King of the Castle

by Виктория Холт

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you. You can always ring if you want anything.”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  She went out noiselessly, and I turned to the pictures, but I was too disturbed to work seriously. This was a strange household. The girl was impossible. What next? The Comte and the Comtesse? What should I find them like? And the girl was ill-mannered, selfish and cruel. And to have discovered this in five minutes of her company was disconcerting. What sort of environment, what sort of upbringing had produced such a creature?

  I looked at those walls with their priceless neglected pictures and in those few moments I thought: Perhaps the wisest thing would be to leave first thing in the morning. I might apologize to Monsieur de la Talle, agree that I had been wrong to come, and leave.

  I had wanted to escape from a fate which I knew, since my encounter with Mademoiselle Dubois (Splinters, poor thing), could be quite terrible. I had so desperately wanted to continue with work I loved; and because of that I had come here under false pretences and laid myself open to insult.

  I was so firmly convinced that I must go that I almost believed some instinct was warning me to do so. In that case I would not tempt myself by studying these pictures further. I would go to the room they had given me, and try to rest in preparation for the long journey back tomorrow.

  I walked towards the door and as I turned the handle it refused to move. Oddly enough in those seconds I felt

  a real panic. I could have imagined that I was a prisoner, that I could not escape if I wanted to; and then it seemed as though the very walls were closing in on me.

  My hand was limp on the handle and the door opened. Philippe de la Talle was standing outside. Now I under stood that the reason I couldn’t open it was that he had been on the point of coming in.

  Perhaps, I thought, they don’t trust me here. Perhaps someone always has to be with me in case I attempt to steal something. That was absurd, I knew, and it was unlike me to think illogically. But I had had scarcely any sleep for two nights and was deeply concerned about my future. It was understandable that I was not quite myself.

  “You were on the point of leaving, mademoiselle?”

  “I was going to my room. There seems no point in remaining. I have decided to leave tomorrow. I must thank you for your hospitality and I am sorry to have troubled you. I should not have come.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You have changed your mind? It is because you think the repairs beyond your capacity?”

  I flushed angrily.

  “By no means,” I said.

  “These pictures have been badly neglected criminally neglected … from an artist’s point of view that is but I have restored far worse. I merely feel that my presence is resented in this place and that it would be better for you to find someone … of your own sex since that seems to be important to you.”

  “My dear Mademoiselle Lawson,” he said almost gently, ‘everything rests with my cousin to whom the pictures belong . to whom everything in the chateau belongs. He will be back within a few days. “

  “Nevertheless I think I should leave in the morning. I can repay you for your hospitality by giving you an estimate for restoring one of the pictures in the gallery which you will find useful when engaging someone else.”

  “I fear,” he said, ‘that my niece has been rude to you.

  My cousin will be annoyed with me if he does not see you. You should not take any notice of the girl. She’s quite ungovernable, when her father is away. He is the only one who can put fear into her. “

  I thought to myself then: I believe you are afraid of him too. And I was filled with almost as great a desire to see the Comte as I was to work on his pictures.

  “Mademoiselle, will you stay for a few days and at least hear what my cousin has to say?”

  I hesitated, then I said: “Very well, I will stay.”

  He seemed relieved.

  “I shall go to my room now. I realize I am too tired to work satisfactorily today. Tomorrow I will make a thorough study of the pictures in this gallery and when your cousin returns I shall have a clear estimate to give him.”

  “Excellent,” he said, and stood aside for me to pass.

  As soon as it was light next morning, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, I arose exhilarated. I intended to have a look at the chateau grounds and perhaps explore the neighbourhood. I wanted to see the little town, for the old church had struck me as being about the same period as the chateau; and no doubt the hotel de ville was as ancient.

  I had had dinner in my room yesterday evening and it had been excellent. Soon afterwards I had gone to bed and slept immediately.

  Now the morning brought optimism with it.

  I washed and dressed and rang for breakfast. The hot coffee, home-made crusty bread and butter which arrived almost immediately were delicious.

  As I ate I thought of the events of yesterday and they no longer seemed as strange as they had the previous night. I had yet to discover what sort of household this was; all I knew at present was that it was an unusual one. There was Cousin Philippe, in charge during the absence of the master and mistress; a spoilt girl who behaved badly when

  her father was absent no doubt because when he was there she was in such awe of him; there was the weak and ineffectual governess and poor grey old Nounou, the nurse who had no more control over her than the governess had. Apart from that there was Joseph the groom and numerous servants, male and female, necessary to care for such a vast establishment. There was nothing unusual in such a household; and yet I had sensed mystery. Was it the manner in which everyone who had mentioned him had spoken of the Comte? He was the only one whom the girl feared. Everyone was in awe of him. Everything depended on him.

  Certainly whether or not I stayed did.

  I made my way to the gallery, where I enjoyed a peaceful morning examining the pictures and making detailed notes of the damage to each one. It was a fascinating task and I was astonished how quickly the morning passed. I forgot about the household in my absorption, and was astonished when a maid knocked at the door and announced that it was twelve o’clock and that she would bring dejeuner to my room if I wished.

