Gossip

by Cay Templeton

  “Nothing lost is nothing gained. Love is all that will remain. In loss and love is all to blame.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled in, though Josephine’s hands continued to stay busy putting the final touches on her masterpiece.

  “Well, I am glad we got that out of the way,” Victor jabbed sarcastically.

  “Shh,” Claire hissed at him. He raised his hands in surrender.

  “She was your friend, was she not?” Claire said, and leaned closer.

  Josephine held out the wreath and rested it comfortably on top of Claire’s head. At first she let it sit askew, but then the odd girl took the time to adjust it.

  “Thank you.”

  But before she could speak any further, Josephine jumped to her feet and ran barefooted down the path and out of sight.

  “Strange girl,” Victor reiterated while Claire pulled the wreath off her head and took a closer look at it.

  “I believe she knows more than anyone else in this house,” Claire said, and climbed to her feet.

  “She does indeed,” came a soft, majestic voice.

  When Claire and Victor turned, Genevieve stood on the path, watching them.

  “You must be Monsieur Krouse,” Genevieve said, and extended her hand out to Victor.

  He gladly took and kissed it.

  “It is my pleasure, Fräulein.”

  Claire rolled her eyes at Victor’s sad attempt to be charismatic. “Fräulein Genevieve has asked for my help in finding a friend of hers,” Claire mentioned.

  “We are happy to be of service,” he hummed and flashed a flirtatious smile towards Genevieve.

  Claire marveled at the beautiful headdress in her hand. The red and white flowers were perfectly sized between large and small, and made an intricate pattern.

  “Despite Josephine’s oddities, she is quite an artist,” Genevieve interjected. “She is the one who painted that picture in my mother’s study.”

  “The only painting I saw in there was a family portrait.”

  Genevieve looked at her, baffled. “It is the other painting by the window.”

  “The Countess did hide something from me the first night I was here. Perhaps that is it.”

  “That would not surprise me. Mother always has an order to the way she does things.”

  “Does that order always involve keeping people captive at your house?” Claire asked, a little agitated.

  Genevieve attempted to smile but it looked painful. “Come, let us walk a bit. I will tell you what I can about Isabella.”

  “I would like that,” Claire approved, while Victor trailed behind them.

  “Isabella spent most of her time alone when we first met her. I could tell she had a playful spirit but she would not share any of it with Josephine or me. Having said that, after a short period of time she saw the obscurity of Josephine and took to her. The two started playing together.”

  “Did you feel left out?” Claire asked.

  “At first, no. I was just happy for Josephine to be making a friend. She, too, spends a lot of time alone because she has not been well the whole of her life.”

  “Is she . . . ?” Claire hesitated.

  “She is different. That is the only way I can ever think of my sister.”

  “Does she ever say anything that makes sense?”

  “Everything she says makes sense. You just have to think harder about her words than you would in a regular conversation. I know a lot of people disagree with me, but what she says does have meaning.”

  “It sounds like you understand her,” Claire interjected.

  “Well, I remember when my father had just passed. I cried so hard that my whole body ached. I could not be around anyone for days. One night Josephine snuck into my room while I was asleep and laid her head on my chest. I was startled awake.

  “‘What are you doing here, Jo?’ I asked her. She sang something to me that, to this day, I will never forget.”

  The group stopped on the path, now seeing Josephine play in another patch of grass in the garden. Genevieve broke off and went to sit next to her younger sister.

  Clearing her throat, Genevieve sang, “Father has gone on a trip so far. Father has gone—no one to blame. Father has gone on his own mar. But Father still loves you all the same.”

  Genevieve kept staring at her sister and periodically stroked her hair as if she were a dog. Josephine looked like she had lost control of her arms as she let them fly in every direction. It was a wonder Genevieve didn’t get hit.

  One last kiss on her sister’s forehead, and Genevieve returned to the group. Claire noticed the color in Genevieve’s cheeks were gone.

  “Even after all the time that has passed since that night, I still get choked up when I think about it.”

  “There is nothing wrong with knowing your father loves you,” said Claire.

  “What were your parents like?” Genevieve looked Claire over for a hard second. “I imagine adventurous and good by the looks of you,” asked Genevieve.

  Claire chuckled lightly.

  “I wish I could tell you, but I did not know my father at all. My mother raised me. From what little she told me before she died, my mother was from Paris but got into some sort of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Genevieve repeated.

  “Again, my mother was not very forthcoming. After she was pregnant with me, she snuck over the border into Germany and settled in the town of Stuttgart. That is how I know Victor. His family owns a large vineyard there and they allowed my mother and me to occupy a small cottage on the edge of their land.”

  “Did you ever find your father?”

  Claire’s whole body stiffened.

  “Why are you asking me this?” Claire inquired. “Do you know my father?”

  “No, Mademoiselle Du Bois. It is just . . . having missed my own father all my life, I feel for those who are in a similar situation. I will not ask you any more questions,” Genevieve said and bowed her head apologetically.

