‘He… he’s been very kind to Madame Levesque and myself,’ I stutter.
‘Well, I shan’t tease you about it any longer, then. Would you like me to show you the schoolroom’s secret? Unless Etienne has already told you about it?’
I shake my head.
Monsieur Viard grins, all at once more like his usual self. ‘Come with me.’
There is a door in the corner of the room, which I had taken for another cupboard, and he reaches up and feels along the top of the architrave until he fetches down a key. ‘Still here!’ he says, triumphantly. He unlocks the door and opens it, revealing a steep and winding stone staircase only as wide as our shoulders. ‘Shall I go first? There might be spiders’ webs.’
‘I’m not afraid of a few spiders,’ I lie. I manage not to flinch as I follow Monsieur Viard up the stairs and catch drifts of sticky webs across my cheek but I’m far more anxious about being in such a confined space. I’m out of breath by the time we emerge into a small, circular chamber pierced by four windows. The wooden floor is thick with dust and the air smells musty.
‘It’s years since I’ve been up here,’ says Monsieur Viard. ‘Laurent, Etienne and I used this turret as our secret hideaway. I wonder…’ He steps closer to the wall and a floorboard suddenly lifts in the centre of the room. Bending down, he puts his hand in the space underneath and withdraws a small cloth bag together with a bow and a quiver full of arrows.
‘What have you there?’ I ask.
‘Childhood treasures.’ He loosens the drawstring on the little bag and tips out a handful of marbles, which roll across the floor in all directions.
I pick up an extra-large marble as it comes to rest by my foot. It’s a beautiful thing made of polished agate.
Monsieur Viard takes it from me. ‘The floor slopes away here so the marbles always ended up in a pile against the wall.’ He struggles with the rusted catch on one of the windows until the casement opens with a squeak. ‘Come and see.’ A cold breeze blows through, banishing the stale air.
We are at the highest point of the building, matched only by the other three turrets, and we can see for miles beyond the parkland.
Rubbing the dust off a second window, I see the steeply pitched roof of the château like a dark sea of slate stretching away towards the other turrets.
Monsieur Viard opens a second window and there is the lake, shining in the light and as glassy smooth as my father’s moonstone ring. The little house nestles beside it and beyond that are the neat rows of vines on the gentle slope of the vineyard.
‘It’s wonderful,’ I say.
‘I love it up here.’ Monsieur Viard leans out over the windowsill and breathes in deeply.
‘Careful!’ I say.
‘Look down there.’
I rest my hands on the sill beside Monsieur Viard’s and peer out of the window. It’s a very long way down to the ground and it makes me dizzy. I never did like heights.
‘Look!’ Monsieur Viard holds my arm tightly and points to the carved stone dragons with entwined tails that embellish the turret. Beneath them is a stone ledge a foot wide running around the tower about six feet below. ‘We used to climb down and sit on that ledge to shoot arrows at the rooks. It runs all the way around the building.’
I shiver. ‘You could have killed yourselves!’
Monsieur Viard throws back his head and laughs. ‘That’s what Maman used to say but we never came to any harm.’
‘Nonetheless,’ I say as I close the window firmly, ‘I shall make sure the door to the staircase remains locked while the children are in the schoolroom.’
Monsieur Viard closes the other window, places the childhood treasures back under the floorboard and we begin the descent. I’m relieved when we’re out of the close confinement of the spiral staircase and back in the schoolroom.
‘All ready for your class tomorrow?’
I glance around at the neatly arranged tables and nod in satisfaction.
Monsieur Viard watches me with his mouth pursed. ‘Have you taught children before?’
‘For some years now, although only girls.’
‘You don’t look like a schoolteacher. Where did you work?’
I bite my lip, trying to remember the story Monsieur d’Aubery and I had concocted. ‘My father and mother had a school near Lyon,’ I say, ‘and I helped them with the younger girls for many years before I conducted classes on my own.’
‘And what made you leave Lyon?’ He sits down on a corner of the table and folds his arms over his broad chest.
