The Chateau by the River

by Chloé Duval

  She felt calmer.

  As though a part of her anxiety had lifted.

  She looked up, meeting her traveling companion’s gaze. His silver-gray eyes held a mix of sincere concern and deep compassion, as if he knew from painful experience exactly what she felt. Through her haze of worry and fear, she could not help but feel moved by his actions. This man barely knew her, did not owe her anything, and yet he had come all this way for her. To fetch her and bring her to her father’s side.

  Many in a similar situation would probably have settled for a telegram, or, in a surge of generosity, dispatched a servant. After all, from what she had gathered from her father’s letters, Mr. D’Arcy had much more pressing matters to attend to than to accompany her back and forth across the country and hold her hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on his.

  He did not reply, but a brief gleam lit up his gaze and he nodded slightly.

  For an instant, they stayed there, eyes fixed upon one another, her hands in his. Against all expectations, she almost wished time could pause.

  * * * *

  Somewhere along the road, the train was detained in a station, probably because of the snow. Mr. D’Arcy muttered something Gabrielle did not catch and left for a few moments. He returned shortly after and handed her a steaming cup.

  “Drink this. You’ll feel better,” he told her.

  Gabrielle did not ask where it came from. She wrapped her cold hands around it.

  “Thank you.”

  She sipped the scalding drink appreciatively. She noted the tang of the alcohol he had doctored it with. The welcome bite seared down her throat.

  “Do you feel better?” he inquired in a low voice, reclaiming his seat across from her.

  “I do, thank you,” she replied automatically, before busying herself by gulping down more of the drink.

  Her words had been perfunctory rather than sincere, but she quickly realized that they were in fact true. The combination of warm drink and alcohol seemed to soothe her frayed nerves. Once she had finished the cup her concern remained, a persistent, sly beast, but her hands had ceased shaking.

  “We’re almost there,” Mr. D’Arcy assured her as he retrieved the empty cup and handed it over to the train conductor passing by their compartment before sitting back down.

  Gabrielle nodded weakly, summoning a tremulous smile.

  “Your father is in good hands,” he went on. “My housekeeper, Hélène, has taken over his care.”

  “Thank you.”

  Please don’t let it be serious.

  * * * *

  An hour later they reached the town of Saumur. Wordlessly, Mr. D’Arcy hauled Gabrielle’s suitcase from the luggage rack—he had not allowed her to carry it since they had left the bookstore—and led her to the front of the station, where a young man awaited their arrival, leaning on a small two-horse carriage. He was tall and broad shouldered, though not as imposing as Mr. D’Arcy, Gabrielle noted reflexively. In the evening half-light, his light brown hair appeared to be black. He seemed lost in thought until a third horse hidden behind the carriage neighed as they approached.

  Catching sight of Mr. D’Arcy, he straightened.

  “I brought Tornade too,” he announced as soon as they had reached him. “I thought perhaps you and Mademoiselle Villeneuve would prefer to reach the castle faster.”

  “Thank you, Guillaume.” Mr. D’Arcy turned to Gabrielle. “Would you rather take the carriage or ride back with me on Tornade? You’d be dry in the carriage, but on horseback we can cut across the fields and make better time. Do you know how to ride?”

  She shook her head.

  “But I’d still rather go with you,” she insisted. “If you don’t mind and it’s not too heavy a load for the horse to carry.”

  “Of course not. Guillaume will take your suitcase to the castle with the carriage and you’ll ride in front of me. It might be a little bumpy, but we ought to reach the castle within half an hour.”

  She accepted with a nod.

  Guillaume took her suitcase from Mr. D’Arcy and handed him Tornade’s reins. With his characteristic near silence, her companion helped her climb onto the horse, lifting her in a single motion, as though she weighed no more than a feather. He swung into the saddle behind her and looked back to Guillaume.

  “Is there a blanket in the carriage?”

  There was, and the young man drew a heavy wool throw from a small chest under the driver’s seat. Mr. D’Arcy accepted it and wound it around Gabrielle’s shoulders. He then directed a few words she did not catch at Guillaume and wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him. He gripped the reins tight in his right hand and spurred the horse into a gallop.

  She could not help it. Despite the urgency and worry that tormented her, the closeness of their bodies, greater even than when they had met two weeks previously, troubled her. She could feel his chest against her back through the layers of her clothing. His presence surrounded her entirely. His powerful arms framed her body over the blanket, holding her close, preventing her from falling with every jolt of the horse’s gait, reawakening fleeting images of the dreams that had plagued her nights ever since their first meeting.

  Chapter 5

  Alexandra

  Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers

  Present day

  The castle was only a few minutes’ drive away. I parked on the side of the road and walked up to a metal gate opening onto a large winding gravel alley that disappeared behind a cluster of trees. I looked for a way to announce my presence but found none. No intercom or anything like one.

  “Mr. Lagnel?” I called. My preliminary research at home had helped me uncover the owner’s name.

  Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

  I hesitated for a few seconds longer. Curiosity lured me forward, and I trudged up the alley, calling as I went. And it was then, as I emerged from behind the cluster of trees, that the castle suddenly appeared in its majestic splendor.

