The Secret of the Chateau

by Kathleen McGurl

  ‘Moved away? Married again and changed her name?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve checked for a marriage. Can’t find her on any French genealogy website. She may have moved to another country, but why leave her children?’

  ‘Maybe they were grown-up?’

  I frowned. ‘When their father died, in 1794, they were just babies. I’m kind of assuming Catherine disappeared or moved away around that time, too. Almost certainly she’d have stopped living here – the château would have been seized by the State. But I suppose you could be right. Maybe she just lived quietly somewhere locally until her children were grown and then moved to another country.’

  Gray stood up. ‘The simplest explanations are usually the right ones, even if they’re boring. Cup of tea?’

  ‘I’d love one.’ Yes, boring, but probably right. There was me wanting an explanation for our ghost. Maybe it was Pierre after all. Though that face at the window had seemed female to me, somehow.

  Thankfully the weather the next day was back to business as usual, with the sun shining, the sky blue, but just a slight nip in the air reminding us autumn was just around the corner.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ I said to Felix who was lying on the kitchen floor, head on paws, moping because he hadn’t had a decent walk for a couple of days. ‘Let’s go back to le petite ferme and check it out some more.’ I had a feeling that the farm was somehow connected with Catherine. The clues I had fitted – the date of the map I’d seen it on.

  Felix was of course delighted by the suggestion, so very soon we were out, tramping along the path, a pair of secateurs in my pocket so I could trim back some of the undergrowth and get a better look at the structure. The dog bounded ahead of me along the path. I trusted him now to come when he was called, so there was no need to put him on the lead when we were out in the countryside. Unless there were sheep around, and even then he seemed to ignore them.

  We reached the little bridge, crossed it, and then we were at the farm. Felix ran on up the path so I had to call him back. ‘We’re going to hang around here for a short while, all right?’ I gave him a dog treat, then he began happily sniffing around the broken-down walls of the little building. I followed him, tracing the remains of the walls, running my fingers over the stonework, trying to imagine what it looked like when complete, with a little thatched roof, doors and windows. Had it been furnished at all, I wondered? I went inside the little structure and crouched down among the undergrowth, feeling on the ground to see if there were any remains of a floor. Felix came in too, sniffing, and then began scrabbling at one corner, pushing his nose into the foliage, scratching at the ground. He’d obviously spotted something he wanted to dig up. I left him to it, and went round the outside, cutting back some of the shrubs that were close to the walls. My thoughts ran to Marie Antoinette’s hamlet at Versailles, where she’d ‘played’ at being a shepherdess.

  ‘Imagine if this was something similar,’ I whispered. ‘If Catherine was trying to emulate the Queen.’

  Felix gave a little woof, then emerged from the tiny building with something in his mouth.

  ‘What’ve you got there, eh?’ I asked him, holding my hand out.

  He dropped it at my feet. Whether he wanted me to inspect it or use it for a game of Fetch I didn’t know, but it made me squeal. He’d dug up a bone. A sizable one. I crouched down to look at it more closely, not wanting to pick it up. I’m a bit squeamish about bones. What was it from?

  Thoughts of the missing Catherine Aubert flooded through my mind. What if she’d also been running from the mob, as Pierre had, and had hidden in the little farm? Could she have stayed in there, undetected, dying from some injury, being covered in time by vegetation? I shuddered. What a horrible way to die. I went back into the little building and kicked around cautiously in the corner where Felix had been digging. There were definitely more bones there.

  Chapter 24

  Pierre, 1794

  Spring arrived, the snow began to thaw, and Pierre stepped up his plans to take his family out of France and into Switzerland for their own safety. He had written to his cousin to tell him to expect them. He had sewn most of Catherine’s jewels into pouches hidden inside their clothes – the clothes of ordinary bourgeois merchants. He had a small carriage stocked with provisions stored in a barn further down the valley, all ready to go. He was waiting only for Catherine to recover from a slight fever she’d had for a week or so, for his own health to improve and give him a respite from the chest pains that had plagued him on and off for years, and for the roads to become more easily passable. He had breathed not a word of his plans to anyone, not even the most loyal of their servants. Not even Claudette or Henri. You could not know who to trust in these turbulent times.

