Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  “I liked them as soon as I saw them,” said Sophie.

  “They arrived in the early hours of the morning. What a day that was!” My mother went on talking quickly. “I was so delighted… and then I looked for Charlot.”

  Dickon said: “He is doing what he wanted to do. You can’t stop people doing that, you know, Lottie. He’s got to live his own life.”

  “What will become of him?”

  “Charlot will do well,” said Dickon. “He’s that sort. He’ll soon rise to be a general in that rabble, you’ll see.”

  David said dryly: “It seems to be doing surprisingly well for a rabble army.”

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Dickon. “A surprise for us all. They’ve got some fight in them, those rebels. The French have always been excellent soldiers. I will say that for them.”

  He was looking at Lottie tenderly. He would never feel the same for his sons as she did for hers. Dickon was too self-centred; he was not the man to form sentimental attachments. That was why his obsession with my mother was so remarkable; and all the more intense, I supposed, because his affections were not divided.

  “Oh yes,” he went on, “Charlot has found his niche in the world—and his shadow Louis Charles with him. When this stupid war is over, when these bloodthirsty citizens of the Republic settle down, when sanity returns to France, reality will come with it. Then, Lottie, my love, you and I will pay a visit to France. We shall be graciously received by Monsieur le Général, sporting all the medals he has won… and you’ll be very proud of him.”

  “Dickon, you are absurd. But you’re right. He does know how to take care of himself.”

  They had taken the soup away and we were now being served with the roast beef.

  “The roast beef of old England!” said Jonathan. “Nothing like it. How I have longed for it.” He pressed a little closer to me. “…among other things.”

  “Nothing like an absence from the old country to increase one’s appreciation of it,” commented Dickon.

  Aunt Sophie spoke little English and the conversation at the table was half English, half French. Jonathan’s French was like his father’s—extremely anglicised.

  I said: “I wonder how you ever got along over there.”

  He put his fingers to his lips and my mother said laughingly: “Do you think Jonathan would be defeated by a mere language? He’d override such obstacles. He’s like his father.”

  Jonathan and Dickon looked at each other and laughed. There was a rapport between them which was lacking between Dickon and David. I supposed this was because they were so much alike.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in the nursery suite,” said David to Sophie. He understood French very well indeed and spoke it moderately well, but his accent and intonation did not make him readily understood. I imagined that now Aunt Sophie was with us he would want to put that right. I smiled indulgently. He would want to practise his French with me. That was typical of him. He always wanted to master any intellectual exercise. Jonathan was the same with those matters which interested him, so they were alike in some ways. Jonathan, however, would never concern himself with such matters as perfecting himself in a language.

  Sophie said: “Yes, thank you. I am comfortable. Those rooms suit my needs.”

  Her mood was one of aloofness. I saw what she meant. The nursery was apart from the rest of the house just as her quarters in the Chateau d’Aubigné had been and her great desire had been to set herself apart from the rest of the family. I think that was why she always made me feel that there was something not quite normal about her.

  “It is perhaps temporary,” she went on.

  “Temporary?” I cried, “Oh, Aunt Sophie, are you thinking of staying only a short time in England?”

  “No. I must stay here. There is no place for me or for Jeanne in France. We accept that.” She looked at Jonathan. “Oh, I am grateful… very grateful. We could not have gone on living like that for ever. It was necessary that we leave, and we could never have done so but for the daring of Messieurs Jonathan, your brother and Louis Charles.”

  Jonathan inclined his head.

  “They were very clever… very resourceful. Jeanne and I are forever grateful. But we are not penniless. You looked surprised, Claudine. But we are far from penniless. Jeanne has been very clever. We have brought a fortune out of France.”

  “A fortune!” I cried.

  All eyes were on Sophie. There was a faint flush in her cheeks. She said: “Jeanne is farsighted. She saw this coming. For a long time before the revolution came she had been collecting the jewels together… hiding them. She was good with her needle; she sewed them into our clothes… rings, brooches… pendants… all the priceless gems which I had inherited from my mother… jewels which had been in the family for generations. They are very valuable. We have them here safely. Monsieur Dickon has examined them. Monsieur Jonathan also. They assure me that I have enough to live on in comfort… affluence enough… for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s wonderful!” I cried. “Clever, clever Jeanne.”

  “She is more than clever,” said my mother, with tears in her eyes. “She is a good woman.”

  “Dear Step-mama,” said Jonathan lightly, “you speak as though a good woman is something of a phenomenon.”

  “Anyone as good and selfless as Jeanne—man or woman—is a rare creature,” said my mother.

  “David, isn’t that wonderful?” I said.

  “It must have been very risky,” replied David, “not only getting out of France, but bringing a fortune with you.”

  “I like risks,” said Jonathan. “You know that, brother.”

  “But such a risk!”

  Dickon was looking at his son with approval. He, too, loved risks; he too would have brought that fortune out of France.

  “I shall find a house,” said Sophie.

  “That should not be difficult,” I put in.

  “Somewhere near perhaps. Neither Jeanne nor I speak the language well, and we should feel safer under the protection of Eversleigh.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea!” I cried. “Then we can visit frequently. That’s if you invite us.”

