“You wouldn’t have listened. Besides, she would have told you more lies to cover herself – but she can’t now, can she? She’s dying…”
“Get out of here!” Clothilde snatched up a heavy iron poker from the grate and advanced on him purposefully. “If I ever see you anywhere near this house again I’ll kill you. Do you hear me?”
He backed away from her. “I’m going. The things weren’t worth much anyway. We never got more than a few coins for them.”
“That’s because you were fools and allowed yourself to be cheated,” Clothilde said contemptuously. “You’ve stolen and wasted most of what she had, but that is finished. You will never set foot in this house again while I’m here.”
Betrand spat on the floor, and then turned and shuffled out of the room, farting loudly as if to defy her to the last. Clothilde waited until he had gone, then she went round the room collecting up the rest of the things she knew to be valuable. She would lock them away in her own room for safe keeping, in case he tried to come back during the night.
“Clothilde…” She heard the priest calling to her from upstairs and turned, her heart catching with fear. “Come now – at once.”
Still clutching her treasures, which she was determined that Betrand should not take from them; she walked up the stairs and into her grandmother’s bedroom. She was in time to see the priest going through the ritual of the last rites. As she glanced at the bed she saw that Grandmere’s eyes were open. Her hand moved feebly on the bedcover and Clothilde went to take it in her own, holding it gently.
Whatever love or kindness she had known in her strange, lonely life had come from this woman, and now she was dying. The tears inside her threatened to spill over, but pride made her hold them back.
“My…child,” the old woman whispered. “Forgive me….”
“There is nothing to forgive, Grandmere.”
“You do not know…come closer…” Clothilde bent towards her so that the whispery voice was for her ears alone. “The bottom drawer of my chest…for you…your heritage…”
“Rest now, Grandmere. Nothing matters…you always told me that…nothing but food in your belly and a warm place to sleep.”
“Wrong…I was selfish and wrong to deny you…” Grandmere’s hand moved in hers as though she was deeply distressed. “Forgive…”
The rattle of death was in her throat. Her hand slipped from Clothilde’s and her head fell to one side on the pillow.
Clothilde kissed her cheek, then turned and walked from the room as the priest bent over her grandmother to close her eyes. She was overcome with grief, and knew she must be alone or she would disgrace herself by weeping.
“Clothilde…” Father Caillebotte called to her but she was not listening to him. “We must talk…about the future. You cannot stay here alone, child…”
She ignored him, going first to her own room to hide her treasures where no one but she could find them, and then walking slowly down the stairs and out of the house. She was heading for the woods, for her garden. She could be alone there, and she could weep without shame.
Clothilde was not sure how long she sat by the garden weeping. It was bitterly cold, the sky dark with clouds that threatened rain, but she was not aware of feeling either cold or hunger. Her body and mind were numb with grief. Time had no meaning for her; life had no meaning at all. Always there had been Grandmere waiting at the house. As a small child she had gone to the old woman for comfort, sometimes receiving it, at others meeting with a blank stare. As a young woman she had returned to the house after her escape to the woods to care for her grandmother, gradually taking over all the work that the servants neglected.
Now there was no need to return ever. She could walk away from this place or stay here and die…what did it matter? Nothing mattered. Grandmere had always told her that, and she believed it.
And yet she was beginning to turn cold as night fell, and her stomach rumbled. She should go back to the house and find something to eat – if Betrand hadn’t stolen it all before he went. It was unlikely that he would go without something. She resigned herself to finding that the pantry shelves were empty when she got back.
“Why are you sitting here alone? Don’t you know that Father Caillebotte has been searching for you for hours?”
Clothilde was startled, her head shooting up as she searched for the source of that voice. The man came out of the trees as she jumped to her feet, ready to run like a frightened doe.
“You don’t have to be frightened of me. Surely you know that? I’ve watched you here many times, and I thought this was where you would be.”
“Who are you?” she asked. He was dressed in a robe similar to the one that Father Caillebotte wore, but a different colour, and she thought that he was learning to become a priest. She knew that Father Caillebotte sometimes had the young men to stay with him and help with his work…novice priests who had not yet entered the priesthood but were living in the community for a while before deciding finally to give their lives to God. “I don’t think I know you…”
“You do not remember. We played together once as children.”
“But you stopped coming…” Clothilde whispered. “I thought you were my friend, but you deserted me with no warning. I waited for you so many times, but you never came.”
“I was forbidden to speak to you by my father,” Andre replied. “He had been warned by the man who worked for your grandmother, and I dare not disobey him – and then I was sent away to school. I came back sometimes afterwards, after he died…”
“I am sorry your father died.”
He smiled and Clothilde’s heart missed a beat. How handsome he was, especially when he smiled like that.
“I cried then. I came here to the woods and wept alone – but then I went home. Crying alone does not help. Our only salvation is in God’s love.”
“I do not believe in God. I have prayed and prayed but He never answers my prayers. If He loves you, He does not love me.”
