet him. We watch as the footman hurries back up the steps and then Monsieur d’Aubery returns and says we will be summoned.

  We wait in the coach for a considerable time and my apprehension increases. I reach out for Sophie’s hand and cling to it.

  Monsieur d’Aubery remains silent but I notice that his fists are clenched in his lap.

  ‘What if they refuse to receive us?’ asks Sophie, voicing my own thoughts.

  ‘It probably takes a while to find anyone in such an enormous place,’ I say.

  ‘At least your uncle can’t say they haven’t room for us,’ giggles Sophie.

  Happy to see her in recovered spirits, I laugh, the tension broken.

  At last the footman reappears and asks us to follow him.

  I glance at Sophie and we descend from the carriage.

  Monsieur d’Aubery looks at me, his expression unreadable. ‘If you wish, it’s not too late to leave, Mademoiselle Moreau?’

  I bite my lip, sorely tempted, then shake my head. ‘I haven’t come all this way to lose my courage at the last moment.’

  The footman leads the way up the stone steps to the terrace with its far-reaching views. Solid oak doors, twice as high as a man, lead into an echoing cavern of a hall. I gain a fleeting impression of inlaid-marble floors, ormolu-framed mirrors and lavishly gilded furniture. Silently, we mount the ornate staircase that curves up to the floor above, while my pulse begins to race. In only a moment I shall meet Papa’s family.