  She gave me a rather tender look. “I shall ask you to come to see me, Claudine,” she said.

  “There, my dear,” said Jonathan again, touching my hand. “You are honoured.”

  “We shall all visit you,” said my mother.

  “Are there any houses near here?” said Sophie.

  “The two nearest are Grasslands and Enderby. Grasslands is occupied, but Enderby is empty,” I said.

  “Enderby!” cried my mother. “Claudine, you’re surely not suggesting Enderby!”

  “I just said it was empty.”

  “It’s a gruesome sort of house,” said my mother.

  “Only because of the shrubs which grow round it,” pointed out David.

  “It has an evil reputation,” said my mother.

  Dickon and Jonathan laughed. “You are fanciful, Lottie,” said Dickon.

  “No. I think this happens to houses.”

  “Is it for sale?” asked Sophie.

  “I am sure it is,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Dickon, “the key is at Grasslands. That’s the nearest house.”

  “David and I went in there a little while ago,” I said. “Didn’t we, David?”

  “Oh? Did you get the keys?” asked Dickon.

  “No. A latch was broken on one of the windows and we climbed through into the hall.”

  “Such adventurous spirits!” said Dickon ironically.

  “It’s a grim old place, Aunt Sophie,” I said.

  “I tell you it is just a matter of cutting down the shrubs and letting in the light,” explained David. “I am sure that would make a world of difference.”

  “I should like to look at it,” said Sophie.

  “At least,” said my mother almost grudgingly, “it would be near us. And, as you said, you would not want to be too far away.”


  “Perhaps tomorrow I shall look. I shall take Jeanne with me. She will know.”

  “Oh dear,” said my mother lightly, “are you so eager to leave us?”

  “I do not wish to encroach…” replied Sophie.

  “My dear Sophie, we are overjoyed to have you.”

  Sabrina, who had appeared to be dozing, suddenly said: “Enderby is a strange house. But when my mother was mistress of it, it was a very happy house. It was only after she died that it became morbid again.”

  “Well, you know the old house better than any of us,” said my mother. She turned to Sophie. “Dickon’s mother was born there. She lived her childhood there. So she can tell you what you want to know about it.”

  A glazed look came over Sabrina’s eyes. “It is so long ago,” she said. “Oh years and years and yet sometimes I remember those days more clearly than what happened yesterday.”

  “I look forward to seeing this house,” said Sophie. “I will talk to Jeanne, and tomorrow, if that is possible, we will see it.”

  “We could send over to Grasslands for the key,” said my mother.

  “May I come with you?” I asked eagerly. “I should love to have a good look at the house.”

  “Won’t it be rather tame going in through the front door after climbing through the window?” asked Jonathan.

  “It is really something of an adventure setting foot in that house.”

  So it was arranged.

  Dinner was over and my mother said: “Sabrina is very tired. I shall take her to her room. And I daresay Sophie would like to retire also, wouldn’t you, my dear?”

  Sophie said she would.

  “Claudine will take you up.”

  “I can find my own way,” said Sophie.

  I went to her and laid my hand on her arm. “Please, I should love to see Jeanne again.”

  Sophie gave me that rather special smile which I noticed she rarely gave to anyone else, and we went up the stairs together.

  Jeanne was waiting for her in the nursery rooms. “Jeanne,” I said, “how good to see you!”

  She grasped my hand and I studied her intently. There were grey strands in her dark hair. She had lived through much stress and strain.

  “Mademoiselle Claudine,” she said, “I am happy to be here and have Mademoiselle Sophie safe.”

  “Yes, your ordeal must have been terrible.”

  Jeanne nodded to me meaningfully. “You are tired,” she said to Sophie.

  “A little,” admitted Sophie.

  “Then I shall say good night,” I said. “If there is anything you need…”

  “Your mother has taken good care of us,” Jeanne told me.

  “I have heard of a house,” said Sophie to Jeanne.

  “I will leave you to talk about it,” I said. “Don’t get too hopeful. Enderby isn’t everyone’s home.”

  Then I said good night and left them.

  On the way down I met my mother on her way from Sabrina’s room. She put an arm round me and held me close to her.

  “I am so glad you are back… and happy. Oh yes, I can see you are happy. It was wonderful in London, wasn’t it? You with David…”

  “It was perfect,” I told her.

  “What a pity you had to cut it short.”

  “I couldn’t really see why.”

  “Dickon is deeply involved with… affairs. I worry sometimes. He has secrets… even from me. I think the death of the Queen will have some important effect on things over here. In any case, you and David can go back to London later.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you think of Sophie?”

  “She was always a little… strange.”

  “I thought she seemed more—friendly… more shall I say—normal. She must have suffered a great deal.”

  “I suppose all that would change anyone. Wasn’t it wonderful about the jewels?”

  “It was a terrible risk. However, you’ll hear about it. We don’t want to go through it all in front of Sophie. Jonathan will tell you all about it.”

  The men were in the punch room, where a fire was burning in the fireplace. They rose as we entered.

  “Come and sit down,” said Dickon. “Unless you are tired.”