  Wow!… If I ever win the lottery, I’m buying a castle like this one.

  Enthralled, I walked toward the huge stone building. Of course, I had seen photos. I thought I had been prepared for the sight, but I did not expect the romantic, almost magical atmosphere surrounding the castle, as though it were straight out of a fairy tale.

  It was a mix of Roman and Gothic architecture, an array of square towers pierced with high rectangular windows adorned with mullions four stories high. The towers mapped out a rectangular inner courtyard I could not quite see from where I was. Small round turrets capped each corner, probably ancient watchtowers. A moat surrounded the castle, making it seem as though it rose from the water.

  An opening gaped in the square tower opposite me, and a wide stone bridge spanned the moat. A heavy iron gate, half of which was a closed solid steel plate, hid the inside of the castle.

  I wandered a little closer as I recalled the meager amount of information I had been able to collect about this castle’s history.

  Built in the Middle Ages, it had been torn down during the French Revolution. Baron Henri Leroy de Saint-Armand had bought it back under Napoleonic rule and restored it in a style similar to the famed Château de Chambord. It had burned down one night in February 1900, shortly after the death of the last baron de Saint-Armand. The fire had destroyed not only the castle but also the riches it had held at the time. Valuable tapestries, jade statuettes, Oriental rugs, masterful paintings and an immense library of rare and precious books. After the incident, the castle had been abandoned for several years, for lack of means to restore it. In the end, a bank had bought it, but it had been forgotten again during the wars.

  And now, a thousand years after the first stone had been laid, this jewel of French history was only a shadow of its former self, a ruin overrun by nature. Grass had grown between the cracks of the co
bblestones, branches emerged from the window, as though a forest had sprouted inside the castle itself from the very stone.

  Sleeping Beauty’s castle, trapped in the evil fairy’s curse.

  How sad, I thought.

  I had to find the current owner and hope he would be able and willing to help me with my research. I crossed the stone bridge and reached the iron gate, still calling for Éric Lagnel—fruitlessly.

  I tested the gate, banging with my fist, but it stayed closed and nobody appeared.

  I chewed my lip as I considered my options. I knew I was overstepping a little by showing up unannounced, without even knowing if Mr. Lagnel lived here. Given the state of the castle and grounds, it seemed unlikely. Bolstered by curiosity and impatience, I had wanted to try my luck straightaway, and now I came up empty-handed.

  The best course of action would probably be to return to my car and try and reach Éric Lagnel. I didn’t have his number, but surely someone in Chandeniers could help me if he wasn’t in the phone book. Maybe Marine even knew him and could introduce me.

  Yes, I decided, that was the thing to do.

  Yet I stayed where I stood, not quite ready to give up so soon.

  Dammit! I hate it when things don’t go as planned!

  I was about to retrace my steps when a surge of curiosity pushed me to indulge my inner rebel. After all, what the owner didn’t know couldn’t harm him…and seeing how he obviously wasn’t here… I looked around to check if I really was alone and seized the iron bars, standing on tiptoe to peer inside. No luck. Unless I could somehow make my neck longer, it was impossible to see anything.

  Damn.

  It was then that a loud bark rang out behind me. I jumped and let go of the bars, turning around just in time to see a huge dark shape throw itself at me with all the speed and weight of a cannonball, complete with deafening bark. Before I could even understand what was happening, I found myself on my ass, my skirt riding up my thighs, way closer than I ever wanted to be to the slavering muzzle of a huge white pit bull. For a heartbeat, I thought it was going to bite me and rip my face to shreds. Panicking, I shrieked in terror—until a male voice called:

  “Max! Come here!”

  The monster immediately abandoned me without a backward glance, loping happily toward its master like it hadn’t been inches away from tearing my heart out with its teeth a few seconds earlier. I let out a shaky breath and unsteadily found my feet. Heart throbbing in my chest and legs like jelly, I adjusted my skirt and blouse with clumsy hands, trying to gather my thoughts.

  “Thank y—” I began, but the man didn’t let me finish. He looked me straight in the eye and asked curtly:

  “What are you doing on my property?”

  His voice made me grimace.

  Forget about Sleeping Beauty.

  I’d stumbled upon the Beast’s castle.

  I decided to ignore his hostility and summoned my warmest smile, extending a hand. “Are you Mr. Lagnel? Pleased to—”

  “You’re an American?”

  I halted, surprised.

  “I am, but that’s not important. I came to—”

  “This is private property,” he interrupted.

  “I know, I—”

  “You Americans are all the same. You behave as if you own the world!”

  “And you, sir, are one of the rudest people I have ever had the misfortune to meet! The French have a reputation for arrogance; I see there’s some truth to it,” I hissed in my best French.

  Without a hint of a stammer. Almost as if, unlike most people, my proficiency with foreign languages grows whenever I’m angry. And this man’s tendency to interrupt whenever I spoke was seriously starting to annoy me.

