by Chloé Duval
Mr. D’Arcy muttered something she did not catch. A truly nightmarish sight had caught her eye in the mirror opposite her. In typical fashion, her hair had come loose from her bun and now curled wildly around her face, utterly disheveled. Grimacing, she pulled back a few locks behind her ear before redirecting her gaze to her companion’s reflection. She had never been very tall, but his massive body dwarfed her. As they walked side by side in silence, she lingered for a few moments on his right profile, the rugged, masculine lines of his face, almost hoping she might uncover in the corner of his mouth or the shape of his jaw the secrets masquerading behind his quiet demeanor and few words.
“This castle is immense,” she remarked, trying to fill the silence, her voice echoing through the room. “Much larger than I would have believed. Please don’t abandon me,” she added mischievously, “I might never find my way out.”
To her satisfaction, he laughed quietly.
“I promise not to abandon you here. But the castle is not that vast. It is just an impression. You will get used to it.”
“Perhaps, but for now I am completely unable to tell where we are, so please don’t forget me in some room, or else I would have to ask one of the ghosts haunting the castle my way. If there are any, of course…”
“I am sorry to disappoint,” Mr. D’Arcy intoned, “but to my knowledge there are no ghosts here.”
“What a pity! Are you sure? The castle must be very old.”
“It is. It was rebuilt after the Revolution, but the foundations date back a thousand years.”
“Then there must be ghosts. And secret passages. It seems obvious.”
“My apologies, but there aren’t any secret passages either.”
“No secret passages? I must protest, sir!” Gabrielle cried, carried away by their discussion so far as to forget all restraint. “I must rebel! This is utterly unacceptable. To qualify as a castle, you must have a ballroom, wide staircases, ghosts and at least one secret passage. That is nonnegotiable!”
“I’m very sorry to say there are no secret passages or ghosts. But we do have a ballroom and staircases, as you saw. Will that be enough?”
Gabrielle sighed dramatically.
“It will have to be. Ah well…you can’t have everything you want in life.”
Mr. D’Arcy looked at her sideways.
“But if there were ghosts here, wouldn’t you be afraid to stay?”
Gabrielle pretended to ponder the question.
“I don’t think so. After all, they could be friendly ghosts.” She grinned, entertained. “There would be no way to know until you met them.”
“Do you think there is such a thing as friendly ghost? I find the idea difficult to grasp.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t a ghost be kind and gentle if their soul was so in life? Why should they necessarily be sinister and threatening?”
“It is said that ghosts are the shades of people who have died a violent death and remain caught between worlds. I would think that it would make them…irritable and hardly inclined to kindness and generosity,” Mr. D’Arcy noted drily.
“Hmmm… You’re not wrong. But I would rather stand by my theory.”
Next to her, Mr. D’Arcy simply smiled.
“But are you sure there are no ghosts?” Gabrielle insisted. “You seem to know the history of this place; are you positive nothing tragic ever happened here? Not even during the Revolution? Should we ask a medium to know for certain?”
The amused gleam in Mr. D’Arcy’s eye abruptly disappeared, followed by his smile. To Gabrielle’s great surprise, he seemed to withdraw, his body tense.
She frowned and was about to ask him what troubled him so, when he turned away from her and quickened his pace, clearly indicating that their conversation was over.
Gabrielle followed suit, suddenly no longer enthused. They made their way in heavy, uncomfortable silence. Confused, she ran through the conversation mentally, trying to understand what could have triggered such an about-face. She did not understand. One instant they had been laughing, bantering lightly—it had been nonsense, but he hadn’t seemed to mind—and the next he had become as cold and distraught as the love child of Heathcliff and Rochester. Had she been too aggressive? It would not be the first time someone told her so. Perhaps she had been too presumptuous as to the closeness that had occurred between them over the last few days, taking inappropriate liberties, overstepping her boundaries? After a few moments she could bear it no longer and spoke up.
“I apologize if I offended you,” she murmured. “I did not want to.…”
He halted and turned toward her, stony faced.
“No, you said nothing that could cause offense. It has nothing to do with you. It is I who…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “My apologies. Perhaps you would be better off on your own. I am not very good company. I will lead you to the library and leave you to your own devices.”
“I don’t understand. Did I say something I oughtn’t?”
“No, not at all. I’m sorry. Please forget about it, will you?”
Gabrielle considered him for a moment, then nodded. They resumed walking in silence until she glanced up at him from the corner of her eye and dared a quip, her tone as light as it had been before, making a show of looking around her.
“You assured me the castle was not as vast as I imagined, but how many more galleries will we cross until we reach the library? Should we have packed some provisions?”
The corner of his lips curled up.
“Have no fear, Mademoiselle Villeneuve, we are almost there,” he replied.
Relieved now that the unease had subsided, Gabrielle smiled back, and silently swore she would keep any future musings about ghosts to herself.