  And then, one day as he was making lists of provisions to take with them, Henri knocked on his study door and entered without waiting for permission.

  ‘Sir, they are coming. You must hide, or I fear …’ The old man looked flustered and was out of breath.

  ‘Who’s coming?’

  ‘A mob. Many people from the village. Someone has informed on you – said you are an anti-revolutionary. They’re saying too that you were part of the old King’s Court. They accuse you of aiding an enemy of the State – the old priest. They want blood, sir. Yours. Come quickly!’

  Pierre cursed. ‘From which direction are they coming?’ He was thinking hard. Could they get to the carriage he’d hidden unseen, and before the mob reached the château?

  ‘Directly up the road from the village. They will be here in minutes. You can escape them perhaps by the high path, from the top of the garden …’ Henri was wringing his hands. Pierre realised that he too might be in danger, for his loyalty to the family. Claudette too. And what of Madame Bernard? Or had she been the person who’d betrayed them?

  Pierre leapt to his feet. ‘Henri, you must go. Leave by the high path, as you suggest. Get to a friend’s house.’ He took the old man’s hands in his and kissed his cheeks. ‘And thank you, dear friend, for your loyal service over all these years. I pray to God we will meet again.’

  Henri nodded, overcome with emotion. ‘Get those babies away to a place of safety. Send them with Claudette, to her mother’s, perhaps.’ Then he turned and hurried out of the room.

  Pierre followed, in search of Catherine who was in her bedchamber, still recovering from her fever. He burst into the room. Thankfully she was alone. He knew there was no way she would be able to rouse herself, get dressed, and then walk that high path out of the château grounds. No, he had another plan to guarantee her safety. One he’d planned for years, should this sort of occasion arise.

  ‘Catherine, we must hide! Henri tells me a mob are coming for us. We must put our plans in action, but we cannot get to the carriage today. We need to hide for a day or two first, until we can slip away.’

  ‘Pierre, I am so unwell, I cannot …’ His wife’s eyes were wide with fear, and she clutched her bed shawl tightly around her shoulders.

  ‘You are improving, and in a few days you will be well enough to travel. Until then we must hide.’

  ‘Where? Oh – in the little farm, perhaps?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. That would not work. We will hide within the château – there is a place.’

  ‘But they will find us …’

  Pierre shook his head. ‘No they won’t. There is a secret place. I had it built soon after we arrived here, in secret. The entrance is well concealed. Come. Come quickly.’ He tugged on her hand to get her to leave her bed.

  ‘The children. What of the children?’

  ‘I will send them with Claudette. To her mother’s. Claudette is loyal. The mob will not harm babies, I am sure of it. I will ask Claudette to bring them to us, at the barn where the carriage is stored, when it is safe for us to leave. Do not fear, my love. All the preparations are in place. But hurry now – we have only minutes before the mob come.’ He opened her jewellery casket, and grabbed the jewels that had been left in t
here, stuffing them into his pocket.

  ‘Don’t send the babies with Claudette alone! She cannot carry two of them, and Michel cannot walk that far!’ Catherine was slipping her feet into shoes and gathering shawls as she spoke. Pierre realised she was right – Claudette could not carry two children.

  ‘I will go with Claudette. By the high path – the one that leads past your little farm. We can carry a child each, and then I shall come back for you.’

  ‘I’ll be alone in the château when the mob come? Pierre, no, I can’t!’

  ‘They’ll soon leave when they think no one is here. Come now.’ He led her by the hand out of her room, along corridors to the tower, up the narrow spiral stairs to the circular tower room. There he moved a cabinet and pushed aside a tapestry. Behind was a door concealed in the wooden panelling. He led her through it, up another set of stairs and through a door into a tiny circular room at the top. It was furnished with a thin mattress on the floor, a pile of blankets, a large pitcher of water and a basket of food – all of which Pierre had religiously replaced each week since he’d had the room built, ready for just this occasion.