“You are wrong to think that,” Andre said gently. “God loves us all, child.”
“I am not a child!” Her eyes flashed with fire. “My name is Clothilde and I am almost seventeen…”
“A woman indeed,” he replied and there was a hint of laughter in his eyes. He was mocking her a little, she realized, but she did not mind. It was not like when Betrand mocked her. She liked it and it made her feel good inside. “Well, mademoiselle – you should return to the house. Father Caillebotte has sent one of his servants there to make things right for you. Food will be waiting.” He held out his hand to her. “Come – let me take you there.”
Clothilde hesitated and then reached out to take his hand. As his fingers closed over hers, something like a shock passed through her and her insides felt strange, but she did not let go. Instead she allowed him to lead her back through the woods, towards the house.
“Are you a priest?” she asked.
“I shall be very soon. I have been given two months to decide if it is what I truly wish for. I could have gone to a retreat to reflect and pray, but I chose to return here to work beside Father Caillebotte.”
“Is that why you came to look for me, because Father Caillebotte asked you?”
“No – I came because I remembered my friend and I knew you would be here.”
“I always come here when I am sad.”
“I have not forgotten. We never knew who made this garden, did we?”
“I discovered that her name was Fanchot, but I have not seen her for a long time. She used to come every week, and then one day she told me that it was for me to tend her garden now, so I have. I often wonder if she will come back one day.”
“Perhaps she is too ill or too old,” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” Clothilde agreed. “She gave me something that last day. It was a ring, heavy and made of gold I think. When I asked her why she had given it to me she would not tell me. She simply said she wanted me to have it. It is a valuable thing, and it has a
kind of a crest engraved on it and a stone set into the metal. It might be a ruby, I do not know for sure, though Grandmere had a little ruby brooch – until it was sold to buy food.”
“Was she a rich woman?” Andre was curious. “She must have been to give you such a ring.”
“No, I do not think she was rich,” Clothilde said thoughtfully. “I think she had very little. She told me that her husband was dead and that he would not have any use for the ring now. I suppose it must have belonged to him.”
“It was strange that she should give you her husband’s ring. She must have thought a lot of you, Clothilde.”
“I do not see why she should. We never spoke more than a few words, but she came always on the same day at the same time…until she stopped.”
“Have you never made any attempt to find out more about her or the ring?”
“She made me promise I wouldn’t try. I always intended to follow her home one day after her visit, but that would have meant breaking my promise. Grandmere said that one should never break a promise…” She broke off and stopped walking, a sob in her throat as she looked at him. “Please, do not come any further.”
“Will you promise me to go straight home and not do something silly?”
“Yes…” The sparkle of tears was in her eyes. “Thank you for coming to find me, Andre. No one has ever bothered about me before.”
His eyes were dark with some emotion she did not understand as he looked at her, and then he bent his head towards her and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Go with God,” he said huskily. “Father Caillebotte will take care of you if you let him. You should not stay in that place now, Clothilde. You should leave there and find a new life.”
“There is nothing to keep me here now. I think perhaps I shall go to Paris. Grandmere told me so much about Paris. She was happy there so I think I shall go there.”
“Paris is a big city,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully. “You will find it very different to living here, Clothilde. Why do you not let Father Caillebotte find you a place in a good house? It will be much better for you.”
“I do not wish to be a servant.”
“What else can you do? It is only a temporary thing. When you are older you will marry.”
Clothilde shook her head. “I can look after myself.”
“You must do as you wish, of course. But be careful, Clothilde. You are a beautiful young woman, and there are many perils in the world awaiting someone like you.”
“Beautiful…” She stared at him, astonished that he should say such a thing. “Am I really pretty?”
“Pretty? No, I said beautiful, Clothilde. You have something special about you, and it is because of that that I warn you to take care. You are still a child but you seem to be a woman, and that is a dangerous combination.”
She stared at him for a moment longer, then she laughed. “I am not so innocent as you might imagine. I know what Blanche and Betrand used to get up to – he made a noise like a stuck pig when he did it to her and she was nearly as bad.”
“You should not talk like that, it isn’t nice or decent. You have been brought up as a good Catholic girl, and Father Caillebotte would be disappointed in you.”
Her face fell as she saw the disapproval in his eyes and she wanted to cry, to make him smile at her the way he had earlier.
“I was just telling you the truth because you were worried about me. I shall never let a man do anything like that to me – it’s horrible.”
“As you have witnessed it, yes,” he agreed with a little smile. “But the act of love can be beautiful…”
Could she hear a wistful note in his voice? Clothilde thought he looked at her oddly, but then he turned from her and went striding off the way he had come.
“Goodbye, Andre,” she called after him. “Thank you for coming to look for me. I shall never forget you.”
He did not turn or make any sign that he had heard her. She wondered if she had made him angry at her coarseness over what Blanche and Betrand had done together, but she had only been trying to set his mind at rest.