* * * *
There was only one more gallery left, Gabrielle soon realized—the portrait gallery.
“Are these the members of the Saint-Armand family?” she asked, peering at the frames.
“Yes. The barons and their families.”
They walked up the gallery slowly, pausing to look at the portraits. At the very end of the room, Mr. D’Arcy stopped in front of the last portrait, featuring a young couple holding a baby. The man was blond, with the harmonious features of an Apollo: blue eyes, not a hair out of place, a face without a flaw. And completely uninteresting, Gabrielle thought. She looked at the woman.
She was beautiful, with jet-black hair and a face like an angel. She gave off an impression of infinite gentleness and kindness. She smiled, but Gabrielle could not help but think it masked an immense sadness.
“Who are they?” she asked in a low voice.
Mr. D’Arcy cleared his throat.
“Victor Leroy de Saint-Armand, the…late baron, and his wife, Adaline.”
“Is she still alive?”
Somehow, Gabrielle thought she knew the answer already.
If the castle and all it held were to be sold, there probably were no heirs left.
“No, she died a long time ago,” Mr. D’Arcy confirmed. “She was still young. Much too young,” he added, a surprising amount of regret and bitterness in his voice.
Had he known her?
“What happened? Was she ill?”
“An accident, it was said.”
‘She was beautiful.”
“She was.”
“But she doesn’t look happy.”
“She wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
Mr. D’Arcy’s gaze stayed on the woman an instant longer; then he turned to Gabrielle and before she could ask any more questions, he announced:
“This is it. The library is right here.”
All other thoughts fled Gabrielle’s mind, her eyes lighting up as she grinned widely.
“What are we waiting for?” she exclaimed, reaching for the door he pointed to.
“Wait!” He held her back. “Close your eyes.”
Gabrielle’s eyebrows rose.
“You want me to close my eyes?”
“Trust me, the sight will be even more impressive.”
Intrigued, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently, she obeyed and waited. A door creaked open, and a warm hand wrapped around hers and led her into the next room. She took slow, faltering steps, fearful she would trip and make a fool of herself in front of her host.
After a few meters, he stopped and released her hand.
“Wait a little longer,” he told her softly.
Eyes still shut, Gabrielle heard the sound of his footsteps move away, muffled by the carpet, and detected the light through her closed eyelids when he switched it on. He returned to her side and solemnly declared: “You can open your eyes now.”
She obeyed.
And froze on the spot, wonderstruck.
The library was straight out of a dream.
There were dozens, hundreds, thousands of books, leather bound in red, blue, black and brown, lining immense shelves of solid oak that rose two stories high, adorned with sliding wooden ladders and narrow winding spiral staircases.
Gabrielle could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to shout in delight, clap her hands and skip everywhere like a small child on Christmas morning. Of course, she did no such thing, clamping down on her enthusiasm, trying to maintain a dignified façade. She could not, however, hold back a quiet, heartfelt “Whoa.” With all the restraint she was capable of, she moved toward a large oak desk, stopped and spun on the spot, head thrown back and eyes wide open the better to take in the room.
“Do you like it?” Mr. D’Arcy asked.
“Do I like it? You mock me,” she gasped, turning to face him. “This is amazing! I have never seen so many books in my entire life! I could live here for the rest of my days and never be bored for a second!”
Her reply, and the enthusiasm with which she delivered it, drew a new smile from Mr. D’Arcy.
“It’s incredible,” she went on. “It looks like Captain Nemo’s library!”
“Captain Nemo?”
“He’s a character from one of Jules Verne’s novels, Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea. He is the captain of a submarine in which there is a magnificent library that holds a copy of every single book ever published throughout the world.”
“I’m not sure there is a copy of every single book ever published here,” Mr. D’Arcy remarked.
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive!”
She wheeled around again, breathing deeply, taking in every detail of the library with all of her senses. Her eyes fell on her father’s tools, spread out over the large desk, and she felt a tug on her heartstrings when she suddenly realized that this extraordinary collection was fated to disappear.
“Did the baron have no heir, for you to have to sell such a unique collection?” she asked, suddenly no longer giddy. “What happened to the child in the portrait? Did he die too?”
“No, he… He still lives.”
“Why doesn’t he come take possession of the castle, then, so the treasures it holds do not have to be sold off to the highest bidder?”
“For several reasons. The first is that Victor de Saint-Armand was an avid collector and had a love for…shall we say, beautiful things, but he was not so talented when it came to managing his finances. He squandered his fortune and his bride’s dowry on an increasing number of statues and paintings, so no one but he could claim to own these works of art. In the end, he died and left behind only debts, and selling the castle is the only way they can be settled.”
“Oh.” She was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “And…what are the other reasons?”
“Well, the…baron’s son did not want the inheritance.”