  ‘Who betrayed us, Pierre?’ she said, as he settled her onto the mattress. ‘Was it Madame Bernard? She has always hated me. And she overheard me saying I still loved the Queen.’

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly.’

  ‘How could she?’

  ‘Ssh. Now, stay quiet, and don’t come out of this room until I return, whatever happens. Lock the door. Open it only to me. Promise me, my love? I will take the children to safety and rejoin you here as soon as it’s safe for me to re-enter the château. I will tell Madame Bernard we are hiding in Père Debroux’s cottage. If it is she who has betrayed us, she will direct the mob there.’ He held her tight, kissed her, and smoothed her hair away from her forehead. She looked so vulnerable here in her nightie, her hair undressed, her face not made up. Still, so beautiful. He felt he had never loved her as much. And yet he must leave her now.

  There was no time to lose. As he left the room, Catherine called out to him. ‘Tell Michel and Jeanne I love them very much, won’t you?’

  ‘I will,’ he replied, his voice choked with emotion. ‘But you will be with them again very soon, my love.’

  He closed the door at the top of the hidden stairs, descended, closed the concealed door, behind the tapestry and pushed back the chest that helped hide its location. And then he ran to the nursery, where Claudette was caring for Michel and Jeanne.

  ‘Claudette! Come quickly! We must take the babies and go. It is not safe here for any of us.’

  Claudette’s eyes were wide, but she scooped up Jeanne without a word, and also grabbed a basket which she hooked over one arm. Pierre picked up a squealing Michel and bade her follow him. ‘We will go out through the gardens, and along the high path. Will your mother help?’

  ‘She will. She would not see children harmed,’ Claudette said.

  They were almost out, unseen, when suddenly Madame Bernard appeared, coming out of the kitchen corridor. She gasped when she saw them. ‘What is happening? Henri says there’s a mob coming …’

  Pierre thought quickly. Her terrified reaction seemed genuine but he had no idea whether he could trust this woman. He’d tell her a partial truth. ‘Claudette is taking the babies to her mother’s. Madame Aubert and I will hide.’

  ‘Where will you hide?’ Claudette asked.

  ‘The priest’s cottage,’ Pierre replied. The cottage was in the opposite direction to where he had stored the carriage, and a good twenty minutes’ walk away. By the time the mob had been there and found no one, he and Catherine might be able to make their escape.

  Madame Bernard nodded. ‘I am leaving too. It is not safe for me here. Good luck, Monsieur Aubert.’ To his surprise she curtsied, and her eyes were shining with tears.

  ‘Sir, we must go,’ Claudette said, and indeed Pierre realised he could already hear chants and shouting coming from the lane that led to the village. At least Catherine was safe in the tower.

  With a child each in their arms, Pierre and Claudette hurried out of the back of the château, across the gardens and out through the gate that led onto the hillside. The path was wet underfoot from the snow’s meltwater, and badly maintained, since Catherine had given up her interest in the little farm. Claudette was struggling a little, trying to carry the basket she had snatched up along with Jeanne. He was struggling too – his chest was painful and he was struggling to catch his breath. Even so, he reached out a hand to help Claudette.

  ‘Here, let me take the basket,’ he said. ‘What is in it?’

  ‘Some things for the children,’ she replied, as she handed it to him. ‘Clothes, their toys, a little food.’

  ‘How did you come to have it all ready to go?’ Pierre said, frowning.

  Claudette stuttered a little as she answered. ‘I-I have been fearing something like this for a while … I had it ready … and my mother is expecting us. Monsieur, you will then go to the priest’s cottage?’

  ‘Yes, to meet my wife there,’ he replied carefully. How had the girl had the foresight to pack a basket? Had she known something in advance about the attack? Had Madame Bernard told her? Or …

  ‘Claudette, you are loyal to us, are you not?’

  ‘O-of course, Monsieur, of course.’ Claudette stumbled a little as she spoke, over an exposed tree root that ran across the path. Pierre put out a hand to steady her, but she flinched at his touch.