  At the last word, thoughts flew through Claire’s mind. Her eyes roamed uncontrollably around the courtyard, bouncing between Josephine in the grass and Genevieve’s perfect form that stood next to her. Finally, her eyes came to rest on the empty window in front of the Countess's study.

  “Genevieve, do you know how to get us off the land without the Countess knowing?”

  Genevieve nodded her head.

  “I smell trouble,” Victor insinuated. “I think it is time we go to town.”

  Genevieve’s face soured. “You do know that the Queen will find you as soon as you step off the grounds?”

  “She cannot possibly have a guard watching the house all the time,” Claire argued.

  “You might be surprised,” Victor said, gesturing to the cut on his head.

  Claire took his hands into hers, “Come on, Victor. What I need to know cannot be learned in this house. I must go to town. Please!”

  “This is lunacy,” Victor started, “But I will do it. I will take that risk for my dear friend.”

  “I hate when you talk to me like that,” said Claire.

  Victor defiantly crossed his arms. Claire hugged him despite his opposition.

  “Is this what love looks like these days? It has been so long since I have seen it,” Genevieve chuckled.

  Claire and Victor both jumped and said, “Oh no, no, no. We are not together.”

  “Uh huh,” hummed Genevieve with an unconvinced expression and looked at both of them as if they were lying.

  “Tonight, will you come and get us through the secret passage?” Claire asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Once the house has settled, I will help you out to the edge of the estate. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Genevieve bowed to the two and made her way down the path, leaving the two guests a moment to themselves.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Claire’s smile quickly faded.

  “Why can we not just be friends?” Claire growled.

  “I c
ould think of far worse people you could be courting right now than me,” Victor pointed out.

  “Christian, Markus, perhaps?”

  Claire rolled her eyes and pushed him playfully until Josephine regained her attention.

  The strange girl was now standing up and spinning in circles. The once soft tune she was singing grew louder and louder.

  “Trouble is brewing, Love is stewing. And we are all going to tumble down, down, down.”

  With the last words, Josephine fell hard to the ground and laid still.

  Victor shook his head, “What a strange girl.”

  Chapter 13

  “Late Night Stroll”

  Three cloaked figures made their way across the front of the Countess De Leon’s estate under the shroud of night. As they approached the stone wall, Genevieve slowed her pace.

  “This is where I must leave you,” she said softly.

  Genevieve pulled back a curtain of ivy, exposing the eroded wall space that Claire and Victor could easily climb through.

  “Thank you,” Claire whispered.

  Genevieve bowed her head and said, “Make sure you stay off the main roads or Isabella will certainly find you. Now go. Quickly.”

  Claire looked one last time on the Mon Reve Chateau before she and Victor squeezed through the wall.

  ***

  The trees along the road were quite dense, barely allowing the moonlight to shine through. Even though Claire wished to heed Genevieve’s suggestion about not taking the main road, she knew that it was the only hope she had of finding the heart of town.

  Claire allowed her hands to dangle, just clipping the top of the long, wild grass that grew on the road’s edge.

  “So, what is your plan?” Victor asked. “I am sure you have one by now.”

  “We are going to speak with some of the town’s people, to see how they viewed the Countess before Isabella became Queen.”

  “That sounds like a brilliant idea,” Victor scoffed. “Why do we not just go into the most populated pub, hold out our hands and say, ‘Please arrest me, how I do so love the stocks.’”

  “I do not know how I have put up with you for twenty years.”

  Victor drew so close to her that for a moment, Claire thought that he was going to kiss her. His nose nuzzled her ears and she could feel the warmth of his breath as he said, “I guess I am just that charming.”

  A ball of laughter exploded from his lips and he elbowed her hard in the side.

  “Hmm,” Claire grunted. “I hate you, Victor Krouse.”

  “I know,” he grinned.

  A rustle went through the grass. Claire turned immediately with ears perked.

  Victor put a caring hand around her shoulders. “It is just the wind, my dear friend.”

  “Yes, just the wind,” she convinced herself.

  All of a sudden, a figure jumped out of the brush behind Victor and put a knife to his throat.

  “Then again, I may have underestimated the violent brush of France,” he said, trying to make light of the dangerous situation he was now in.

  “Empty your pockets,” demanded an older woman’s voice.

  “So spry for someone your age,” retorted Victor.

  “What age is that?” growled the old woman.

  “We are not carrying anything of value,” Claire said, hastily.

  The knife at Victor’s throat pulled tighter to his skin. “Wait!” Claire shouted. She pulled a necklace off her neck and held it out. “Take this.”

  The woman peeked over Victor’s shoulder at the trinket held out to her. Letting go and shoving Victor to the ground, the woman swooped the necklace out of Claire’s hand.

  She quickly put it between her teeth and bit on it.

  “Real gold,” she muttered.

  Laying it flat in her hand, she held it up to one of the little beams of moonlight that made its way through the leaves.

  Her eyes widened at the emblem engraved on the little charm around the chain. The woman held her dagger up to Claire, pointing it right at her face.

  “Are you Isabella?” she demanded.

  “What?” Claire said, a little taken aback.

