Almost Gone

by Ophelia Night

  She craned to see the signboards they passed. They were heading toward Saint Maur, and for a while she thought that might be their destination, but the driver passed the turnoff and continued on the road out of town.

  “How much further?” she asked, attempting conversation, but he grunted noncommittally and turned the radio up.

  Rain pattered on the windows and the glass felt cold against her cheek. She wished she’d taken her thick jacket from the trunk. And she was starving—she hadn’t eaten breakfast and there’d been no opportunity to buy food since.

  After more than a half hour, they reached open countryside and drove alongside the Marne River, where brightly painted barges provided a splash of color in the grayness, and a few people, swathed in raincoats, walked under the trees. Some of the trees’ branches were already bare, others still clothed in russet-gold leaves.

  “It’s very cold today, isn’t it?” she observed, giving conversation with the driver another try.

  His only response was a muttered “Oui”—but at least he turned the heater on, and she could stop shivering. Cocooned in the warmth, she slipped into an uneasy doze as the miles flew past.

  Sharp braking and the blare of a horn startled her awake. The driver was forcing his way past a stationary truck, turning off the highway onto a narrow, tree-lined road. The rain had cleared and in the low evening light, the autumn vista was beautiful. Cassie stared out the window, taking in the rolling landscape and the patchwork tapestry of fields interspersed with huge, dark forests. They passed by a vineyard, the neat rows of grapevines curving round the hillside.

  Slowing his speed, the driver passed through a village. Pale stone houses with arched windows and steeply sloped, tiled roofs lined the road. Beyond, she saw open fields, and glimpsed a canal lined by weeping willows as they cruised by a stone bridge. The tall church spire drew her gaze and she wondered how old the building was.

  This must be close to the chateau, she guessed, perhaps even in its local neighborhood. Then she changed her mind as they left the village behind and wound further into the hills, until she was totally disoriented and had lost sight of that tall spire. She hadn’t expected the chateau to be so remote. She heard the GPS give a “Lost Signal” notification and the driver exclaimed with annoyance, picking up his phone and glancing closely at the map while he drove.

  And then, a right turn through high gateposts and Cassie sat straighter, staring down the long, gravel driveway. Ahead, tall and elegant, with the setting sun highlighting its stone-clad walls, was the chateau.

  Tires crunched on stone as the car stopped outside a high, imposing entrance and she felt a stab of nerves. This home was far bigger than she’d imagined. It was like a palace, topped with tall chimneys and ornate turrets. She counted eighteen windows, with elaborate stonework and detailing, on the two stories of its commanding frontage. The house itself overlooked a formal garden, with immaculately trimmed hedges and paved pathways.

  How would she relate to the family inside, who lived in such grandeur, when she had come from nothing?

  She realized the driver was tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel—he clearly wasn’t going to help her with her bags. Quickly, she climbed out.

  The unforgiving wind chilled her immediately, and she hurried around to the trunk, manhandling her suitcase out, across the gravel, and into the shelter of the porch, where she zipped her jacket up.

  There was no doorbell on the heavy wooden door, only a large, iron knocker that felt cold in her hand. The sound was surprisingly loud, and a few moments later Cassie heard light footsteps.

  The door opened and she found herself facing a dark-uniformed maid, hair drawn back into a tight ponytail. Beyond her, Cassie glimpsed a large entrance hall with opulent wall coverings and a magnificent wooden staircase at the far end.

  The maid glanced around as a door slammed.

  Immediately, Cassie sensed the presence of a fight. She could feel it, electric in the air, like an approaching storm. It was in the maid’s nervous bearing, in the bang of the door and the chaos of faraway shouts fading to silence. Her insides contracted and she felt an overpowering desire to get away. To run after the departing driver and call him back.

  Instead, she stood her ground and forced a smile.

  “I’m Cassie, the new au pair. The family is expecting me.”

  “Today?” The maid looked worried. “Wait a moment.” As she hurried into the house, Cassie heard her calling, “Monsieur Dubois, please come quickly.”