  I found that I was hungry and said that would be very agreeable. I packed up my papers and went back to my room, where the maid served me with a delicious soup, followed by meat and salad, in its turn followed by cheese and fruit. I wondered if I should eat alone in my room all the time I was here that was if I met with the approval of Monsieur Ie Comte. I was beginning to think of him as Monsieur Ie Comte and to say his name to myself with a kind of mockery.

  “Others may be afraid of you, Monsieur Ie Comte, but you will find I am not.”

  The afternoon was not a good time for working, I had always found; besides, I needed a little exercise. I could not, of course, explore the castle itself without permission, but I could look at the grounds and the countryside.

  I had no difficulty in finding my way down to the court yard to which

  Joseph had brought me, but instead of going out to the drawbridge I crossed the loggia connecting the main building with a part of the chateau which had been built at a later date and passing through another courtyard I found my way to the south side of the castle. Here were the gardens, and, I thought grimly, if Monsieur Ie Comte neglects his pictures he does not his gardens, for obviously great care was bestowed on them.

  Before me lay three terraces. On the first of these were lawns and fountains, and I imagined that during the spring the flowers were exquisite; even now, in autumn, they were colourful. I walked along a stone path to the second terrace; here, laid out with parterres, were ornamental gardens, each separated from the next by box hedges and yews neatly clipped into various shapes, predominant among them the fleur-delis. Typical, I thought, of Monsieur Ie Comte! On the lowest of the terraces was the kitchen-garden, but even this was ornamental, neatly divided into squares and rectangles, some separated from each other by trellises a
bout which vines climbed; and the whole was bordered by fruit trees.

  The place was deserted. I guessed that the workers were taking a siesta, for even at this time of the year the sun was hot. At three o’clock they would be back at work and continue until dark. There must be many of them to keep the place in such good order.

  I was standing under the fruit trees when I heard a voice calling:

  “Miss! Miss!” and turning saw Genevieve running towards me.

  “I saw you from my window,” she said. She laid her hand on my arm and pointed to the chateau.

  “You see that window right at the top there that’s mine. It’s part of the nurseries.” She grimaced. She had spoken in English.

  “I learned that off by heart,” she explained, ‘just to show you I could. Now let’s talk in French. “

  She looked different now, calm, serene, a little mischievous perhaps,

  but more as one would expect a well-brought up, fourteen-year-old girl to look, and I realized that I was seeing Genevieve without one of her moods.

  “If you wish,” I replied in that language.

  “Well, I should like to speak to you in English, but as you pointed out, mine is not very good, is it?”

  “Your accent and intonation made it almost unintelligible. I suspect you have a fair vocabulary.”

  “Are you a governess?”

  “I am certainly not.”

  “Then you ought to be. You’d make a good one.” She laughed aloud.

  “Then you wouldn’t have to go round under false pretences, would you?”

  I said coolly: “I am going for a walk. I will say good bye to you.”

  “Oh, no, don’t. I came down to talk to you. First I have to say I’m sorry. I was rude, wasn’t I? And you were very cool… but then you have to be, don’t you? It’s what one expects of the English.”

  “I am half-French,” I said.

  “That accounts for the spirit in you. I saw you were really angry. It was only your voice that was cold. Inside you were angry, now weren’t you?”

  “I was naturally surprised that a girl of your obvious education could be so impolite to a guest in your father’s house.”

  “But you weren’t a guest, remember. You were there under…”

  “There is no point in continuing this conversation. I accept your apology and now I will leave you.”

  “But I came down specially to talk to you.”

  “But I came down to walk.”

  “Why shouldn’t we walk together?”

  “I did not invite you to accompany me.”

  “Well, my father didn’t invite you to Gaillard, did he, but you came.”

  She added hastily: “And I’m glad you came … so perhaps you’ll be glad if I come with you.”

  She was trying to make amends, and it was not for me to be churlish, so I smiled.

  “You’re prettier when you smile,” she said.

  “Well,” she put her head on one side, ‘not exactly pretty. But you look younger. “

  “We all look more pleasant when we smile. It is something you might remember.”

  Her laughter was high and quite spontaneous. I found myself joining in and laughing at myself. She was pleased and so was I to have her company; for I was almost as interested in people as I was in pictures. Father had tried to curb that interest. He called it idle curiosity but it was strong in me and perhaps I had been wrong to suppress it.

  Now I was eager for Genevieve’s company. I had seen her once in a mood and now as a lively but extremely curious girl; but who was I to criticize curiosity, who had more than my fair share of it?

  “So,” she said, ‘we’ll go for a walk together and I will show you what you want to see. “

  “Thank you. That will be very pleasant.”

  She laughed again.

  “I hope you will enjoy being here, miss. Suppose I talk to you in English, will you speak slowly so that I can understand?”