  “Are you Queen Isabella?” the woman hissed.

  “Do not be ridiculous. My name is Claire Du Bois.”

  The woman lunged at Claire but Victor jumped in the way and knocked the woman down to the ground.

  “What is your problem?” Victor said, as the woman swung her knife at him. He ducked out of the way.

  She lunged again. This time, Victor caught her arm and twisted it behind her back until the knife fell out of her hand.

  “Tell me what this is about,” Victor said in a more serious tone. “Why are you attacking us?”

  “She is Queen Isabella,” the woman said, gesturing with her head to Claire. “She has oppressed my people.”

  “Oppressed what people?” Claire asked.

  “The gypsies.”

  Victor’s grip loosened until the woman could wiggle free.

  “I am not the Queen,” reiterated Claire. “But I am most interested to know why you think so.”

  The gypsy woman threw the necklace back at her.

  “It is just a symbol, it does not mean anything,” said Claire.

  “Just a symbol?” The woman paused in disbelief. “This is the Le roi Childebert; only the king and queen would be permitted this kind of a trinket.”

  Claire and Victor looked at each other, confused, then back to the woman for further explanation.

  “Le roi Childebert had only a handful of these necklaces made and gave them to each of his children. They have grown to be seen as the mark of royalty.”

  “You are mad, woman,” Victor said, a little unsure.

  “I very well might be, but whoever gave you this stole it from the royal family.”

  Claire broke the silence with a hearty chuckle. “Preposterous. My mother was no thief and certainly would have never had the ability nor the opportunity to steal it from the King and Queen.”

  “Mmm,” the gypsy murmured, as her eyes flicked down to the necklace clinched in Claire’s hand.

  “That is a free ticket for whenever you wish to go. But be warned – others will want it.”

  Claire put it back around her neck, keeping her focus on the gypsy woman.

  “I take it you have never met the Queen, if you mistook me for her?”

  “I have not. Only . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “As I understand, the Queen is a very clean woman. Constantly cleaning her body.”

  “Yes?”

  “There is only one other creature I could describe like that. There was a little girl many years ago. I used to go down by the river with my crafts and make simple jewelry. She came down to the river to wash a dress.

  “She did not pay me any mind, nor did I care. She was more interested in getting that tattered dress clean.”

  “Who cares about such nonsense?” Victor interjected.

  “I guess no one of consequence,” retorted the gypsy woman. “I just thought it odd that she cleaned the same dress for four hours.”

  Claire looked over at Victor, “That certainly sounds like the Queen.”

  “It was before she was Queen, to be sure. I hear she wears nicer frocks now,” pointed out the woman.

  The woman spun around to look down the empty road. Claire and Victor followed suit. All was still until Claire heard footsteps running away from her. By the time she had turned, the gypsy woman had disappeared into the brush.

  “Do not show that necklace to anyone. It will be your neck if you do,” And with that, the gypsy woman was gone.

  Claire looked down at the trinket around her neck. She lifted it to her eyes to examine the emblem, and then she tucked it just inside her collar.

  After exhaling a deep sigh, she turned to Victor with a smile.

  “Could you use a drink?”

  Victor smiled contentedly. “Could I use a drink? I was just attacked by the mos
t dangerous shrub in France. Could I use a drink?”

  The two laughed and continued on their way to town.

  Chapter 14

  “A Moment of Merriment”

  Claire’s quizzical brow raised as she continued to glare at the blank expression across the table on the villager’s face.

  “You are sure you did not know her?”

  The man shook his head as if trying to get out of a crime he did not commit.

  Loud music played and several of the town’s people were on the dance floor stomping and spinning around to the merry tune.

  Just then, Victor fell over onto Claire, laughing so hard he was in tears.

  “Claire,” he started but broke into another round of hearty laughter.

  Victor dropped his beer stein on the wooden table and held Claire with one arm while he held his drink with the other. He continued to laugh the entire time.

  Claire rolled her eyes at him and smacked his hand to release her.

  He came to sit at the table beside her.

  “Victor Krouse!”

  “Claire Du Bois!” he replied back, mockingly and took a swig from his glass.

  “I am trying to talk to this fine gentleman!” Claire finished in annoyance and gestured to the man sitting across from her.

  “Why?” scoffed Victor, “He clearly knows nothing.”

  Claire and Victor looked at each other, and then at the man tapping his hand nervously on the table.

  “Do you?” Victor finished with another big gulp of his beer.

  The middle-aged man shook his head ‘no’.

  “See?” Victor said victoriously. “You can bugger off now. Go on. Go,go go.” Victor said and flit his hand for the man to go.

  With great haste, the villager jumped from the table and took off out of the room. The whole time Victor watched him with a laugh that shook his belly. He then turned to Claire who kept her attention where the villager had just been sitting.

  Victor took another sip.

  “You know, no matter how long you look at that empty chair, no one will appear there,” he said in a humored tone.

  Finally, Claire looked over at him.

  “What do you want?” she hissed.

  “I want…”

  The fiddles finished their lively tune and switched to a more romantic one.