by Chloé Duval
“Thank you for coming in this weather, Doctor.”
“Do not mention it. Take good care of your father, now.”
“I will walk you out,” Mr. D’Arcy told him.
With one last nod, the physician exited the room with the master of the castle, leaving Gabrielle alone with her father.
She pulled an immense armchair closer to the bed and settled in. She was cold and her dress was soaked, but she did not care right then. She stroked back a cowlick from her father’s brow. Unruly hair was a Villeneuve trademark.
Unable to mask her concern, she whispered, “If you missed me that much, Papa, you only had to call for me and I would have come! No need to go to such lengths!”
The sound of her voice seemed to rouse him. He opened an eye and gave her a pale smile. He tried to speak, but a fit of coughing interrupted him.
“Don’t say anything,” she ordered. “Here’s some water.”
She poured him a glass and brought it to her father’s lips.
“Is that better?”
He nodded very slightly.
“You shouldn’t have come all this way, sweetheart,” he croaked. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“Nonsense. I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”
“You’re an angel. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His voice was hoarse.
“Not much, probably. You know you’d be lost without me.”
He smiled at her quip.
“I think the inventory is going to be…late.”
“I’ll take care of it, Papa, don’t worry.”
“What about the bookstore? Mr. Harnois’s order? Did you—”
“Don’t worry about it! Everything is under control. Étienne will handle everything fine. That’s what you hired him for. Just focus on getting better. The physician said you needed to sleep.”
“I am tired, true. I think…I think I will rest a little.”
Gabrielle rearranged the covers as her father closed his eyes.
* * * *
A few minutes later, the door quietly swung open and the young maid came back in, holding a water pitcher, a basin, and a pile of clean laundry on one arm.
“Here you are, ma’am,” she whispered. “I thought you might need these for Mr. Maurice.”
“Thank you…I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” Gabrielle replied apologetically.
“Agnès, ma’am.”
So this was Agnès. She was exactly as Gabrielle had pictured her from her father’s letters—blond and sweet with a fair, smiling face and beautiful almond-shaped green eyes. She looked like an angel.
“Thank you, Agnès. I’m Gabrielle. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, ma’am. Your father speaks very often of you. I hope he will heal fast. We’re all very worried for him.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like something to eat? I can bring up a tray.”
“No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.”
“Very well. Please let me know if you need anything.”
With one last backward smile, Agnès left the room, closing the door behind her.
Once alone, Gabrielle wet a linen and dabbed carefully at her father’s brow, hoping the cool water would help lower his fever. A sharp knock at the door made her look up. She rose to open it and found herself face-to-face with a middle-aged woman, tall and willowy, carrying a tray laden with a bowl of steaming soup and some bread and cheese.
“Hello my dear, I am Hélène, the housekeeper. I’ve brought you some supper.”
Gabrielle thanked her and moved aside to let her through. The housekeeper deposited the tray on a table a few steps away from the fireplace. She smiled benevolently at Gabrielle.
“Come have a seat and eat. You must be famished…and chilled,” she added, eyeing Gabrielle’s clothes. “Your dress is soaked; I’ll fetch you a shawl until Guillaume returns with your luggage. He shouldn’t be long now.”
“Thank you very much, Hélène. I’d be very grateful.”
“I’ll retrieve it right away. In the meantime, some nice warm soup is exactly what you need.”
She left the room and returned almost immediately with the promised shawl. Gabrielle wrapped it around herself and thanked her again.
“Come eat while it’s hot, now.”
“Thank you, but…I’m not hungry.” Gabrielle grimaced apologetically. “I—”
“Hush now!” Hélène broke in. “Going hungry never solved anybody’s problems. You won’t be any use to your father if you don’t take care of yourself.”
She drew back the chair in front of the tray.
“Come eat.” Her tone brooked no arguing.
“I assure you, I’m not hungry,” Gabrielle protested. “I don’t think I can stomach anything.”
“Your appetite will return if you start eating. Come here,” Hélène insisted.
Her tone, though firm, was kindly. Gabrielle gave in and sat at the table as the housekeeper settled across from her. As she soaked in the comforting warmth from the fireplace, Gabrielle swallowed a little soup, bread and cheese, at first unenthusiastically, then, at Hélène’s prompting, she helped herself again, once, twice, three times. And before she knew it, she’d picked the tray clean.
“I think I was indeed hungry,” she admitted ruefully. “You were right.”
She almost expected the housekeeper to reply that she was always right, but she refrained from doing so. Instead, Hélène gave her a gentle smile.
“It’s only natural. When was your last meal?”
“This morning, I think.”
“That was over twelve hours ago!”
“Yes. But I had a drink on the train.”
“That doesn’t fill your stomach. Do you feel better?”
Gabrielle nodded. “Very much, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mademoiselle Villeneuve.”
