They might laugh and accept Lord Waterforde’s obsession with titles.
But the moment must come first when she and the Duc parted.
What would Lord Waterforde say then?
However, they had been so lucky that everything had gone so well.
At least she did not have Judy in tears and she could only pray that nothing would happen until Judy was safely married to Clive and settled into their dream house at Newmarket.
The Vicomte also thought that he would be de trop while the Duc and Lord Waterforde discussed their future plans.
“I would like to go to Arles,” he said, “If you will let me have a carriage to take me there. There is a very good saddler near the Cathedral. I want one or two items that I can buy better in Arles than I can buy anywhere else.”
The Duc ordered a chaise for the Vicomte to drive himself, which he knew he would enjoy.
Then with a customary flurry, they set off.
The Duc led the way to the stables where Lord Waterforde was to be very impressed by his horses.
Celita went to the morning room, which was especially at the disposal of visiting guests. It is where they could snooze if they wanted to be quiet or write their letters.
She sat down at an exquisite inlaid writing desk, which she guessed had been made in the reign of Louis XIV.
The Duc had heavily embossed writing paper with his crest on it in red and, as she picked up the pen, Celita knew that she must tell her mother everything that had happened.
She started from the moment she had left the school.
She had written half-a-dozen sheets on both sides and still had a lot to say when a maid came into the room.
She was a maid who had occasionally waited on Celita since she had been at the château and she had noticed her particularly because, whenever she could, she spoke in English.
“Have you been to England, Françoise?” she asked.
“No, my Lady,” the maid had replied, “but I very anxious do so.”
Celita thought that it was intelligent of her to try to learn English and she had therefore spoken to her in that language whenever she appeared.
It was, however, unusual for the maids to come down to the ground floor, as, when there was a message, it was always brought by a footman.
Françoise came to stand near the desk as Celita finished the sentence she was writing and raised her head.
“What is it, Françoise?” she asked.
“There a lady to see you, my Lady,” Françoise replied in French.
“A lady!” Celita exclaimed. “Who can it be?”
“Someone very anxious meet you, my Lady, and ask if you’ll be very kind and speak with her. She has something very important to tell you.”
Celita could not think what this could possibly be or who could be calling to see her personally.
“Did the lady give a name?” she enquired.
There was a moment’s pause before Françoise shook her head.
Celita sighed.
“It is always the same. If one has something important to do, one is certain to be interrupted! Very well, Françoise, I will see this lady, but I do hope that she will not keep me long.”
They left the morning room and went into the hall and there was no one there except two footmen.
Celita looked around.
“The lady who called is in the garden,” one of the footmen volunteered.
Celita thought that this was rather strange, but she walked out of the front door.
Then, looking to the right, she realised that there was somebody on the lawn moving towards the French gardens.
“Is that the lady who wants to see me, Francoise?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, my Lady,” Françoise replied in English.
Rather reluctantly, because she wanted to go on writing her letter, she walked out into the sunshine.
She hurried towards the woman who had interrupted her.
To her surprise she still kept moving away and by the time Celita actually caught up with her, she was halfway across the French garden.
Celita had somehow expected her to be a woman from Arles and perhaps this was a new way of selling some of the articles that were made locally.
To her astonishment when she reached the woman in question she saw that she was definitely a lady.
Very attractive, she was dressed in the latest fashion and there were jewels glittering in her ears and round her neck.
Feeling breathless because she had hurried, Celita spoke first.
“I was told you wanted to see me,” she began in French.
“That is correct,” was the answer, “and I have indeed been very anxious to meet you, Lady – Celita – Dale.”
She pronounced Celita’s name slowly as if both words were difficult to say.
“May I know your name?” Celita enquired.
“I am Madame Yvonne Bédoin.”
The name meant nothing to Celita, so she just smiled and waited for an explanation.
“You do not know me,” Yvonne Bédoin said after a moment’s pause, “but, of course, I have heard of you.”
“I cannot think how you have done so,” Celita said. “I hope you will not keep me long, as I have some very pressing letters to write.”
“May I guess,” Yvonne Bédoin said, “that you are writing home to your mother to tell her of your engagement to the Duc de Sahran?”
Celita stared at her in astonishment.
“Why should you think that?” she asked after a moment.
“It is true, is it not?” Yvonne said. “Of course, Lady Celita, I must congratulate you on marrying such a charming and handsome man.”
“Thank you,” Celita said, “but for the moment our engagement is a secret because, as you are well aware, it will be for our families to be informed first.”
It was the only thing she could think of to say at that moment.
She was wondering how this strange woman, who was so extremely smart, should be aware of her connection with the Duc.
They had managed to keep it a secret even from Lady Hilton who was staying in the house.