  ‘I am wondering who it was that betrayed us. Madame Bernard, perhaps? She has made no secret of her dislike of Madame Aubert, at least.’

  ‘Oh, no Monsieur, it was not her,’ said Claudette forcefully.

  ‘Who, then?’ Pierre shifted the weight of Michel on his hip and hoisted the basket up his arm.

  ‘I do not know. Monsieur, we must hurry,’ she said, and strode forward, hoisting Jeanne up against her shoulder. ‘The people will not harm your children. It is only you and Madame they want. I heard talk in the village. They will put you on trial. But your children will be safe with my maman and me. Trust me.’

  He had to trust her. And he had to hope that the mob would give up when they found both the château and the priest’s cottage apparently empty.

  It was almost an hour before they reached Claudette’s mother’s house, on the far side of the village, part way up the hillside. It had been slow going, burdened as they were with the children, who had both cried throughout much of the journey. They’d had to hide from villagers a couple of times, once darting into a stable, hands over the children’s mouths, once into bushes as a group of labourers passed by, and once in Catherine’s little farm. At last they reached a rough cottage, its door covered with peeling blue paint, its shutters firmly closed. Claudette led him round to the back of the cottage and in through a second door.

  ‘Maman? We are here,’ she called out, and a stooped woman with white hair stepped forward. Pierre guessed that despite her appearance the woman was probably only about fifty. Younger than himself. Peasants aged quicker than aristocrats, it seemed.

  ‘And these are the babies? Come to Grand-mère, mes petits,’ cooed the old woman. ‘And who is this?’ She waved a finger at Pierre.

  ‘The babies’ father,’ Claudette said, and Pierre noticed a look pass between the women.

  ‘Thank you for taking the children,’ he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. ‘I will pay you, of course.’ He pulled out a bag of coins, it wasn’t much, but all he had with him. ‘There will be more, when I am able to access it. I will return for the children as soon as I am able.’

  Claudette took the money from him and tucked it into the basket. ‘Your children will be safe with us. Now, go to your wife. Good luck, Monsieur.’

  Her voice wobbled on the last words. Making a sudden decision, Pierre pulled out a handful of Catherine’s jewellery and passed it to her. ‘In case I-I can’t return, for some reason.’ She stared at him and nodded silently.

  He planted a kiss o
n each child’s head, realising that Catherine had not had a chance to do the same. ‘Michel, Jeanne, your parents love you, and we will return for you as soon as possible. Be good for Claudette, now.’

  ‘Papa, don’t go! Please!’ squealed Michel, clinging to Pierre’s coat.

  ‘Papa must go. It won’t be long before I return for you.’ With a breaking heart, Pierre prised his son’s fingers away and left the cottage without looking back, praying silently that he would be able to keep his promise and return soon. When the mob failed to find them at the château or priest’s cottage, and found out where the children had been taken, surely they’d watch Claudette’s mother’s cottage? He and Catherine might have to go into exile alone. Pierre realised it might be a very long time before he’d see his children again.

  Chapter 25

  Lu

  Felix helpfully carried the bone he’d found in the little farm back to the château for me, as my aversion to bones meant I couldn’t bring myself to handle it.

  ‘What’s the dog got there?’ Phil said, as we came through the gate in the back of the garden. ‘A bone? Give it here, boy.’ He held out his hand and Felix obediently dropped the bone at Phil’s feet. He picked it up. ‘Hmm. A sheep’s femur, I’d say.’

  ‘Sheep?’

  ‘Most likely, if you found it up the mountain.’

  I stared at the bone. Had I honestly been hoping – or fearing? – that it might be human, and possibly belong to Catherine? I was daft. How could her remains have stayed undiscovered in that little farm building for over two hundred years? Of course it was the bone of some animal who’d taken shelter in there and then died. Probably in the last year or two.

  ‘Well, Felix was very proud of having found it,’ I said, but the dog had lost interest in it now, and was prancing around Clarabel, trying to provoke her into butting him.