  “I’d like to talk a little,” I said. “There is so much to hear about.”

  Jonathan had come swiftly to my side; he laid a hand on my arm. “Come and sit down,” he said; and I sat between him and David. My mother took the chair opposite Dickon.

  “I didn’t want to talk too much in front of Sophie,” said my mother. “It must have been a nightmare she has been living through all this time. Just think of it. Day in, day out… never knowing when the mob would turn against them. Jonathan, do tell Claudine and David the story you have told us.”

  “I had better start at the beginning,” he said. “We had already made arrangements for getting across when we left the house that day and made our way to the coast where the boat was ready waiting for us. It was a fishing boat and the owner was doing a very brisk business with émigrés. He was able to change our money into French currency, and there was a small rowing boat in which we were taken ashore at a very lonely spot on a dark moonless night.

  “So we were there. Charlot was quite ingenious. He is a good actor. He transformed himself into a small trader with a cart—which we managed to acquire, with a horse, not very handsome in appearance but a strong creature of whom we all became very fond. Louis Charles and I were the servants. I was of a lower grade posing as dumb, as I was unable to speak the language proficiently. They were afraid for me to open my mouth, which they said would have given the whole show away.

  “We made a slow journey to Aubigné, encountering difficulty after difficulty. I could not keep up the dumb act, so they thought my French might be mistaken for a patois. I was to be a native of the country in the south, right on the Spanish border, which was to be the reason why I spoke so badly. You’d be shocked if you could see the place, Step-mama. There are chickens running all over the lawns, the flowerbeds are overgrown and the pools full of stagnant water. I never saw it in its grandeur, but there was just enough of an outline left to show me how splendid it must have been.”

  “It was splendid,” put in Dickon. “All that good land… gone to waste. The stupid vandals! They will ruin their country.”

  “Well,” went on Jonathan, “our big disappointment came when we reached the château, for neither Sophie nor Jeanne was in residence. We dared not ask for them and we were in a quandary then. Charlot did not want to go too far away—and in any case we did not know where to go. But he was afraid he might be known and recognized if he went to an inn in the town, despite his disguise. Louis Charles also felt that. So I went to the wine shops there. I would sit about drinking and listening to the talk… not saying much and pretending to be a little foolish and not understanding what they were talking about. They were quite tolerant of me.”

  “It is always a good thing to act the fool,” said David. “It makes others feel superior, and that is what they enjoy.”

  “Well, I did quite well really. There was a girl who served the wine. What was her name? Marie… that’s it. She took pity on me and used to talk to me. I marked her down. I could discover a good deal from her, I believed. I could ask her what I dared not ask the others. I did rather well with Marie. I would creep out of the wine shop and join the others, who were sleeping in the cart. In time I got Marie to talk to me about the old days and the family at the château. What scandals I heard, dear Step-mama!”

  “There are always scandals about people like my father.”

  “It seems he was quite good at making it. I heard about his romantic marriage with your mother and how she died. That was shocking. I plied Marie with the grape and finally I discovered that Armand had died and they had buried him at the château. His companion had left, so there were only three women at the château then.

  “They were suspicious of them. How did they live? Mademoiselle Sop
hie was a kind of invalid but she was an aristocrat… and Jeanne and the old housekeeper were a smart pair. They must have held something back… and what were they doing anyway living with an aristocrat!

  “Someone must have warned Jeanne that feelings were rising against them and she decided to move on, and one day it was discovered that there was no one at the château. How long they had been gone, no one was sure. Where had they gone? I wondered. Marie was a well-informed girl. She could guess there were two places to which they might have gone. The old housekeeper who was known as Tante Berthe had a family somewhere in the country. And Jeanne Fougère came from the Dordogne district. She was a secretive person but Marie remembered that one day someone had come from Périgord, and had seen Jeanne when she was shopping and had asked her name. When this person had been told that she was Jeanne Fougère who looked after a sick woman at the château, he said he thought he had recognized her for he knew the Fougère family who lived in Périgord.

  “That was the best clue we could get, so we left for the south at once, driving the poor old horse over those rough roads, for we had to keep well away from the towns. Few showed any interest in us, so I suppose we looked like good old compatriots. Charlot sung the ‘Marseillaise’ with fervour and I learned to sing it with ‘Ça Ira.’ These are the great songs of the revolution and a knowledge of them is considered by the peasants necessary to a good patriot.

  “I won’t dwell on the details now, but I can tell you we had many a narrow escape. There were many occasions when we almost betrayed ourselves—and how near we came to disaster! It is very hard for an aristocrat—and Charlot is one if ever there was one—not to assume an air of superiority at times. I do believe I played my part with distinction—the half-witted loony from some vague spot in the south where they spoke a patois almost unrecognizable to good citizens of the République. It was easier for me than for Charlot.

  “After many vicissitudes which I shall recall later—if any of you should be desirous of hearing them—we tracked down the good Jeanne’s family. There was only a brother and sister left in the little farmhouse. They had taken in the wandering jewel-laden pair and tried to make a good little peasant out of Sophie—not with any great success, and there they were.