“Because I am an old friend of the Duc,” Yvonne Bédoin was saying, “I want to show you something very remarkable on his estate which is, as it happens, known only to me.”
Celita looked at her in surprise and wondered what all this could be about.
“It is, in fact,” Yvonne went on, “my wedding present to you and to him, which I am sure you will find an interesting one.”
“It is rather difficult to understand what you are saying,” Celita replied frankly.
Yvonne Bédoin gave a little tinkling laugh.
“That is true, but I am sure you will find what I have to show you thrilling and so will the Duc when you share the secret with him.”
“How can you know of something here at the château that he himself does not know?” Celita asked.
It was a somewhat blunt question, but she could not help thinking that this was all quite bewildering.
How could this elegant woman be telling her something no one else knew?
“That is what I am going to explain,” Yvonne Bédoin replied. “You said you were busy and so am I, as I am on my way back to Paris.”
Celita thought that she had been right in thinking this smartly dressed woman was not local.
Now she thought about it, she seemed to have Paris written all over her, in her gown and on her hat with its small feathers as a decoration.
She was wearing very exquisite long suede gloves and very high-heeled shoes.
They made Celita wonder how she could walk so swiftly over the grass lawn, which was on the other side of the French garden.
In fact, Yvonne Bédoin walked so quickly that Celita found it difficult to continue their conversation.
They were going towards the cascade.
Now Celita could hear the roar of the water as it swept down from the small lake above into the basin surrounded by the Greek
Gods and Goddesses.
“Are we going to the cascade?” Celita managed to ask when it was still a little way ahead of them.
“That is right,” Yvonne Bédoin replied, “and I will show you something the Duc does not know. When you show it to him, he will be delighted. Absolutely delighted!”
“It’s a pity he is not here so you can show it to him at the same time,” Celita remarked.
“Alas!” Yvonne Bédoin replied, “that is what I learnt when I arrived. But never mind! My wedding present will be all the more acceptable because you will give it into his hands either before or when you are his wife.”
The way she spoke seemed rather odd.
Once again it struck Celita that it was extraordinary that someone from outside should know that she and the Duc were secretly engaged.
It was only yesterday that they had told Lord Waterforde and Lady Hilton about it.
She thought, however, that it was no use asking questions as it would only delay matters.
As soon as she saw what this strange woman wanted her to see, the quicker she would be able to go back to the château and finish her letter to her Mama.
They reached the cascade and, as it roared down into the basin, it stirred the water as it fell.
Shimmering in the sunshine, it swept slowly towards the far end from which it fell down into the gorge.
To Celita’s surprise Yvonne Bédoin went to the side of the cascade.
Reaching up she turned what looked like a key.
It was obscured by the thick creeper that covered the rock wall beside it.
It took Yvonne Bédoin a moment or two to manipulate the key.
By the side of the cascade, a very narrow door opened.
It was then that Celita realised for the first time that it was possible to go behind the cascade itself.
She had heard of it happening in other places and it had never struck her when the Duc had shown her the cascade that it might be possible to go behind it.
She wanted to ask many questions.
However, having opened the door, Yvonne Bédoin stepped through the narrow entrance.
Then she turned round, beckoning to Celita to follow her.
She managed to do so without getting wet and she found herself in what appeared to be a huge cavern behind the cascade.
The light was coming in iridescent through the water and the roar of it seemed to be quite deafening.
Very wisely Yvonne Bédoin had stepped back from the cascade itself and there was no fear of being splashed as she was standing some way in on a dry floor.
Piled together on one side of the cavern were the broken bodies of the statues that had been replaced.
Celita looked round.
There did not seem to be much else except that the cavern went back a long way.
She wondered what the wedding present was that she was to give the Duc.
He would obviously know of the entrance behind the cascade and there did not seem to be anything else unusual about where they were.
Yvonne Bédoin now came towards Celita and said,
“Look at the water and tell me what you see.”
Wonderingly, Celita did as she was told.
Although the water poured and went on pouring, there did not seem anything particular to notice.
Suddenly Yvonne Bédoin called out,
“Put your hands out behind you quickly!”
Because she spoke sharply, Celita did as she was told.
She wondered why she should do so and if she was to receive something to hold in a somewhat strange way.
Then she felt Yvonne Bédoin’s hands touch first one wrist and then the other.
She was suddenly aware, although it seemed incredible, that the French woman had roped her wrists together.
“What are you doing?” Celita asked. “Whatever is happening?”
Celita tried to turn round, but before she could do so, she was aware that a rope was being put round her ankles and that too was tied tightly.
“What on earth are – you doing?” Celita demanded again.
