The Freiburg Cabinet

by Thomas Charrington

  Oliver sat up panting, his heart racing chaotically. For a few moments he sat there rigid, staring into the darkness. And then, gradually, gradually, he felt an overwhelming gratitude. He was still alive! His life was spared! It was just a dream … a ghastly nightmare; the cabinet was safe. Suddenly a shivering light lit up the room, followed immediately by a thunderous, stone-shaking roar. Oliver cowered. The immensity of the noise and the still vivid images of the dream brushed his fleeting sense of relief away. He lay still as a statue, in a suspended state of dread, as the storm unleashed above him and the lightning played tricks with objects in the room.

  Eventually the thunder rolled into the distance and rain started falling. It coursed off the roofs, down ancient gutters, and splashed into shallow pools beneath the walls. Presently, the mesmerising sound of dripping water worked its magic on Oliver’s overwrought nerves and coaxed him back into a heavy sleep. The house, meanwhile, became deadly quiet; an impassive sentry spreading its dark protective cloak over him, without care or feeling.

  Chapter 27

  The main façade of Chateau Clery faced south, with its grand columned portico standing proudly over an expansive semicircle of what would once have been gravel. Although the shape was still discernible, the flat area was now sprouting with colourful plants which seemed to be marching with increasing density towards the monument in the centre. This was a weathered stone lion, over five meters tall on a square engraved pedestal, atop a large circular plinth. Its finer features had long since been pummeled away by decades of wind and rain, but its powerful muscular body rearing up on clawed feet, spoke of a previous era of wealth and status. Around its base, an algae choked pool of green water was being noisily replenished through the gaping mouths of four hideous bronze sea creatures.

  Melvyn was enjoying a second cup of tea under this portico when Fabien came striding out to greet him.

  “Bonjour, Melvyn!” he said heartily. “I ’ope you slept well!”

  “Morning, Fabien. Yeah, pretty well, thanks,” Melvyn mumbled. “Though the thunder woke me up for a bit.”

  “Oh yes. It was a dramatic storm. We tend to get them at this time of year. Beautiful out ’ere, isn’t it? Superb views across the parkland!”

  “Yeah, great. You’ve got a lot of birds around here.”

  “Oh yes, there’s an abundance of wildlife. It’s protected, being a National Park. Well, it looks like we’ve got the sunny weather they promised, after all. Hopefully it’s a good omen.”

  “Yeah, would have thought so,” Melvyn replied.

  “I banged on Oliver’s door; he sounded very groggy,” Fabien continued. “Probably tired from yesterday. It was a bit of a marathon for you two, plus all the organization before leaving.”

  “Yeah, were a few things to be sorted out, it’s true. My Mary is looking after Oliver’s dog, though, which helps. He can be a bit mischievous, that Titus, when he wants to be, but my Mary knows how to handle him,” Melvyn said, making polite conversation.

  “Bon. Your wife sounds like a good lady,” Fabien said. “Look, Melvyn, would you mind coming round the ’ouse and helping me open the windows and letting some air in? It needs it, and then I’ll feel happier about bringing the cabinet inside. Also, you’ll get a feel for the layout of the place.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like a good idea,” Melvyn agreed, standing up. “I’m just going to the van to get my tape measure and notebook; need to be sure of the door and staircase widths and the vertical spaces in the attic.”

  “Sure. Take that passage there. See you shortly, I need a cup of coffee!” Fabien said, heading towards the kitchen.

  Ten minutes later, Melvyn reappeared.

  “Blimey! Got lost for a moment!” he said sheepishly. “Couldn’t remember which of those doors to take back into the house. Nearly ended up in the orangery!”

  “Easily done, Melvyn!” Fabien said lightheartedly. “I know this place like the back of my hand, but it is a bit of a labyrinth! Everything okay out there? Be careful the van doesn’t get too hot; although, come to think of it, the sun won’t be over there yet.”

  “No, it’s cool in the courtyard at the moment.”

  “Right. Let’s go. Bring your tea with you if you like.”

  They headed down a long passage chatting amiably. Somewhere above them, Oliver heaved himself out of bed and sat on the edge of it with a blank expression. The dream had shaken him and left a horrible stain on his sensibilities. The image of Robespierre sitting nonchalantly on the cabinet was difficult to dislodge.