He’s watching me closely and I do my best not to look anxious. ‘The counter-revolutionaries make it an uncomfortable place to live. And then there is Sophie, my oldest and closest friend,’ I say. ‘When her husband died from a sudden illness she sank into a despair so deep and terrible that I feared for her life.’
‘And it seems that you were right to fear for her since she nearly killed herself riding off on Diable.’
‘She said that everywhere she looked in Lyon she was reminded of her dear, dead Charles.’ I paste a mournful expression on my face and draw in a deep sighing breath. ‘In the end I decided that the only thing to do was to take her away from all the sad memories until she recovered. So we went to Paris to visit friends.’
‘But what exactly made you come to Château Mirabelle?’
It makes me anxious, being questioned like this. ‘Sophie’s mother knew Monsieur d’Aubery’s mother very well when they were children and she bade us call on him at his town house. Paris was in turmoil following the execution of the king…’
‘Citoyen Louis Capet.’ Monsieur Viard corrected me with a half smile.
‘Of course. And when we mentioned that we wished to retreat to a cottage somewhere in the country, Monsieur d’Aubery kindly offered to rent us a house.’
‘And I believe Madame Levesque is expecting a happy event?’
‘Her husband’s last gift to her,’ I say. ‘Thankfully, her spirits are much improved now.’ I straighten my lesson notes neatly on the teacher’s desk. ‘Everything is ready here.’
‘And I’m late for luncheon.’
We leave the schoolroom and I close the door behind me.
‘Maman doesn’t like me to be late,’ says Monsieur Viard with a wry smile as we hurry along the corridor. ‘I have my own suite of rooms next to hers but we always take our meals together in the housekeeper’s parlour.’
‘I hope the children won’t make too much noise as they come and go,’ I say as we start down the stairs.
Angry voices drift up from below and as we reach the bottom step I wonder if it’s an altercation between the servants.
Monsieur Viard stands still and I see that an angry flush colours his cheeks.
Then the door to the housekeeper’s parlour is flung back against the wall and a small man in a greasy-looking jacket and wooden sabots staggers out.
Madame Viard appears in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Her high-crowned cap is crooked and its silk ribbons loosened. ‘Don’t you ever try that again, you lecherous bastard! You’re drunk, Marcel, and I won’t have you in this room until you’ve sobered up.’
Marcel glares at us with bloodshot eyes. ‘What are you looking at?’ he demands.
Monsieur Viard’s jaw is set as he steps forward, his fists clenching as he towers over the smaller man. ‘Get back to work!’ he says.
The man stares back at him belligerently and there is an uneasy moment while I wonder if they will come to blows, but eventually Marcel drops his gaze and shambles off down the stairs.
‘Are you all right, Maman?’ Monsieur Viard takes his mother in his arms.
She clings to him for a moment, crimson spots of anger on her cheeks. ‘He’s a good-for-nothing peasant!’
‘I’ll come back in a moment,’ he says, kissing her forehead.
She nods and wipes away a tear before retreating into her quarters.
Silently, Monsieur Viard and I walk down the stairs side by sid
e.
‘Thank you for showing me the tower,’ I say, as we reach the servants’ lobby.
‘I’m sorry you had to witness that unpleasant scene,’ he says. A muscle still flickers in his jaw.
‘As long as your mother is unharmed…’
‘I would never let anyone hurt Maman.’ The intensity of feeling in his voice leaves me in no doubt that he means what he says.
‘Goodbye, then.’
Unsmiling, Monsieur Viard inclines his head in the smallest of bows. I’ve barely stepped over the threshold when the door closes behind me.
Sophie and Babette are sewing in companionable silence at the table in the dining room.
‘I’ve eaten,’ says Sophie. ‘I was too hungry to wait for you but yours is on a covered tray in the kitchen.’
‘I’ll fetch it and sit beside you,’ I say.
A few moments later I’m eating my cold meat and bread. ‘Babette? Who is Marcel?’