Now that her ankles were tied Yvonne Bédoin rose to her feet.
“You,” she said, “are my wedding present to the Duc! I doubt if they will find you here before you are dead. Remember, as you die, that he made me unhappy. This is the way I repay him for the way he has treated me.”
She had to call out the words loudly above the roar of the cascade.
As she finished speaking, she turned and, swirling her skirts, she walked to the entrance and slipped through it.
“Wait! Wait! What– are you– saying?” Celita cried out.
She was too late!
She had been so astonished by what the French woman had said that she realised she had let her go without protesting.
She heard the door close and the key turn in the lock.
Then there was only the roar of the cascade.
It took Celita some minutes to realise that she was now imprisoned.
Tied hand and foot, she was in a place where the Duc would never find her.
He had never said a word, when they had looked at the cascade together, about being able to go behind it and he would certainly not suspect a stranger like herself to find her way there.
Celita strained at the rope that held her hands.
It was a thin cord, tied very skilfully, which it was impossible for her to stretch or break.
“What can I do?” she asked desperately. “What can I do?”
There was nothing to sit on except the broken bodies of the Greek Gods.
She could not walk towards them, but she managed, however, to reach them by jumping.
She had to be careful not to fall over and, if she did, she would doubtless hurt herself on the hard ground.
By making a series of little jumps and, waiting to catch her breath before she took another, she gradually reached the statues.
She sat down, aware that her arms were getting stiff.
She looked down at what she was sitting on and realised that the head of one of the statues had been broken off roughly.
It had left a sharp jagged edge on the stone it had been carved from.
It took Celita some time to manage to sit with her back to it and to get the raw edge of the stone against the rope tying her wrists.
She rubbed it up and down, up and down, up and down.
It took so long to break that she had begun to think it was impossible, when suddenly it gave.
She was so relieved she almost cried.
At the same time her arms were exhausted and for several minutes she could only sit limply, getting her breath.
Gradually the blood circulated back into her wrists where the rope had been tied so tightly, but her hands were free and now she was able to release her legs.
As she started to do so, she realised that she was feeling hungry.
By now it must be long after luncheontime and they would have come back from the Racecourse and would wonder where she was.
Françoise had said that she did not know the name of the lady who had called.
The Duc would probably think it might be someone who had come to dance the previous evening or perhaps an unknown friend from England who had turned up unexpectedly.
‘How can I get out of this horrible place and tell them what has happened?’ Celita pondered.
She rubbed her ankles because they too had suffered from the tightness of the rope Yvonne Bédoin had used.
She rubbed them until the circulation was restored and then climbed slowly to her feet.
She managed to reach the door they had entered the cavern through.
One look at it and Celita’s heart sank.
It was strongly made, in fact exceptionally strongly, in case it should rot from the water pouring down beside it.
The lock, which was right above her head, was, she could see, a very robust one and it was quite impossible for her to operate it from the inside.
If she c
ould not leave the cavern that way, there was only one other.
That was through the cascade itself.
She looked at it pouring down and shuddered.
If she tried to throw herself through it, she had the feeling that she would be held down in the water.
She could not swim.
And by the time she came to the surface, she would doubtless be unconscious, if not already drowned.
It was something she dared not risk and she now wondered despairingly what else she could do.
There was just the cascade and the long cavern seemed to be blocked at the far end.
It was light enough for her to see that there were a few pieces of wood, which might have been used when the men were changing over the statues.
There was nothing else except what appeared to be a wall of large white bricks that covered the end of the cavern.
Although the wall did not reach the roof it had obviously been built for some reason, perhaps to strengthen the cavern against the water overhead.
It meant, of course, that there was no way for her to escape through the roof of the cavern.
“What can I do? What can I do?” Celita asked. “Please God – help me!”
She leant against the wall as she spoke.
Then she realised that the bricks of the wall had become loose with age and, as she pushed one, it tumbled onto the floor.
It struck her that perhaps if she threw bricks through the cascade it might attract someone’s attention.
But who was likely to be staring at the cascade in the middle of the afternoon?
In any case a brick coming through the water would be gone almost instantly to the bottom of the basin.
She pulled another brick which was loose and wondered vaguely if there was anything behind it.
Then to her surprise she felt wood.
Because by now she was getting desperate and was feeling very frightened, she pulled away several more bricks.
The mortar they had been joined together with had rotted, so that they were quite loose.
Then, as she cleared away some of the rubble, she found that she was right in thinking it was wood.
Because she felt in some way this might help her, although she had no idea how, she removed some more bricks.
Then she found that she was looking at the top of a wooden packing case.
She thought it must be locked, but she then found that the lid was only joined to the side by a hinge.
Fascination in France Page 10