Her stomach rumbled. She must see if there was anything left to eat in the house, and then she would look in Grandmere’s chest…
Chapter Eight
England 1945
Jack arrived as the family were having tea in the drawing room that afternoon, loaded with gifts. He presented Beth with flowers and, in these days of rationing, a rare box of Cadburys chocolates; for Henry there was a bottle of good scotch and for Helene and Christine wrapped presents that turned out to be nylon stockings.
“Oh, these are wonderful,” Christine exclaimed. “So much nicer than silk – and the pair you gave me before lasted ages. I was forever having to have my silk ones invisibly mended.”
“Are you a magician?” Beth asked her brother with an affectionate smile. “Or had we better not ask where these came from?”
“I have some useful American connections.”
“I dare say,” Henry muttered, giving his son a dark look.
Jack was always a welcome visitor at Penhallows. As a youngster he’d been restless and seemed unlikely to settle to anything but as the years passed he had found his own niche within the family business. He had inherited his father’s instinct for making money along with an increasing tendency to look like him – but there the resemblance ended.
As Henry was fond of saying to his daughter, “That brother of yours always has a beautiful woman in tow. Can’t see him ever wanting to settle down.”
“I don’t need an heir,” Jack had said on several occasions when Beth pressed him on the subject. “I have Harry and Christine. They will visit me when I’m in my dotage and bring their children – and if I haven’t spent the lot by then they will inherit my money.”
However, the arrival of the French girl had made Henry revise his opinion. Was his son going to break the habit of a lifetime and actually commit to a relationship? If so it was rather a shame it had to be this girl.
Henry had discovered that he was irritated by the French woman’s attitude. She was too independent for his liking, too hard. He wondered what had made her that way – her experiences in the war?
She had suffered, of course, but there was something about her at times that made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure that helping airmen to escape to England fitted in with her cool, reserved image.
He had questioned her once or twice about her time with the French Resistance. Henry knew more than most about that subject, having had some contact with a similar group just after the Great War, but he hadn’t been able to trip her up. Her story was smooth, almost practised, as if she had memorised every word by heart. Some of it was undoubtedly true. He had managed to check her details with the charity that had looked after her when she’d arrived in England – but what wasn’t she telling them? He was sure there was something.
Helene glanced across the room and caught him looking at her. She was laughing at something Jack had just said to her, but for a moment the laughter died out of her face.
“Are you looking so cross because we used all the petrol coupons you left here for Beth?” she tossed her head defiantly as she turned to Jack. “Simon has been teaching me to drive – just around the estate. You must bring Beth some more coupons or she won’t let me drive her car any more.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Jack gave her an indulgent smile. “I might find you an old wreck you can drive as you please – if you’re good.”
Helene glanced at Henry for a moment, a look of triumph on her face. It was if she were daring him to voice his thoughts aloud – to unmask her. He wondered what it was about her that had made him uneasy. After all, she was no better or worse than some of the other girls Jack had escorted over the years.
Henry turned his head to look at Beth and Christine. Beth was wearing that slightly anxious, unhappy look she had worn almost permanently since her husband’s death. He hadn’t particularly liked his son-in-law, bu
t it grieved him that Beth should be a widow so young. She deserved more from life than this.
Christine was trying to appear indifferent to what was going on around her. Before Helene’s arrival Jack’s attention would have been centred on her. She had lost a devoted uncle and the man she believed herself in love with; it was a damned shame and Henry felt like banging Simon and Jack’s heads together. Couldn’t they see they were making fools of themselves over a girl who couldn’t give a damn?
And she didn’t really want either of them. Henry wasn’t sure what made Helene Picard tick, but he was pretty certain she wouldn’t shed any tears over these two. The worst of it was that Simon had sensed Jack’s interest in her and was goading him, hinting at the closeness of the relationship he had with her, as though he wanted to see how far he could push it. As for Jack – he was like a dog snarling over a bone. And Christine looked close to tears.
The whole thing was like a powder keg ready to explode, Henry thought. Helene would have to be got rid of, though it wouldn’t do to rush at it like a bull at a gate. Henry knew Beth thought she owed the girl something, but he was damned if he was going to put up with this for long!
Helene owned the cottage in Cromer now that her mother was dead. She could live there or sell it and use the money as she liked. Just as long as she was out of this house by the end of the summer. He would have to give her that long for Beth’s sake, but personally he couldn’t wait to see the back of her…
Christine paused outside her mother’s sitting room as she heard the voices from inside. Obviously there was a visitor, so perhaps she ought not to intrude, though Beth had asked her to when she’d finished helping out in the garden that morning. She knocked and opened the door, peering round it hesitantly.
“Am I too soon, Mummy?” she asked and then smiled as she saw who their visitor was. “Hello, Mr. Crane. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Crane was just telling me about an idea he has for the village hall,” Beth told her. “Apparently there are two old cottages needing repair that could be knocked into one and restored to make an attractive centre that we could use for all our events. He thinks I could get them for what the council are giving me for the land, and it would be much cheaper than starting from scratch with a new building.”
Chateau Despair Page 10
