The Chateau on the Lake

by Charlotte Betts

  ‘You’re not fit to utter her name!’ Etienne’s hands ball into fists but beads of perspiration break out on his forehead.

  ‘Idle threats, my dear Etienne. She will be made to suffer.’ Jean-Luc fixes me with a hard stare. ‘No one who harms my dear mother shall escape retribution. I’ve presented a letter from Mayor Prudhomme to the Committee of Public Security here in Paris. It states that he has information you’re a spy for the British.’

  ‘You cannot prove that,’ says Etienne.

  Jean-Luc pulls a gold watch on a chain from his pocket and glances at it.

  Etienne draws in his breath with a hiss. ‘That’s my father’s watch! I searched everywhere for that. Where did you find it?’

  ‘I took it from his body after he met with his unfortunate accident,’ says Jean-Luc calmly. ‘I was determined to have something to remember him by. It gave me a curious sense of satisfaction to know that, just like Isabelle, it was so close to you but you couldn’t see it.’ He smiles broadly.

  ‘My father meant me to have it!’

  ‘Our allotted time is up,’ says Jean-Luc, glancing at the watch again. ‘There are men here with a warrant for your arrest, waiting only for my signal.’ He lifts up his arm and the French doors burst open and three soldiers run towards us. A man in a dark coat and a badly powdered wig follows at a more leisurely pace behind.

  ‘They allowed me five minutes alone with you to say goodbye,’ says Jean-Luc, ‘since we are such old friends.’

  Etienne shakes off my restraining hand and swings his fist at Jean-Luc.

  Jean-Luc utters a muffled curse, his nose blossoms scarlet and blood drips on to his fine coat.

  Two of the soldiers grasp Etienne, who groans in pain as his arms are wrenched roughly backwards.

  ‘Be careful!’ I shout.

  One of the soldiers imprisons my wrists. ‘Shut up and listen while we read the charges.’

  ‘Let go of me!’ I twist in his grip. ‘I’ve done nothing!’

  ‘Don’t struggle or it’ll be the worse for you!’ He grins, his teeth blackened stumps. ‘Never could abide a pretty boy and who would blame me if I have to hurt you? After all, I’m only doing my job.’

  The man in the wig clears his throat and holds up a piece of paper. Clasping his lapel with the other hand, he strikes a pose in front of Etienne. ‘I am Citoyen Hugo Furet, empowered by the Committee of Public Security to inform you of the charges to be brought against you.’

  ‘I am innocent of any crime against the Revolution,’ declares Etienne.

  One of the soldiers yanks his arm higher behind his back. ‘Don’t speak until you’re spoken to!’

  I cry out as Etienne’s knees buckle and his eyelids flutter with the pain.

  ‘Shall we continue?’ Citoyen Furet clears his throat again. ‘It has come to the attention of the Committee of Public Security that you, Citoyen Etienne François Guillame d’Aubery, former noble of Château Mirabelle, near Orléans, have unlawfully travelled to Britain, France’s mortal enemy, for the purpose of aiding the escape of traitors to the Revolution. Furthermore, you are accused of hoarding food supplies at Château Mirabelle, in direct contravention of the revolutionary principle of equality.’

  Etienne sways in his captors’ hold. ‘I tell you again that I am no traitor.’

  I had believed the worst was over but now I’m shaking with terror and disbelief.

  Citoyen Furet looks sternly at Etienne. ‘You will be taken to a place of confinement until your trial tomorrow.’

  Etienne shakes his head, as if to clear it. ‘I’m not a traitor,’ he mumbles. His face is as white as whey and I expect him to pass out at any moment.

  Fright nearly chokes me. Etienne is too ill to defend himself and my mind races as I try to think of a way out. Then, as Jean-Luc pulls a lace-edged handkerchief out of his pocket to dab his bloody nose, I have it.

  ‘Citoyen Furet!’ I call.

  Hugo Furet raises his eyebrows. ‘You address me?’

  ‘Yes, M’sieur, I do. You’re making a mistake.’

  ‘I do not make mistakes.’ He turns away.

  ‘You have been misinformed, M’sieur. You have accused the wrong man.’

  Furet turns back. ‘Explain yourself.’

  I struggle to free my wrists from the soldiers’ grasp.

  ‘Release him,’ says Furet, ‘for the moment.’