  * * *

  “Well, mate, it’s Saturday morning, and we have a drive ahead of us,” Gus said to Bob on his mobile.

  “Morning, mate. Yeah, I’m just getting meself sorted out. Leaving at two, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Take us about three hours to get down there, so we’ll arrive around five-ish. Can’t go any later or it’ll look a bit odd delivering parcels, if yer know what I mean!” Gus said, chuckling.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Bob said, taking a large slurp of tea. “So what is the plan? Is Sammy coming to your place or to me?”

  “He’s coming over to my place at one thirty,” Gus replied.

  “We ’aven’t seen him in ages; be nice to catch up,” Bob agreed.

  “Yeah. Zoltan keeps him very close. He’s always got some sneaky little job to do, some window to climb through … usually abroad somewhere!” Gus said, chuckling.

  “Yeah. He earns his keep,” Bob replied.

  “Yer can’t beat the ex-army boys, mate. He’s off again on Sunday night … got a seven o’clock flight. Viktor will bloody nail us if he misses it,” Gus said.

  “Well, he won’t, will he?” Bob said emphatically.

  “Right. We leave at two with the parcel delivery gear on the van as per normal. You’ve got the overalls, which I hope look nice and clean.”

  “Of course, was just getting them ready, as it happens.”

  “Good. Right, so we head for that place Marston Meysey, which is in the middle of bloody nowhere, and then make our way to his house which is nearby; think it’s called Strupe Hall. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it, a right toff’s residence.”

  “Using the sat nav?”

  “’Course I bloody am, but from what I remember, even then it’s not easy. Place is like a maze and the gear starts to fry … all those narrow country lanes with horses and dopey old geezers on tractors,” Gus continued.

  “Yeah,” Bob said, beginning to lose concentration as a leggy girl wandered past his window.

  “So we arrive at his house, and take a little peek whilst it’s light. Ye know, let Sammy check out the landscape. We know Oliver’s not there, but who knows? Someone may still be at the bloody place, in which case we have strict instructions not to do anything stupid,” Gus said emphatically.

  “Okay, okay,” Bob muttered as he stretched across his kitchen counter to get a final glimpse of the girl.

  “Are you following me, mate?” Gus said, detecting a vagueness in Bob.

  “Yeah, course I am. We’re … er … we’re checkin’ out the gaff before it gets dark,” Bob said focusing again.

  “Yeah, and then later, and I mean a lot later, like around one in the night, if it looks like it’s a goer, we take Sammy round and drop him off nearby, and he can do the business.”

  “And where are we gonna be?” Bob said.

  “Where do you think? Playing rummy in the back of the van, somewhere out the way, as per usual!” Gus said chuckling. “Yer know, in a layby with the other trucks.”

  “We need to be very careful here,” Bob said. “Country places are a real problem. People are right nosey; always watching what their neighbours are up to. You can hear a sparrow fart half a mile away in the countryside, so let’s hope there’s a spot of wind. We need noise, don’t want the whole place lighting up with barking dogs, etcetera.”

  “Calm down!” Gus said. “I don’t think there are any houses nearby, not near the Hall.”<
br />
  “Whatever, it’s still a different ball game,” Bob continued. “To be honest, I don’t know why we’re bothering. Z knows Oliver’s got something up his sleeve, he just doesn’t know what … yet! But the geezer is going to come back and that’s when we jump him, in London. Not out in the bloody countryside where we don’t know our way around and the coppers can land on us.”

  “Look, I agree with yer, Bob, but the guy’s impatient, wants to get the picture now, not later,” Gus said.

  “All right. So we roll up at Stripe ’all at five o’ clock.”

  “Strupe Hall … get it right.”

  “Okay, so we drive off the main road into the private driveway of this big house pretending we’re delivering a parcel. Well, we’re going to get someone asking us questions, remember that, so make sure you have the spiel, okay!”

  “For fuck’s sake, Bob, what’s the matter with yer?” Gus said, raising his voice. “I’ve got it covered, okay?”

  “Okay. Mate. I’ll see yer about two then,” Bob said, keen to get off the phone.

  “Sure, see yer later,” Gus said, closing off.

  * * *

  “Bonjour, Oliver!” Fabien said, coming back into the kitchen with Melvyn. “You sounded a little sleepy earlier.”