“Please, call me Gabrielle.” She paused for an instant and added, “Thank you for caring for my father until I arrived. It’s very kind of you.”
Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, and she blinked them back down.
“I’m sorry,” Gabrielle mumbled, looking down.
To her great surprise, Hélène rose and enfolded her in her arms.
“I promise he’ll get better,” she said stoutly. “He’s in good hands. And you’re at his side. He can only improve.”
The embrace bolstered Gabrielle’s confidence. It had been a long time since somebody had hugged her to comfort her, and for an instant she closed her eyes and gave in to the soothing feeling of not being alone in this difficult moment.
Just then, a new fit of coughs rattled Maurice’s body. Immediately, Hélène broke free and moved to give him some water, speaking in a reassuring voice. Once done, she returned to Gabrielle’s side, sat down and declared, “Your father is a good man.”
“He’s the most wonderful man in the world,” Gabrielle replied proudly.
“He’s spoken of you a great deal since he got here, you know. You are his entire world.”
Gabrielle’s gaze strayed toward the bed.
“That’s because it’s just him and me. My mother died when I was seven.”
“Yes, he told me so. He explained how exactly she had…passed away.”
“Oh.” Gabrielle couldn’t mask her surprise.
To this day, her mother’s death remained a sensitive topic for Maurice. He rarely spoke of her, even with Gabrielle. He must truly have felt at ease with Hélène to mention it to her.
The housekeeper got to her feet and gathered the contents of the tray.
“I have to go; duty calls.” She smiled. “Mr. D’Arcy had me prepare the room next door for you. I will have Guillaume bring up your suitcase as soon as he gets her
e. Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you, Hélène, you’re a godsend.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said with a laugh. “But I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. And don’t worry, we’ll take care of our Maurice.”
“Our” Maurice? Gabrielle noted.
It seemed her father had left a few things out of his letters.
Chapter 7
Alexandra
Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers
Present day
Once he’d made sure to convey his refusal in the most unpleasant way he could, Éric Lagnel turned his back on me and walked away as if I didn’t exist.
I raged silently. No! I hadn’t come this far to be denied even a chance to explain my goal. “Mr. Lagnel! Please wait a minute! Why don’t you want to let me in? I’m not asking for much.”
“It’s private property. Do you always go around asking people to let you into their homes to gawk?”
“Of course not! But this is a special case.”
“I don’t see how.”
“I told you! My ancestors lived in this castle just before it burned down. I only want to look around; I’m not going to scrawl my name on the walls or try to dig up some treasure!”
“There is no treasure in this castle; it’s just a ruin. And that’s a good story—nobody’s ever shared that line before, I’ll give you that. But you’re going to need a little more to convince me to let you in.”
“But it’s the truth!”
“And I’m the king of France.”
“Will you just hold on a second? I have proof!”
Éric Lagnel sighed wearily and riveted his sky-blue gaze on me.
“All right, let’s get this over with.”
I rolled my eyes and prayed for calm, then dug into my handbag and handed him the folder containing everything I had found—photos, family tree, articles pulled from the internet and notes I’d jotted down.
“A few years ago,” I explained, “I found a half-burnt picture in my great-grandmother’s stuff. It seems to have been taken here in the castle in 1899.” I pointed it out to him as he flipped the folder open. “This woman is Gabrielle Villeneuve, my ancestor. In 1900, she married Thomas D’Arcy in New York. Thomas was born right here in Chandeniers. I can prove all that; I have the documentation. I managed to trace back my family tree to them. I even have a copy of their wedding announcement.”
Éric Lagnel examined the picture as he listened. I took advantage of his silence to plunge on.
“On the back of the picture, you can see that it was taken here. It’s barely legible, but you can make the words out. I did some research. There’s only one place whose name ends this way. So I think the picture was taken here, in the castle. Which means my ancestors either lived or worked here at the time.”
I fell silent, waiting for his reaction. Éric Lagnel stared down at the picture, turning it over in his hands, deciphering the writing on the back. I was growing impatient when he looked back up at me.
“That’s an impressive amount of research. Are you a historian?”
That was not the reaction I had been hoping for.
“You don’t have to be a historian to be interested in your family’s history,” I replied shortly.
If he wanted to be an ass, fine. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. I could sling comebacks with the best of them.
I expected him to lash back at me, but he only sighed.
“You know, it’s just a ruin.” He hesitated. “Apart from the stones and vegetation, there’s nothing to see. All the furniture and paintings are gone. Anything that survived the fire was moved or stolen.”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t as strong a no as previously. I pushed my luck.
“I know. But that’s not the point. I couldn’t find any contemporary pictures of the castle, so this is the best I can hope for. I just want to have a look. I know I’m not going to find anything, that there’s nothing left of my ancestors, but if I have the slightest chance of walking in their footsteps, finding out who they were, I’d like to seize it. I promise I’ll be very respectful; I won’t touch anything. But please let me in. It’s very important to me.”
