by Adele Whitby
I waved my hand in the air. “Nonsense. That doesn’t matter at all. Come; we’ll read it together and take a vow of secrecy never to reveal the contents to anyone!”
“All right,” Camille finally agreed. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive,” I replied.
Camille lifted the quilted silk blanket and rummaged around under the mattress until, at last, she withdrew a small leather book. My breath caught in my throat; I couldn’t wait to find out what secrets Cousin Claudia had committed to its pages, but there was something important that we had to do first.
I held the diary in my open palm, then placed Camille’s hand on top of it. “I vow to keep this diary secret,” I said in my most serious voice.
“I vow to keep this diary secret,” Camille repeated.
Then we opened the book, leaned our heads together, and began to read.
29 April 1898
To this blank book, I will commit the best memories of my life: the love-filled days of my marriage to H—.
I am recently returned to my childhood home, grief-stricken at the untimely passing of H—. There are moments that hearten me: Mama and Papa have welcomed me home with open arms, and in my sorrow there is no place I’d rather be than here, with them. I have tried to apologize for disappearing as I did, but they won’t hear it. Mama says that we will just pretend that none of it happened, but how could I ever do such a thing? My heart cannot tell such a lie, and I wouldn’t dream of dishonoring my husband’s memory or our love.
“I didn’t know that Mademoiselle—I mean Madame—Claudia got married!” Camille exclaimed. “Or that her husband died. That’s so sad. Poor Madame Claudia.”
“She came home, though,” I pointed out. “She reconciled with her parents. They made amends before her death.” I quickly turned the page and passed the book to Camille. “Here. You read the next one aloud.”
30 April 1898
When H— asked for my hand in marriage this past January, I already knew just what sort of gown I wanted to wear to our wedding! But Papa said no—no! With that one simple word, all my hopes and dreams for a formal wedding were dashed. But there was one dream that nothing could destroy: marrying my H—. Is it any wonder I left for Alsace that very night? His parents were none too happy when H— brought me home from the train station, but by then it was too late: We had been wed in the village that very day.
I grinned at Camille. “I think I would’ve done the very same thing,” I confided.
This time, Camille turned the page and passed the book to me. I took a deep breath and began to read aloud.
15 May 1898
There is no one in the world who knows the secret I am about to commit to these pages. I had intended this book to chronicle all the sweet memories of courtship and marriage to H—. But instead of looking to the past, I shall now dedicate these pages to the future. For the future is suddenly brighter and more beautiful than it has ever been before: I am going to be a mother!
Camille and I gasped as we looked at each other with wide eyes.
“A mother!” I shrieked, completely forgetting to be quiet. “Cousin Claudia was going to have a baby!”
Camille was clearly as astonished as I was, but she had the good sense to put a finger to her lips, reminding me to hush. I stopped speaking immediately . . . just in time to hear an unusual sound—a muted crash, as though someone had dropped something on the plush carpet.
It came from the hall.
From right outside the door.
Which meant that whoever had dropped it must have heard every word I’d said.
Camille grabbed my arm in alarm. I strained my ears in the silence, trying to hear something—anything—that would tell me if the person was still outside the room.
Nothing.
Then, slowly, the doorknob began to turn.
Someone’s coming in! I thought in a wild panic.
Camille, fortunately, kept her wits about her. She flew across the room and opened a closet door—only it wasn’t a closet at all, but a small room. No, it was a passageway. That’s when I realized that Camille had figured out a way for us to escape: through the servants’ entrance!
I shoved Cousin Claudia’s diary in a drawer and rushed after Camille. Quick as a wink, we were in the dim, dusty passage, running as fast as we dared. When Camille stopped abruptly, I almost ran into her, but caught myself just in time. She pressed her ear against a door, listening carefully, before she pushed it open. I followed her, only to realize that we were back in the hallway, not far from my own room.
And we weren’t alone.
“Alexandre!” Camille exclaimed suddenly, her face blushing ever so slightly. “What are—”
I immediately recognized the boy, whom I’d met the day before. He was the groundskeeper’s son. His tousled, brown hair and bright green eyes were unforgettable.
Alexandre nodded his head at us, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. “Good day, Mademoiselle Claire. Good day, Camille,” he mumbled, before turning around and hurrying down the hall in the opposite direction. I watched him go, feeling more confused than ever.
Camille was watching him with a puzzled look on her face too. “I’ve never seen Alexandre on the second floor before,” she said in a low voice. “He should be outside, working in the garden with his father.”
“Do you think he’s the one who heard us?” I asked eagerly. I didn’t know Alexandre at all, but surely that would be better than Cousin Henri or Cousin Colette knowing what we’d been up to.
“I don’t—,” Camille began. Then she caught herself. “Perhaps we should discuss it in your room.”
“Of course,” I said right away as I reached for the doorknob. Once we were safely inside, I closed the door behind us and breathed a sigh of relief. “So who do you think was outside Claudia’s room?” I asked. “Alexandre?”
Camille shook her head. “Probably not. It would’ve taken him a lot longer to get here without using the shortcut through the servants’ passage.”