Our young maid looks up from her stitching. ‘Marcel Viard? Madame Viard’s husband?’
Carefully, I put down my fork. ‘I suppose he must be.’ Thoughtfully, I chew on a piece of bread. It’s hard to imagine that weasel-faced Marcel can be the housekeeper’s husband, or indeed Jean-Luc’s father. Perhaps, before he developed his fondness for the bottle, he’d been a more prepossessing young man? Whatever the case may be, Jean-Luc appears to feel little affection for his father. And who can blame him?
Chapter 16
The following afternoon I wait outside the servants’ entrance until the children begin to arrive from the village. The smallest hold their older sisters’ or brothers’ hands and the others chatter together in groups.
At last all twelve children are here and I clap my hands to gain their attention. ‘Good afternoon, children. I am Mademoiselle Moreau and you may call me Mademoiselle. First of all, are there any of you who would like to visit the privy before we start our lessons?’
Twelve pairs of solemn eyes study me.
One little girl comes forward and stands before me, twisting her skirt in embarrassment.
‘Good girl.’ I smile at her. ‘It’s just around the corner behind the hedge. Run along now and we’ll wait for you.’
Half the other children step forward then and I shoo them off. They run, laughing and squealing, to the necessary house. I call one boy back after I see him push another child.
‘And what is your name?’ I ask the miscreant.
‘Emile Porcher.’
‘You will not push the other children again, Emile, unless you wish to spend the next two hours standing in the corner. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’ He pouts and refuses to meet my gaze.
‘Yes, Mademoiselle.’ I tip up his chin until he is forced to look at me.
‘Yes, Mademoiselle.’
‘Good. Remember that I will be watching you. Off you go!’
Emile swaggers away and I sigh. We haven’t even started our lesson and already I’ve found the class troublemaker.
Once the children are all assembled again I make them stand in an orderly line and bid them to be silent until we reach the schoolroom. As we tramp up the stairs I notice that the door to the housekeeper’s parlour is firmly closed.
Inside the schoolroom I call the children forward, one by one, to sit before the slate that bears their name. I set them to work making a fair copy. Soon a dozen little heads are bent over their slates and I experience again the thrill of believing that perhaps I can make a real difference to young minds.
Nearly two hours later I finish reading the children a story and then draw the lessons to a close. I’m preparing to escort them downstairs again when the door opens.
‘Children, please rise as we have a visitor,’ I say.
Dutifully, they scramble to their feet.
‘Good afternoon, children,’ says Jean-Luc Viard. He stands with his powerful legs apart and his arms held behind his back and fixes them one by one with a stern eye. ‘Have you all been good?’
There is an answering chorus of, ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘Very good, sir.’
‘Is this the truth, Mademoiselle Moreau? Or do I need to bring my birch switch to teach them another lesson?’ He regards me with a quizzical eye and it’s all I can do not to smile.
‘The children have been most attentive,’ I say, glancing at young Emile, who squirms on the bench and attempts to look nonchalant.
‘I am very pleased to hear it.’ Monsieur Viard’s face splits into a wide grin. ‘In that case…’ From behind his back he brings a plate mounded with slices of bread, liberally spread with jam.
A moment or two later the children’s smiling faces are also smeared with jam.
I clap my hands and chivvy my charges into a crocodile. ‘Now remember, not a word until we’re outside!’
They clatter downstairs and Monsieur Viard and I follow.
The children line up to shake my hand before dismissal. ‘Now all go straight home and no dawdling on the way! I’ll see you here again on Tuesday afternoon.’
‘And I shall call by to see that you are behaving yourselves,’ says Monsieur Viard as the children scamper off.
‘That was thoughtful of you, to bring the bread and jam,’ I say. ‘Some of the poor little mites look as if they don’t have enough to eat.’
‘They probably don’t, with the price of bread what it is these days. Still, I’m not sure I needed to come and threaten them, after all. You appeared to have everything perfectly under control.’