  A minute later, a sturdy man with dark, graying hair strode into the foyer, his face like thunder. When he saw Cassie at the door, he stopped in his tracks.

  “You are here already?” he said. “My fiancée said you were arriving tomorrow morning.”

  He turned to glare at the young, bleached-blonde woman following him. She was wearing an evening gown and her attractive features were taut with tension.

  “Yes, Pierre, I printed the email when I was in town. The agency said the flight lands at four in the morning.” Turning to the ornate wooden hall table, she shoved a Venetian glass paperweight aside and brandished a page defensively. “Here. See?”

  Pierre glanced at the page and sighed.

  “It says four p.m. Not four a.m. The driver you booked obviously knew the difference, so here she is.” He turned to Cassie and held out his hand. “I am Pierre Dubois. This is my fiancée, Margot.”

  He didn’t introduce the maid. Instead, Margot snapped at her to go and make up the room opposite the children’s bedrooms, and the maid hurried away.

  “Where are the children? Are they in bed already? They should meet Cassie,” Pierre said.

  Margot shook her head. “They were having supper.”

  “So late? Did I not tell you that supper must be early on school nights? Even though they are on holiday, they should be in bed already to stay on schedule.”

  Margot stared at him and shrugged angrily before walking over to the doorway on the right, stiletto heels clicking.

  “Antoinette?” she called. “Ella? Marc?”

  She was rewarded by a thunder of feet and loud cries.

  A dark-haired boy sprinted into the foyer, clutching a doll by her hair. He was closely pursued by a younger, chubby girl in a flood of tears.

  “Give my Barbie back!” she screamed.

  Skidding to a stop as he saw the adults, the boy made a dash for the staircase. As he hurtled toward it, his shoulder caught the curved side of a large blue and gold vase.

  Cassie clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as the vase teetered on its plinth, then crashed to the floor where it shattered. Shards of colorful glass spilled across the dark wooden boards.

  The shocked silence was broken by Pierre’s enraged bellow.

  “Marc! Give Ella her doll.”

  Feet dragging, lower lip jutting, Marc shuffled back past the wreckage. Reluctantly he handed the doll to Pierre, who passed it to Ella. Her sobbing subsided as she smoothed the doll’s hair.

  “That was a Durand art glass vase,” Margot hissed at the young boy. “Antique. Irreplaceable. Do you have no respect for your father’s possessions?”

  A sullen silence was the only response.

  “Where is Antoinette?” Pierre asked, sounding frustrated.

  Margot glanced up and, following her gaze, Cassie saw a slim, dark-haired girl at the top of the stairs—she looked to be the eldest of the three by a few years. Elegantly dressed in a perfectly ironed frock, she waited with a hand on the balustrade until she had the family’s full attention. Then, chin high, she descended.

  Anxious to make a good impression, Cassie cleared her throat and attempted a friendly greeting.

  “Hello, children. My name’s Cassie. I’m so pleased to be here, and happy to be looking after you.”

  Ella smiled shyly in return. Marc glared unrelentingly at the floor. And Antoinette met her gaze for a long, challenging moment. Then, without a word, she turned her back on her.

 
“If you will excuse me, Papa,” she said to Pierre. “I have homework to finish before bedtime.”

  “Of course,” Pierre said, and Antoinette flounced upstairs again.

  Cassie felt her face flame with embarrassment at the deliberate snub. She wondered if she should say something, make light of the situation or try to excuse Antoinette’s rude behavior, but she was unable to think of suitable words.

  Margot muttered furiously, “I told you, Pierre. The teenage moods are starting already,” and Cassie realized that she hadn’t been the only one Antoinette had ignored.

  “At least she was doing her homework, despite nobody helping her with it,” Pierre countered. “Ella, Marc, why don’t you both introduce yourselves properly to Cassie?”

  There was a short silence. Clearly, introductions weren’t going to happen without a fight. But perhaps she could ease the tension with a few questions.