“Then who?”
“It could’ve been anyone, really,” she mused. “A housemaid or a footman or . . .”
“Cousin Henri or Cousin Colette?”
“Perhaps. But I doubt it. I think they would’ve stormed into the room if they’d heard us,” Camille replied. But I noticed that she looked terribly worried once more.
“Don’t fret,” I said, patting her arm reassuringly. “Even if they learned we were in the room, I’ll take all the blame. It was my idea to go inside it, after all.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s the truth,” I said. “Now, what we’ve got to do is figure out a way to get that diary.”
Camille’s eyes widened. “No. We mustn’t! It isn’t worth the risk!”
“But I’ve got to find out more,” I told her. “Don’t you want to learn all about Cousin Claudia’s dear little baby?”
“I suppose . . . ,” Camille said. “But what if someone discovers us?”
I made up my mind in an instant. “You needn’t worry about that,” I told her as I rose to my feet.
Camille scrambled up, too. “Wait!” she exclaimed. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll go back to Cousin Claudia’s room on my own,” I told her. “That way, if I’m discovered, I can feign innocence, and no one will be the wiser.”
Camille opened her mouth, but I kept talking before she could say a word. “You wait here, and I’ll be right back,” I promised.
Before Camille could object, I scurried into the hallway and walked swiftly with my head high and my shoulders set with determination. It took only a few moments before I found myself outside Claudia’s room.
I glanced quickly to my left, then my right.
The hall was empty.
In a flash, I was inside Claudia’s room with the door safely shut behind me. To my relief, there was no one in Claudia’s room either. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d been
holding my breath. I exhaled deeply as I crossed the room to the bureau. From here, everything would be easy: Get the diary, go back into the hallway, and return to my room, where Camille and I would surely read every last word before sundown.
There was just one problem.
The diary was gone.
My face fell into a frown. I clearly remembered placing the diary in this drawer . . . or was I mistaken? Had I hidden it in another drawer, and in all the excitement forgotten which one?
Well, that riddle would be easy enough to solve. All I would need to do is search each drawer. Three drawers on the left, three drawers on the right, two across the top. I opened each and every one.
Yet the diary was nowhere to be found.
This can’t be right, I thought as I stared into the empty drawers. I was certain—absolutely certain, without a single doubt—that I’d hidden Claudia’s diary in the bureau. There was only one possible explanation for the diary’s disappearance.
Whoever had been listening at the door—whoever had heard Camille and me exclaim over the revelation in Claudia’s diary—must have taken it.
I’ve got to tell Camille, I thought.
I was in such a state that I burst out of the room without bothering to check if there was anyone in the hall; lucky for me, it was still empty. I must’ve sounded like a herd of thundering elephants as I charged back to my own room, where I found Camille pacing nervously.
“Did anyone see you? Did you get it?” she cried.
I shook my head. “It’s gone,” I said breathlessly. “Gone!”
“Gone?” she repeated. “What—how—?”
“Someone must’ve taken it,” I continued, resting my hand over my pounding heart. “After we left through the servants’ passage—whoever was listening went into the room and took it—”
“I can’t believe it!” Camille said.
“We’ll find it,” I promised her, but even as the words left my mouth, doubt flickered in my heart. Rousseau Manor was very large, and the diary was very small. It could be anywhere. And I had a sinking suspicion that the person who had it would take pains to make sure it stayed hidden this time.
“Come. Tell me where you first found it,” I said. “That’s where we should begin our search.”
Camille looked troubled. “In the basement . . . ,” she began.
“Excellent!” I cried. “We’ll go there straightaway.”
“I can’t,” she said quickly. “I’ve got to watch little Sophie.”
“Oh, of course,” I replied. “Well, afterward, then.”
I thought the matter would be settled, but Camille shook her head. “No, you don’t understand,” she said, staring at the floor. “I’m not supposed to go to the basement.”
I thought for a moment. “But you are supposed to help me when I’m in need,” I said finally. “And I’m in need of someone to show me to the basement.”
Camille tried to smile, but she still looked concerned. “I really shouldn’t.”
“Nonsense,” I told her. “We’re just going to look for Claudia’s diary. We should search the basement tonight after dinner. There will probably be fewer interruptions then, anyway. And if everyone else in the house is asleep, then there’s no reason to be afraid that we’ll be discovered.”
Camille was slow to answer, so I pressed on. “Please, Camille,” I told her. “I need you. I don’t know the first thing about Rousseau Manor. I probably couldn’t even find my way to the basement without your help!”
“All right,” she finally gave in. “If you think it’s best.”
I nodded firmly, attempting to convince myself and Camille at the same time. Madame Colette told me to make myself at home here, I remembered.
Surely that would include the basement, too.
Later that evening, after I bade Cousin Colette and Cousin Henri good night, I dismissed Bernadette, assuring her that I could change into my nightdress on my own. I climbed into bed fully clothed, pulling the blankets up to my chin in the darkness. I listened to the sounds of Rousseau Manor settling for the night: footmen shuttering the windows and housemaids chatting quietly as they climbed the stairs to the servants’ quarters. At last the house was still.