  I draw myself up to my full height and take a deep breath. I must not falter now. Looking Furet in the eye, I speak in tones as deep as I can manage. ‘My name is Moreau. I work in the vineyard at Château Mirabelle. And this man,’ I point to Etienne, ‘is Jean-Luc Viard.’

  ‘What cock and bull story is this?’ asks Jean-Luc, laughing.

  I ignore him. ‘Citoyen Viard is the housekeeper’s son and a labourer in the vineyard and on the estate. But this man, ‘I point to Jean-Luc, ‘is the traitor and spy Comte Etienne d’Aubery, who feasts off suckling pig from golden plates while his estate workers’ children die of starvation.’

  Citoyen Furet narrows his eyes. ‘Why would I believe this story?’

  ‘Sir, I am only a poor peasant but you must believe the evidence of your own eyes.’ I turn my hands palm up. ‘See the rough skin and broken nails from honest labour.’ I snatch up one of Etienne’s hands and thrust it towards Furet. ‘Look at the scars and calluses! Is this the hand of a nobleman?’ I demand.

  Furet’s face remains expressionless for a moment then he addresses one of the soldiers. ‘Bring the other one to me.’

  One of the soldiers takes Jean-Luc’s arm and frog-marches him to Furet.

  Jean-Luc, scowling, struggles in his grip. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  The soldier grasps him roughly by the wrist and holds out Jean-Luc’s hand for Furet to examine.

  My mouth is dry and my pulse thunders in my ears. ‘Citoyen Furet, now you have seen the hands of these two men, Jean-Luc Viard and Comte Etienne d’Aubery, you know which one has the hands of a working man and which the soft-skinned hands of a noble.’

  Jean-Luc laughs. ‘This is ridiculous! I am Jean-Luc Viard.’

  ‘Liar!’ I spit on Jean-Luc’s polished shoes. ‘You attempt to save your own cowardly skin by placing the blame for your crimes on a poor peasant who has sweated for long hours in the fields every day to make you rich. Now the worm has turned! Monsieur Furet, I appeal to you. Is this man, scented with perfume, wearing a silk coat and carrying a lace handkerchief, a common labourer?’ I turn to Etienne. ‘And this man, in his ragged and filthy clothes and shoes with flapping soles, how can you possibly believe him to be Comte Etienne d’Aubery?’

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ says Jean-Luc. ‘Take d’Aubery to meet the Revolutionary Tribunal and see what they have to say.’

  ‘Don’t speak again until I give you leave!’ barks Furet.

  Jean-Luc flinches and the soldier holding his wrist jerks his arm up behind his back.

  Slowly, Furet looks me up and down. ‘For one so young you think yourself quite a lawyer, don’t you?’

  ‘I believe in justice and the revolutionary ideals of equality and liberty for all, Citoyen,’ I say quietly.

  ‘And you,’ Furet turns to Etienne. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

  He gives Jean-Luc a long stare of naked hatred. ‘I say this man is a tyrant and a coward, whose greed drives him to prey on those weaker than himself. He has violent fits of madness; everyone knows it runs in the family. And for further proof of his identity, I suggest you look at the pocket watch he always carries. It belonged to his father, Comte Guillaume d’Aubery. No labouring man could honestly own such an expensive timepiece.’

  ‘Check his pockets,’ Furet says to the soldier.

  ‘Take your filthy hands off me!’ bellows Jean-Luc as the soldier snatches the cornflower blue coat open and withdraws the watch.

  The sun glints on the chased gold case as Furet flicks it open. ‘It is engraved with the entwined initials FGd’A.’

  ‘Fra
nçois Guillaume d’Aubery,’ says Etienne.

  ‘Now do you see the truth, Citoyen Furet?’ I hold my breath until black spots dance before my eyes.

  Citoyen Furet sighs.

  ‘Listen to me, you stupid little bureaucrat!’ says Jean-Luc. ‘Can’t you see they’re lying!’

  Citoyen Furet casts a look of dislike at Jean-Luc and addresses me again. ‘I believe you have prevented me from being the instrument of a miscarriage of justice, Citoyen.’ He nods to the soldier who holds Etienne. ‘Release him. And take up the other.’

  I feel no triumph as Etienne stumbles away from his guard, only overpowering relief.