I smile. ‘I’ve been teaching for long enough to know how to manage a classroom of children.’
Monsieur Viard looks serious again. ‘There’s something I wish to discuss with you. May I walk you home?’
He takes the basket of books from my arms and we set off along the path towards the house.
‘What is it you wanted to say?’
Monsieur Viard rubs his nose and sighs. ‘First I apologise for the unpleasant confrontation with my father yesterday. I suppose all families must have their crosses to bear. For Maman and myself, it is my father.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ I say lightly.
Monsieur Viard glances at me sideways. ‘There’s something else,’ he says, ‘of a delicate nature. I hesitate to raise the subject but I feel it is my duty to do so.’ He appears to be agitated and begins to walk much faster until I am obliged to trot along beside him to keep up.
I experience a flicker of fear. Could he have somehow discovered the secret of where Sophie and I have come from?
‘As I said, it is of a delicate nature and I have no wish to cause you embarrassment. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ Jean-Luc’s usually laughing eyes are serious.
Nonplussed, I say nothing.
‘Etienne and I have known each other all our lives and I believe no one understands him better than I. It is clear to me, even though he denies it, that he has become uncommonly fond of you. And why would he not? You are very beautiful…’
‘Monsieur Viard!’ I protest.
He holds up a hand. ‘I state that not as flattery but as fact. Besides, I saw you in the doorway together the other night.’
Embarrassed and annoyed that he had witnessed that special moment, I look away.
‘In truth,’ says Monsieur Viard, ‘I believe you have stolen Etienne’s heart, but the sincere feelings of friendship I hold for you will not allow me to stand by and watch him make you false promises.’
I’m alarmed. ‘But he has made me no promises.’
‘I have seen how he looks at you and I believe you return his sentiments. It’s unfair of him to show you affection that might lead you to hope that he will make you promises.’
Irritation is mixed with my unease. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Then I must be cruel to be kind.’
‘Please tell me what it is,’ I say frostily.
‘You should be aware that Etienne is not, and may never be, in a position to offer you marriage.’
My cheeks fl
are. ‘Such a subject has never been discussed between us.’
‘Maybe not,’ says Monsieur Viard unhappily, ‘but I am making it my business to tell you so that it never will be discussed. You see, I have to tell you that Etienne already has a wife.’
‘A wife?’ I stare at him and the silence stretches out. ‘But he’s a widower,’ I say at last.
Monsieur Viard spreads his hands, palms up, and shrugs. ‘Nobody knows that for sure except perhaps Etienne himself. His wife disappeared one day and was never seen again. There is no indication that she has died and so he is not free to offer you marriage.’
All at once I find it hard to breathe, as if there’s a great weight pressing down on my chest. I recall the time Georgiana told me that it was rumoured that Etienne had murdered his wife. I’d dismissed that as idle gossip but she’d never said that there was any question of his wife being missing.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘The news has shocked you. Please believe me, I have told you this out of friendship, to avoid your being hurt, but I fear I may already be too late.’
I draw in a deep breath. ‘Nonsense!’ I say. ‘I owe a debt of gratitude to Monsieur d’Aubery for all his kindness to Sophie and myself but there’s no question of my having lost my heart to him.’
‘Really?’ Monsieur Viard looks at me doubtfully.
‘Absolutely.’ I smile brightly and hope the crushing unhappiness that is making my stomach churn doesn’t show in my face.
‘Nevertheless I can see that the news has come as a great surprise to you and I confess I’m disappointed that Etienne didn’t tell you himself. I do believe that a true friend would never have concealed such knowledge from you.’
‘There was no need for him to tell me,’ I say, ‘since there is no understanding between us.’
‘Then I can only say that I am very relieved.’
I begin to walk faster, suddenly desperate to be alone with my misery, somewhere Jean-Luc will not be watching me and waiting for me to break down.
We reach the house and Monsieur Viard hands me my basket as I open the door.
I do not invite him inside. ‘Thank you for escorting me.’
The Chateau on the Lake Page 14