  “Well, Marc, I know your name but I’d like to find out how old you are,” she said.

  “I’m eight,” he muttered.

  Glancing between him and Pierre, she could see a definite family resemblance. The unruly hair, the strong chin, the bright blue eyes. Even the way they frowned was similar. The other children were also dark, but Ella and Antoinette had more delicate features.

  “And Ella, what’s your age?”

  “I am nearly six,” the small girl announced proudly. “My birthday is the day after Christmas.”

  “That’s a good day to have a birthday. I hope it means you get lots of extra presents.”

  Ella gave a surprised smile, as if this was an advantage she hadn’t yet considered.

  “Antoinette is the oldest of all of us. She’s twelve,” she said.

  Pierre clapped his hands. “Right, it’s bedtime now. Margot, will you show Cassie the house after you’ve put the children to bed. She will need to know her way around. Make it quick. We must leave by seven.”

  “I still have to finish getting ready,” Margot replied in acid tones. “You can put the children to bed, and call a butler to clear up this mess. I will show Cassie the house.”

  Pierre drew an angry breath before glancing at Cassie and pressing his lips together. She guessed her presence had made him swallow his words.

  “Upstairs and into bed,” he said, and the two children followed him reluctantly up the staircase. She was heartened to see that Ella turned and gave her a small wave.

  “Come with me, Cassie,” Margot ordered.

  Cassie followed Margot through the doorway on the left and found herself in a formal lounge with exquisite, showpiece furniture, and tapestries lining the walls. The room was huge and chilly; there was no fire lit in the massive fireplace.

  “This lounge is seldom used, and the children are not allowed in here. The main dining room is beyond—the same rules apply.”

  Cassie wondered how often the massive mahogany dining table was used—it looked pristine and she counted sixteen high-backed chairs. Three more vases, similar to the one Marc had broken earlier, stood on the darkly polished sideboard. She couldn’t imagine happy dinner table conversation flowing in this austere and silent space.

  What would it feel like growing up in such a house, where whole areas were off limits because of furnishings that could be damaged? She guessed that it might make a child feel as if they were less important than the furniture.

  “This we call the Blue Room.” It was a smaller lounge, wallpapered in navy, with large French doors. Cassie guessed they opened out onto a patio or courtyard, but it was fully dark, and all she could see were the room’s dim lights reflected in the glass. She wished the house had higher-wattage globes—all the rooms were gloomy, with shadows lurking in the corners.

  A sculpture caught her eye… the marble statue’s stand had been broken, so it lay face up on a table. Its features looked blank and immobile, as if the stone were coating a dead person’s face. Its limbs were chunky and rudely carved. Cassie shivered, looking away from the creepy sight.

  “That is one of our most valuable pieces,” Margot informed her. “Marc knocked it over last week. We will have it repaired soon.”

  Cassie thought about the young boy’s destructive energy and the way he had knocked his shoulder into the vase earlier. Had the action been totally accidental? Or had there been a subliminal desire to shatter the glass, to get himself noticed in a world where possessions seemed to take priority?

  Margot led her back the way they had come. “The rooms down that passage are kept locked. The kitchen is this way, to the right, and beyond it are the servants’ quarters. There is a small parlor to the left, and a room where we dine as a family.”

  On the way back they passed a gray-uniformed butler carrying a broom, dustpan, and brush. He stood aside for them but Margot did not acknowledge him at all.

  The west wing was a mirror image of the east. Huge, darkened rooms with exquisite furnishings and works of art. Quiet and empty. Cassie shivered, longing for a homey bright light or the familiar sound of a television, if such a thing even existed in this house. She followed Margot up the magnificent staircase to the second floor.

  “The guest wing.” Three pristine bedrooms, with four-poster beds, were separated by two spacious drawing rooms. The bedrooms were as neat and formal as hotel rooms, and the bedcovers looked as if they had been ironed flat.

  “And the family wing.”

  Cassie brightened, glad to finally reach the part of the house where people lived.