I slipped out of bed and listened by my door for another moment or two, but I heard nothing. Satisfied that everyone had retired for the night, I was about to open the door when I stopped myself. Should I bring a candle? I wondered.
It was hard to decide.
The house would be excessively dark, I guessed, but the candle might be more risk than it was worth. What if someone noticed its flickering light from beneath a closed door? I glanced through the window at the night sky, where a large full moon gleamed. I had to trust that it would provide enough light for me to find the kitchen, where Camille and I had arranged to meet. Without further delay, I stepped into the hall.
In the silence and the shadows, Rousseau Manor seemed even more imposing than by daylight. One misstep, I feared, and I would wake the whole household! I wish I’d asked Camille to meet me at my room, I fretted. I felt like an intruder as I crept through the great hall, clinging to the wall so that the moonlight streaming through the tall windows wouldn’t cast my shadow. But Camille’s directions for reaching the kitchen were perfect, and I soon found myself at its entrance.
“Hello?” I called as I stepped into the cavernous kitchen.
I stood perfectly still, listening in the darkness. Then I heard something.
“Shhhh.”
“I can’t see anything,” I whispered as loud as I dared.
A few moments passed; then I felt a hand on my arm. It was Camille! “This way,” she replied as she led me through the pitch-black kitchen.
At the top of the basement stairs, Camille lit a candle; it cast precious little light as we started our descent, but it was enough for me to make out each wooden step.
Camille led me past the laundry and the larder to the far side of the basement. “This is where the storage area is,” she said, still whispering, even though I was certain no one could hear us all the way down here. “These boxes held Claudia’s belongings.”
It took no time at all to check each box, because they were all empty. Whoever had taken the diary must’ve decided against returning it to the basement. Camille looked far more discouraged than I felt.
“What if the diary’s gone for good?” she asked.
“Don’t think that way—not yet,” I replied. “Our search has scarcely begun!”
“But the diary could be anywhere,” Camille pointed out.
I tapped my chin, lost in thought. “If we don’t know who took it, then the next best thing is to figure out where it might be hidden,” I said slowly. “Whoever heard us reading the diary knew that it was important. That’s why they were so quick to take it. So . . . I think they’d want to keep it safe. They wouldn’t want to return it to the basement, where anyone could stumble upon it again.”
“Then we must ask ourselves, where is the safest place in Rousseau Manor?” Camille mused.
“You’d know that better than I would.”
“Madame Colette’s dressing parlor or Monsieur Henri’s study,” Camille said confidently after a few moments of thought.
We stared at each other for a long moment, until I finally said what we were both thinking. “Then that’s where we shall continue our search.”
After breakfast the next morning, Camille was waiting for me in the hallway. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into a small alcove.
“It’s perfect,” she said in a hushed voice. “Madame Colette will be attending a luncheon for the floral appreciation society in town today. By the time she leaves, the housemaids will be finished tidying her dressing parlor. We should have at least an hour undisturbed!”
“What about Monsieur Henri?” I asked.
“Oh, he never goes to her dressing parlor,” Camille assured me. “Besides, he’ll be occupied at the stables for most of the day, inspecting the new horses.”
I smiled at her in admiration. “How do you know so much about everything going on in Rousseau Manor?” I asked.
“I just listen,” she replied. “You’d be surprised how much the servants have to know in order to do their jobs.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that before,” I said. “When Cousin Colette leaves for her luncheon, will you come find me? Then we can go to her room together. Or perhaps I could find a reason to spend the morning with—”
“Claire,” someone said.
It was Cousin Colette!
I turned around in shock.
“Would you come with me, please?” she said in an even voice that gave no hint about her feelings. It was impossible to tell how much she had heard.
As Cousin Colette and I walked to her room, my face grew uncomfortably hot just thinking about the plan that Camille and I had devised. Cousin Colette must have noticed, because she looked at me with concern as she placed a hand on my forehead.
“Are you unwell, my dear?” she asked.
“No. I feel fine,” I said, ignoring the way my heart was pounding. “It’s just—excitement, I suppose. So much has happened! Sometimes when I think about it, I find myself in a state of disbelief.”
Cousin Colette nodded understandingly. “That’s only to be expected after what you’ve been through.”
I smiled and waited for her to continue, but she just stood there looking at me in the strangest way, as if my very presence in her dressing parlor was a puzzle that she couldn’t comprehend.
“Did you . . . want to see me?” I finally asked.
Cousin Colette jolted. “Forgive me, Claire; I have found of late that my thoughts often run away with me, and I am prone to distraction,” she said. “I wanted to ask how you are adjusting to life here at Rousseau Manor. Is there anything you need? Anything we can do to make you feel at home?”
“No, not at all!” I assured her. “I know I’ve just arrived, but I feel quite comfortable here. This is such a beautiful home, and I do love to explore the gardens. And everyone has been so kind to me. You and Cousin Henri most of all, but also the servants, especially Camille . . .”