  ‘No!’ screams Jean-Luc. ‘This is all your fault!’ He launches himself at me, twisting and bucking as the soldiers attempt to restrain him. ‘I’ll make you pay for this!’ He lashes out with his feet and elbows as he tries to reach me. ‘It’s her fault! She’s destroyed all my plans.’

  I catch my breath in fear and glance at Citoyen Furet.

  ‘Silence!’ he thunders.

  ‘Etienne’s the noble!’ shouts Jean-Luc. ‘Take him before the Tribunal. He must be condemned!’

  It takes two soldiers to bind Jean-Luc’s wrists behind his back while he yells and struggles. Spittle froths his mouth and his face is red and contorted with fury. Wild-eyed, he turns to Furet. ‘I’m telling you, that’s Comte Etienne d’Aubery and his whore Madeleine over there!’

  ‘He’s having another of his fits of lunacy, Citoyen Furet,’ says Etienne. ‘I warn you, he may become extremely violent. As you can see, he’s a big man and very strong when the madness takes him.’

  Jean-Luc lashes out with his foot. ‘Shut your mouth, Etienne! You and that little bitch won’t get away with this. By God, just you wait until I get my hands on you…’

  ‘Enough!’ shouts Furet, striking him across the face with the flat of one hand.

  Jean-Luc gasps and then snatches Furet’s wig askew before yelling a torrent of abuse at him, fighting against the guards all the time.

  Citoyen Furet glances at me, frowning. ‘Who is Madeleine?’

  Etienne shrugs. ‘He often sees people who aren’t there. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a madman?’

  Furet straightens his wig. ‘As you say, Citoyen, the man is a lunatic. Guards, take him away!’

  Fighting and screaming, Jean-Luc is dragged up the path towards the house. Digging his heels into the gravel, he looks back at us over his shoulder as the soldiers push him through the doorway. ‘A curse on you all! May you burn in hell!’

  Etienne, Furet and I look at each other as the racket fades away and finally the garden is quiet again.

  ‘I can almost find it in my heart to feel sorry for him,’ I say.

  ‘It is disconcerting to see how an apparently sane man can be overcome by madness in a matter of moments,’ says Furet, shaking his head. ‘I shall tell the Tribunal what I have witnessed and, if he is not found guilty of the crimes of which he is accused, I shall recommend that he be incarcerated for the rest of his life.’

  ‘There are many who have suffered at his hands who would be relieved to hear that,’ says Etienne.

  ‘Indeed,’ says Furet. ‘I shall take my leave of you.’

  Once he has disappeared indoors, Etienne collapses on the bench, his face as grey as ashes.

  My knees give way and I flop down beside him. Shock and relief make my teeth chatter.

  Etienne wraps his arms around me. He rests his chin on the top of my head and utters soothing, nonsense words. We hold each other in silence for a long time while I try to banish the image of my last sight of Jean-Luc, spitting fury and with venom in his eyes.

  At last Etienne tips up my chin so that he can look into my face. ‘My brave and clever Madeleine,’ he says.

  And then he kisses me.

  The trembling and shaking of my limbs ceases as the warmth and sweetness of his kiss works its magic. I press myself against him, drawing strength from his closeness and feeling the blossoming of joy inside me.

  Then there is a scream and the sound of shattering china.

  We break apart to see Madame Brochard with her hand to her mouth and shock in her eyes. A silver tray lies on the gravel with an overturned coffee pot and shards of broken china all around.

  I jump up to go and help her but she holds up her hand in horror. ‘Sodomites!’

  ‘Madame Brochard…’

  ‘Get away from me!’ She picks up her skirts and runs back indoors.

  Etienne looks at me and a corner of his mouth twitches. ‘Poor woman, what a shock for her to find two men canoodling in her garden.’

  ‘Etienne, it’s not funny!’ But then a giggle bubbles up in my chest.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he says, chuckling.

  We collapse into each other’s arms, whooping with laughter.

  A few minutes later I wipe tears of merriment from my eyes. ‘I think it’s time I went to put on a dress and curl my hair again, don’t you?’

  Chapter 37

  October arrives, bringing heavy rain that sweeps over Paris, turning the street dust to mud and causing the citizens to hurry by with sacking held over their heads. Etienne and I sit beside a small fire in the drawing room of Dr Dubois’s house but it does little to dispel the damp chill in the air.