“He did not want it?” Gabrielle repeated, surprised. “I don’t understand. How could anyone not want such an estate? I’m sorry,” she hurried to add, “I am being very indiscreet. Please don’t feel you have to answer my questions.”
Mr. D’Arcy kept silent for a few seconds.
“It’s…a complicated story,” he finally said. “Truth be told, he had been estranged from his father for many years. He even thought he had been disowned and disinherited.”
“Oh,” Gabrielle said again. “I understand. That must have been a hard thing to undergo.”
He shrugged.
“He survived. People can survive anything.”
“That is true. I survived my mother’s death. It took some time, but you can become used to anything, even the void of absence.”
For a time, silence fell as Gabrielle wandered up the shelves, hands trailing over the spines of the books, eyes roving. There were all kinds of books. Medicine, literature, biology, ornithology… Classical works in Greek and Latin. Modern authors such as Émile Zola and Victor Hugo. Some books were recent, other far more ancient. She explored further, feeling Mr. D’Arcy’s gaze upon her back with every step. She could see him hesitate out of the corner of her eye.
“How old were you when you lost your mother?” he inquired at last.
“I was seven,” she replied without pausing in her wanderings.
“I was nine.”
“Oh.” She turned back to him. “I am sincerely sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. As you said, you can become used to anything.”
“But you never really forget, do you? You simply learn to live with the emptiness inside.”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss her?” she asked.
“Every day.”
“So do I. What was she like?”
“Beautiful. Extremely beautiful. A ray of sunshine. Kind and generous. Always smiling.”
“She must have been a wonderful person.”
“She was.”
He seemed to hesitate again, gestured toward her, opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he breathed out deeply.
“Do you remember the woman in the portrait? Outside the library?”
She nodded.
“That was her. My mother.”
It took Gabrielle a few instants to understand what he had just said.
“You mean…you are the son of Victor de Saint-Armand? The heir to the title and castle? You were the child in the portrait?”
He nodded uncertainly, as though he did not know what to expect from her.
“Why did you not tell me?” she asked, still reeling from the news.
“I did not intend to hide it.” He shrugged. “But it had been so long since I was a member of this family that I simply did not think of it at first. In truth, I don’t think of myself as the baron Thomas de Saint-Armand. I refuse to be that person. I am who I told you I was. I am Thomas D’Arcy. Nothing more.”
He paused then continued, his voice tense.
“Mademoiselle Villeneuve…is the name I bear so important? Does it change anything? Will you no longer talk to me of ghosts and Jane Eyre? Will you…will you no longer honor me with your friendship?”
Something in the tone he used moved Gabrielle deeply.
“My friendship? You wish for my friendship?”
“I do. Very much so.”
Gabrielle’s heart leapt in her chest, and warmth spread all through her. She had not been mistaken. They had indeed grown close at her father’s bedside, even through the silence.
She smiled.
“It is all yours, sir.”
His gaze lit up and a smile shone on his face.
“Please call me Thomas.”
Dozens of butterflies suddenly started dancing in the young woman’s stomach.
“Only if you call me Gabrielle.”
“Gabrielle…”
Could a simple whisper provoke so many
sensations? Even more than the previous evening when he put his arms around her, she could feel the effects all over her body, her blood pumping so fast that she was almost dizzy.
“Gabrielle,” Thomas went on, unknowingly making the butterflies in her stomach swoop once again, “may I ask you for a favor?”
“I’m listening,” she replied, her breath far shorter than the situation warranted.
“Would you read to me, if only for a few minutes?”
“I would be glad to, Thomas. For as long as you wish.”
Chapter 11
Alexandra
Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers
Present day
“You again? Hell, is there no way to be rid of you?”
Such were the kind and thoughtful words that the lord and master of the castle of Ferté-Chandeniers greeted me with when I rang the next morning, after spending the night pondering Marine’s revelations.
My ancestor, heir to the castle? Me, a descendant of the last baron de Saint-Armand? An aristocrat, with a title and all? I couldn’t believe it.
The discovery raised a thousand questions. Why didn’t Thomas bear the Saint-Armand name in the few documents I had found? Where had the name he used, D’Arcy, come from? Did Éric Lagnel know Thomas was the son of the baron? Had he deliberately hidden the truth from me in order to be rid of me sooner?
In the end, after a short night’s sleep I had decided to visit Mr. Sarcasm again and bully him into letting me have access to his father’s files.
Clearly, it was going to be no easy task.
“And you,” Éric Lagnel added as he glared at his dog, “are a damn traitor.”
As though he understood, Max let his head hang even as he pressed against my legs. Unlike his master, he had been so happy to see me that he had immediately thrown his forty-odd kilos at me, nearly knocking me off my feet.
I almost wasn’t scared, this time. I’d revisited my first impressions after our initial meeting. In spite of his size, he was a truly adorable and loving dog, who only wanted everybody to play with him and pet him. I scratched him behind the ears and turned to face his master.