  He must have been surprised by my comeback, because he froze and looked me up and down. His eyes were a beautiful, clear blue, I noted in spite of myself.

  He was good looking in a rough sort of way. Probably in his thirties, black hair that seemed to disbelieve the very existence of gravity, high cheekbones, straight nose, a few days’ stubble on his square jaw. He wore an open red-and-black-checkered shirt over a white tee and cargo pants that had seen better days. He looked nothing like a model, but there was a palpable charisma radiating off him.

  Éric Lagnel could have been irresistible—if he did away with the superior, condescending expression on his face.

  “Rude, huh?” He huffed a short laugh. “Well, this rude man is ordering you off his property before he calls the cops on you and has you evicted, with or without your consent. And believe me, I won’t hesitate for a second.”

  The blazing anger in his face told me he wasn’t lying.

  With one last, threatening look, he turned around and strode away, the dog at his side, its tongue lolling out. I sprang after him.

  “Well if you were willing to stop listening to the sound of your own voice for even just a minute and hear what I have to say, we might be able to get somewhere!”

  Holy shit, he’s fast! I grumbled to myself as I had to run to keep pace with him. That’s the issue when you don’t even reach the five-foot mark—you have to take a lot more steps and walk a lot faster than everybody else if you don’t want to get left behind.

  “I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” Éric Lagnel grunted.

  He was really starting to try my patience. Hell, would it be that much of a chore to just let me speak long enough to explain why I was here? I wasn’t a criminal, for God’s sake! I hadn’t broken in, the gate had been open!

  I tried to catch my breath and called out desperately: “I was looking for you!”

  It wasn’t quite true, but at least it made him stop.

  “Me?” His sarcasm was perceptible as he turned to face me. “You were looking for me through the bars of the castle?”

  “Yes, well, no, not exactly—”

  This is not the time to mess up!

  “Yes or no?” His glacial demeanor didn’t waver.

  Okay, he’d reached the end of my tolerance. I was getting sick of being treated like this. I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.

  “I came to see you because I believe my ancestors lived in this castle and I wish to visit it.”

  There, I said it!

  I’d been sure he wouldn’t let me finish. But just as the last word left my mouth, I knew it hadn’t been the right way to frame my request.

  Éric Lagnel stared at me impassively for several seconds.

  I met his gaze, but it would be a lie to say I was perfectly comfortable. My nose itched suddenly; I felt the urge to push a lock of hair behind my ear and shift my weight from one foot to the other as his eyes raked over me. His reply slammed right into me.

  “No.”

  Chapter 6

  Gabrielle

  Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers

  November 1899

  The physician was at her father’s side when the young maid who had welcomed Gabrielle led her to his chambers. Anxiety wrung her insides as she waited for his verdict, praying it would not match her fears.

  After what seemed like an endless wait, the physician straightened, tugged the covers back over Maurice’s chest and put away his stethoscope. Then he turned to Gabrielle, brows furrowed, and wordlessly led her away from the bed. Just then, Maurice burst into a cough, grimacing in pain. Gabrielle felt her heart clench.

  “I will not lie to you, his cough concerns me,” the physician began, redirecting her attention toward him.

  Oh Lord, she prayed, a hand over her heart. Calm down, Gabrielle. Breathe. Panic won’t help your father.

  “What is the matter with him? Is it serious?”

  “Well, his lungs are infected,” the physician explained, “and his temperature is very high. He’s got a dry cough, which is somewhat reassuring, but we’ll have to keep an eye on it. If it
starts to become loose and if there’s blood in it, call for me at once. His lungs need to heal, and we have to bring his fever down quickly if we don’t want his infection to turn into pneumonia. I don’t need to tell you how serious that would be.… Has your father ever had a respiratory infection?”

  Gabrielle shook her head.

  “Not that I know of. He had influenza a few years ago but that’s all. He’s always been very healthy.”

  “That’s good; it means he will be able to fight the infection. Make him drink water as often as you can to keep him hydrated; it’s very important. Apply some poultices and give him this.” He handed her a small of vial of amber-colored liquid. “It’s ipecacuanha wine. It should help clear his airways. Small doses only, it’s very powerful. A couple of fingers twice a day should do it for now.”

  “Understood.” She grasped the vial.

  “Let him sleep. It’s the best way for him to recover. He needs to rest as much as he can, at least until we manage to make the fever abate.”

  “Very well.”

  “I will be back in a couple of days. Call for me immediately if he should take a turn for the worse.”

  Just then, the door to the room opened and suddenly the very air seemed to change. Gabrielle’s heart began to beat faster, and she fancied she could feel Mr. D’Arcy’s presence at her back, equal parts imposing and soothing. With a glance, the physician conveyed to his host that he was ready to depart; then he looked back to Gabrielle and laid a reassuring hand on her forearm.

  “Your father will heal, Mademoiselle Villeneuve. He is strong, you have told me so yourself, and it will take more than a cough and a fever to bring him down.”

  Gabrielle gave him a wan smile and nodded. She knew the physician was only trying to comfort her, but the worry she could still read in his gaze concerned her.