  Etienne sits close to the hearth, apparently reading a book, while I stare out of the window, waiting, and making bets with myself as to which drop of rain running down the glass will reach the bottom first.

  Madame Brochard has forgiven us for the shock we gave her when she came upon us in the garden and, although it has taken two weeks for Etienne’s wound to heal, at last he has regained his strength. Despite that, we are both suffering from a malaise as heavy as the leaden sky outside.

  Etienne stares morosely into the flames, lost in thought.

  For my own part, anxiety and disappointment make me dejected. Regardless of Jean-Luc’s confession that he murdered Isabelle, Etienne hasn’t proposed to me, even though he’s now free to do so. I try to comfort myself by thinking that he’s still recovering from the shock of Jean-Luc’s betrayal.

  I go to the window and stare miserably outside at the rain until I see a figure in a brown greatcoat hurrying along the street.

  ‘Etienne, he’s coming!’

  He drops his book in his haste to reach the window.

  A few minutes later there are footsteps in the hall and then the drawing-room door opens. Dr Dubois shakes rain from his hair as he comes towards us.

  Etienne’s fingers close around my hand in a grip so tight it makes me wince. ‘Well?’ he asks.

  Dr Dubois nods, his face grave. ‘It is done.’

  I hear Etienne’s breath slip away in a long sigh. His eyes glitter with sudden tears.

  ‘Was it very terrible?’ I ask.

  ‘Jean-Luc ranted and raved to the end,’ says Dr Dubois. ‘His bitterness and fury before the Tribunal only served to convince them that he’d lost his reason. They had to chain him to carry him to the guillotine. But it was swiftly done and all his troubles are at an end now.’

  ‘It appears he always coveted my name,’ says Etienne, ‘and finally he achieved his ambition, if not in the way he wished. Now the man known as Etienne d’Aubery is no more,’ he says in a low voice. ‘So where does that leave me? Who am I now?’

  My heart bleeds for him, hearing such grief in his voice.

  Dr Dubois opens the cupboard and takes out a bottle of brandy and three glasses.

  The spirit stings my throat but then warmth courses through my veins.

  ‘It’s strange,’ says Etienne, cradling his glass in his palm, ‘but it’s hard to feel anything but sorrow for him now. I know Jean-Luc murdered most of the people I loved, I know he incited an uprising, stole my estate and betrayed me, but all I can think of is the boy with the infectious smile who grew up by my side. I remember us shooting ravens from the tower and swimming in the lake and sharing midnight feasts in the stables. Where did that
boy, my best friend, go?’

  I can hardly bear to hear the anguish in his voice and take him in my arms. His shoulders heave and he clings to me.

  A moment later Etienne regains control of himself and I judge it best to leave the two men with their brandy.

  Etienne and Dr Dubois are already at breakfast when I come downstairs the following morning.

  Etienne smiles at me but there are deep shadows under his eyes.

  ‘It doesn’t look as if you slept any better than I did,’ I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  ‘I’m going back to Château Mirabelle,’ he says.

  Coffee slops from my cup on to the starched tablecloth. ‘Etienne, you can’t!’

  He blots the stain with his napkin. ‘I have to.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I think he must,’ says Dr Dubois. ‘He will never rest until he sees for himself what the situation is there.’

  ‘You don’t understand! I was there and I saw how Jean-Luc turned the servants and villagers against Etienne. They’ll kill him if he returns.’

  We argue for nearly half an hour but he is determined to have his way and I grow angry with Dr Dubois, who supports him. It’s no use wasting my breath any more and I retire to the morning room while Etienne packs for his journey.

  I sit hunched in an armchair by the fire, listening to his booted feet moving about in the guestroom above. Then he comes to say goodbye.

  ‘Please understand that I must do this.’

  ‘Then take me with you!’

  He shakes his head. ‘Too dangerous.’

  There’s no alternative for me but to accept the inevitable. ‘Then Godspeed and come back safely.’

  The following week drags by painfully slowly. A deep depression has settled over me and despite Dr Dubois’s sleeping draughts I am tormented by dreams of Sophie and Marianne crying out to me for help. But the worst part of my misery is fear for Etienne.

  As we move into the second week of Etienne’s absence there’s still no word from him and a sliver of ice grows in my heart. Has the horde inhabiting Château Mirabelle captured and killed him? I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved and am lonely and fearful for the future.