For a long moment, Éric Lagnel hesitated, staring at me, looking for something—proof of my honesty? His examination lasted so long I thought I had failed to convince him.
“All right,” he finally decided. “But I can’t show you everything. Some places are too dangerous; the walls need to be reinforced.” I nodded, and he sighed. “Come on, the key to the gate is at my place. The sooner we get there…”
He trailed off, but I didn’t need for him to finish. Pushing down an irritated scowl, I fell into step with him, the dog padding at our heels.
“So you live here?” I asked.
“Yes. The stables were rebuilt into a house.”
We trudged up a hidden path I hadn’t noticed previously toward a wide stone building.
“You’re renovating?” I questioned, catching sight of a workbench and construction materials laid out in front of the door.
“Yes.”
So much for small talk. I followed him silently to a small door on the side of the building.
“Wait here,” he ordered, opening the door.
I bit down on a “Sir, yes, sir!” The door was still open, and I peeked inside. The stable seemed to have been converted into some kind of loft, tastefully and simply furnished. I wondered whether Éric Lagnel lived here alone. It seemed fairly big for a single person. But maybe he had a wife, five children and a pack of pit bulls, after all.
Speaking of pit bulls…I had barely escaped being eaten alive a few minutes earlier, but the dog seemed to have changed its mind since. It stuck fast to my side, begging for attention.
“Well, you sure changed your spots,” I whispered as I cautiously patted its head. “Your master might not like you fraternizing with the enemy, you know.”
The dog didn’t seem particularly fazed by its shifting allegiance and wagged its tail as I kept petting it.
After a few moments, the cantankerous owner came back, clutching a large iron key. He glared at his dog.
“Come on,” he told me.
I raised my eyebrows briefly and followed. I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. Here I was at last. I had dreamed of this moment for so long, ever since I had discovered the picture. I was finally going to enter the castle where it had been taken, where my ancestors had lived!
In the courtyard, my heart clenched again at what I saw. Éric Lagnel hadn’t exaggerated; this was a ruin. The west wing, the largest, and the south wing, which opened on the back of the castle, were completely razed to the ground. Only the east wing and part of the north wing were still somewhat upright.
“Do you know what caused the fire?” I asked, saddened by the sight.
I noticed the grass growing between the cracks in the cobblestones, and the tree branches protruding from the glassless windows.
“A loose wire in the electrical grid, apparently. The baron had electricity installed a few years previously, but it seems the setup wasn’t secure enough. A faulty contact set fire to the tapestries in the gallery of portraits, just outside the library, and the fire spread to the entire wing.”
“What a pity… I read that there were a lot of precious works of art in the castle.”
“There were. Most of them in the west wing. All were lost in the fire.”
“That’s awful.”
“There are worse things. Children are starving to death across the world this very instant, or dying from diseases because of polluted water.”
I stared at him for an instant, disturbed. He was right, yes, but you could be affected by both, right? Lament the loss of precious cultural artworks and world hunger. Did regretting that these books had burned ma
ke me shallow? I didn’t have long to ponder the question.
“Are you coming?” my bad-tempered guide grunted. “I thought you wanted to visit the castle?”
* * * *
For the next half hour, he led me around the east wing, which included servants’ quarters, the kitchens and communal areas, then to the north wing, reserved for guests, which held the main entry and the immense marble staircase. We finished with the old dovecote that bridged the south and east wings. There was also a small chapel, miraculously well preserved, on the first floor of the south wing.
“I wondered how many weddings were celebrated here,” I breathed, dazzled.
Éric Lagnel looked at me as if he severely doubted my intelligence.
“You don’t celebrate weddings in chapels like these. They’re only for prayer. You really think a priest could officiate in so small a place? And I don’t want to burst your little bubble, but it was rare to marry for love at the time. Weddings were just another contract, a pact between two families, a transfer of property or a dowry to bail out empty coffers.”
Annoyed at being treated like a little girl, I stiffened.
“So sorry for not knowing all about the religious customs of French castles. You see, there are so many of these in America. And do you have to be so cynical? How can you know there wasn’t a single true love story in this castle in over a millennium? I’m sure my ancestors married for love!”
“Come back to earth, princess.” He snorted. “Life isn’t a fairy tale.”
“Thank you so much for the little lesson. I have no idea how I managed so far without that pearl of wisdom,” I shot back.
* * * *
The rest of the visit was rather colder. I stopped asking questions, and he contented himself with naming the rooms we went through in a neutral, tired tone of voice. I did learn what was in the two wings we couldn’t enter: the vast library, the ballroom, the portrait gallery, the baron’s rooms, the nursery and the living rooms.
“It’s a pity it’s in such a sorry state.” I couldn’t help but sigh once the visit was over.
We’d reached the castle gate, and I turned back for one final glance. Éric Lagnel surveyed the place.