  “The nursery.”

  To her confusion, this was another empty room, occupied only by a tall crib with high, barred sides.

  “And here, the children’s bedrooms. Our suite is at the end of the passage, around the corner.”

  Three closed doors in a row. Margot’s voice dropped and Cassie guessed she didn’t want to look in on the children—not even to say good night.

  “This is Antoinette’s bedroom, this is Marc’s, and the closest to ours is Ella’s. Your room is opposite Antoinette’s.”

  The door was open and two maids were busily making up the bed. The room was enormous and icy cold. It was furnished with two wingback chairs, a table, and a large wooden wardrobe. Heavy red curtains shrouded the window. Her suitcase had been placed at the foot of the bed.

  “You will hear the children if they cry or call—please attend to them. Tomorrow morning they need to be dressed and ready by eight. They will be going outdoors, so choose warm clothing.”

  “I will, but…” Cassie gathered her courage. “Could I please have some supper? I’ve had nothing to eat since dinner on the plane last night.”

  Margot stared at her, perplexed, then shook her head.

  “The children ate early because we are going out. The kitchen is closed now. Breakfast will be served from seven tomorrow. You can wait till then?”

  “I—I suppose so.” She felt sick with hunger—the forbidden candy in her bag, intended for the children, suddenly an irresistible temptation.

  “And I must email the agency and let them know I’m here. Would it be possible to have the Wi-Fi password? My phone has no signal.”

  Now Margot’s stare grew blank. “We have no Wi-Fi, and there is no cell phone signal here. Only a landline telephone in Pierre’s study. To send an email, you must go into town.”

  Without waiting for Cassie’s response, she turned away and headed toward the main bedroom.

  The maids had gone, leaving Cassie’s bed in a state of chilly perfection.

  She closed the door.

  She’d never dreamed she would feel homesick, but at that moment she longed for a friendly voice, the babble of the television, the clutter of a full refrigerator. Dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, YouTube videos playing on phones. The happy chaos of a normal family—the life she’d expected to become a part of.

  Instead, she felt she was already embroiled in a bitter and complicated conflict. She could never have hoped to be instant friends with these children—not with the family dynamics that had pl
ayed out so far. This place was a battleground—and while she might find an ally in young Ella, she feared she had already made an enemy in Antoinette.

  The ceiling light, which had been flickering, suddenly failed. Cassie fumbled in her backpack for her phone and unpacked as best she could in the flashlight’s beam, before plugging it into the only visible plug point on the opposite side of the room and shuffling through the darkness to her bed.

  Cold, apprehensive, and hungry, she climbed between the chilly sheets and pulled them up to her chin. She’d expected to feel more hopeful and positive after meeting the family, but instead she found herself doubting her ability to cope with them, and dreading what the following day would bring.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The statue stood in Cassie’s doorway, framed by darkness.

  Its lifeless eyes opened and its mouth parted as it moved toward her. The hairline cracks around its lips widened, and then its entire face began to disintegrate. Fragments of marble showered down and rattled on the floor.

  “No,” Cassie whispered, but found she could not move. She was trapped in bed, her limbs frozen even though her panicked mind implored her to flee.

  The statue made its way toward her, arms outstretched, stone chips cascading from its limbs. It began to scream, a high, thin sound, and as it did, she saw what was being exposed under the marble shell.

  Her sister’s face. Cold, gray, dead.

  “No, no, no!” Cassie shouted, and her own cries woke her.

  The room was pitch dark; she was curled in a shivering ball. She sat up, panicked, groping for a light switch that wasn’t there.

  Her worst fear… the one she tried hard to suppress by day, but which found its way into nightmares. It was the fear that Jacqui had died. Because why else would her sister have suddenly stopped communicating? Why had there been no letters, no phone calls, no word from her for years?

  Shaking with cold and fear, Cassie realized the clattering stones in her dream had become the sound of rain, gusting in the wind, drumming against the window glass. And above the rain, she heard another sound. One of the children was screaming.