  “Certainly.”

  “And not laugh if I say something silly?”

  “Certainly I shall not laugh. I admire your desire to improve your English.”

  She was smiling again and I knew that she was thinking how like a governess I was.

  “I am not very good,” she said.

  “They are all afraid of me.

  “I don’t think they are afraid of you. They are perhaps distressed and disgusted by the unbecoming way in which you sometimes behave.”

  This amused her but she was serious almost immediately.

  “Were you afraid of your father?” she asked, lapsing into French. I sensed that because she was interested in the subject she must speak in the language easier to her.

  “No,” I replied.

  “I was in awe of him, perhaps.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “One can respect people, admire them, look up to them, fear to offend them. It is not the same as being afraid of them.”

  “Let’s go on talking in French. This conversation is too interesting for English.”

  She is afraid of her father, I thought. What sort of a man is he to inspire fear in her? She was an odd child wayward, perhaps violent; and he was to blame, of course. But what of the mother what part had she played in this strange child’s upbringing?

  “So you weren’t really afraid of your father?”

  “No. Are you afraid of yours?”

  She didn’t answer, but I noticed that a haunted expression had come into her eyes.

  I said quickly: “And … your mother?”

  She turned to me then.

  “I will take you to my mother.”

  “What?”

  “I said I would take you to her.”

  “She is in the chateau?”

  “I know where she is. I’ll take you to her. Will you come?”

  “Why, yes. Certainly. I shall be delighted to meet her.”

  “Very well. Come on.”

  She went ahead of me. Her dark hair was neatly tied back with a blue ribbon and perhaps it was the way of dressing it which so changed her appearance. Her head was set arrogantly on sloping shoulders; her neck was long and graceful. I thought: She will be a beautiful woman.

  I wondered whether the Comtesse was like her; then I began rehearsing

  what I would say to her. I must put my case clearly to her. Perhaps she as a woman would feel less prejudiced against my work.

  Genevieve halted and came to walk beside me.

  “I’m two different people, am I not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are two sides to my character.”

  “We all have many sides to our character.”

  “But mine is different. Other people’s characters are all of a piece.

  I am two distinct people. “

  “Who told you this?”

  “Nounou. She says I’m Gemini-that means I have two different faces.

  My birthday is in June. “

  “That is a fantasy. Everyone who is born in June is not like you.”

  “It is not fantasy. You saw how horrid I was yesterday. That was the bad me. Today I’m different. I’m good. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

  “I hope you were sorry.”

  “I said I was, and I shouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

  “Then when you are being foolish remember that you’ll be sorry afterwards and don’t be foolish.”

  “Yes,” she said, ‘you should be a governess. They always make everything sound so easy. I can’t help being horrid. I just am. “

  “Everyone can help the way he or she behaves.”

  “It’s in the stars. It’s fate. You can’t go against fate.”

  Now I saw where the trouble lay. This temperamental girl was in the hands of a silly old woman and another who was half scared out of her wits; in addition there was the father who terrified her. But there was the mother, of course. It would be interesting to meet her.

  Perhaps she too was
in awe of the Comte. Most assuredly this was so since everyone else was. I pictured her a gentle creature, afraid to go against him. He was becoming more and more a monster with every fresh piece of information.

  “You can be exactly as you wish to be,” I said.

  “It is absurd to tell yourself you have two characters and then try to live up to the unpleasant one.”

  “I don’t try. It just happens.”

  Even as I spoke I despised myself. It was always so easy to solve other people’s troubles. She was young and at times seemed childish for her age. If we could become friends I might be able to help her.

  “I am eager to meet your mother,” I said; she did not answer but ran on ahead of me.

  I followed her through the trees but she was more fleet than I and not so encumbered by her skirts. I lifted mine and ran but I lost sight of her.

  I stood still. The trees were thicker here and I was in a small copse.

  I was not sure which way I had entered it and as I had no idea in which direction Genevieve had gone I felt suddenly lost. It was one of those moments such as I had experienced in the gallery when I had been unable to open the door. A strange feeling as though panic were knocking, gently as yet, on my mind.

  How absurd to feel so in broad daylight! The girl was tricking me. She had not changed. She had deluded me into thinking that she was sorry; her conversation had almost amounted to a cry for help and it was all a game, a pretence.

  Then I heard her calling: “Miss! Miss, where are you? This way.”

  “I’m coming,” I said and went in the direction of her voice.

  She appeared among the trees.

  “I thought I’d lost you.” She took my hand as though she feared I would escape from her and we went on until after a short time the trees were less thick and then stopped abruptly. Before us was an open space in which the grasses grew long.

  I saw at once that the monuments erected there were to the dead and guessed we were in the graveyard of the de la Talles.

  I understood. Her mother was dead. She was going to show me where she was buried. And she called this introducing me to her mother.

  I felt shocked and a little alarmed. She was indeed a strange girl.

  “All the de la Talles come here when they die,” she said solemnly.