  “Bonjour, Fabien,” Oliver replied. “Yes, I’m afraid I was finding it difficult to surface this morning. Had a ghastly nightmare last night which woke me up, and then I lay awake for a bit.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Fabien said, looking concerned. “Nothing to do with the room, I hope?”

  “Absolutely not. Bed was very comfortable. I fell asleep in minutes. It happened much later on, somewhere about two thirty, I think. I dreamt I had woken up to the sound of voices outside on the drive. I was terrified. And then there was that thunderstorm!”

  “Mon Dieu,” Fabien said. “It sounds like you had a bad night! Like some coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks,” Oliver said. “It was horribly real. I felt at one point that I was about to be guillotined! Perhaps the events of the past are like vibrations trapped in the walls of the house.”

  “Possibly,” Fabien agreed, with a downwards twist of his lips. “Now let’s have breakfast. Melvyn and I have opened all the windows, or at least the ones we can open, and hopefully we’ll drive the damp out. It’s going to be a brilliant day.”

  He started getting the breakfast organized. Some croissants, jam, and more cheese.

  “Yes, it looks idyllic,” Oliver agreed, gazing out of the window through tired eyes. “How are you today, Melvyn?”

  “Good, thanks, Oliver. Looking forward to getting the chest made up.”

  “Well, let’s not delay. After breakfast, we’ll go out to the van and get the parts. Then you can begin the assembly. Have you been into the roof space yet?”

  “No. I had a brief glance up onto the third floor, but thought I’d wait till we all went up. I’m worried I’ll disturb something I shouldn’t, and Fabien’s been a bit busy.”

  “Quite right, Mel, but we really need to get the exact location sorted out soon. I’ve been up there before, as you know, and have a couple of places in mind, but I want it to be your decision.”

  “Sure.”

  “Yes, we’ve been running around a bit this morning,” Fabien said as he plucked some knives and teaspoons from a drawer. “But everything’s ready now.”

  “Thanks. Sorry for being slow,” Oliver said.

  “No problem. You had a bad night. Tonight we’ll celebrate with some delicious red wine, and you’ll sleep like a baby!”

  Oliver chuckled and drew his chair up to the table.

  After breakfast, Oliver asked Fabien to lead them up to the garret to establish the final resting place of the chest. This was the fourth floor and was a voluminous space by virtue of the steeply slanting roof.

  Three dormer windows with pretty sculpted surrounds provided fans of daylight at the front, but away from these, twilight dipped into varying degrees of darkness. It had long since become a domain for bats and swallows, the floors strewn with old sacks, broken tiles, and layers of rubble.

  Huge roughly hewn oak supporting timbers with pegged joints sprouted from the planked floor and disappeared into the shadows above like the ribs of an old galleon. Here and there, sunlight pierced small apertures in the roof and white shafts of light penetrated the gloom like laser beams, creating incandescent pools on the dusty floor. Watching the dust pass lazily through one of these beams, Melvyn suddenly spotted further steps in the shadows beyond.

  “Where is that leading to, Fabien?” he said, pointing.

  “Oh, it’s some steps to another level, or should I say to a platform,” Fabien said, squinting into the gloom. “I think at some time in the past there was a much bigger floor up there, but a lot of it has fallen, or been taken down as it was probably dangerous. Perhaps when the roof was being repaired it was damaged and partly dismantled.”

  “Do you mind if I go and look?” Melvyn said, suddenly interested.

  “Yes, but don’t go up the stairs, they’re dangerous. And be careful where you tread, some of the planks on the floor have huge rusty nails sticking up out of them.”

  “We don’t want you getting tetanus, Mel!” Oliver said, stepping into one of the light pools and transforming his face into a deeply furrowed mask, like a Shakespearian actor.

  Melvyn mumbled something and disappeared into the semidarkness, silhouetted against his torch beam.

  “It’s incredibly dry up here, Fabien,” Oliver said, running his finger over a beam and blowing some chalky dust off it in a puff.

  “Yes, it is. The air movement keeps it this way, I suppose. This is good, non?”

  “Very much so. It is just another fortunate circumstance. Our project seems to have the blessing of the powers above!” Oliver said, chuckling.

  He moved to one of the dormer windows and looked out on the landscape stretching out below him.

  “My God! What a view! This is mind boggling. If only we could step back two hundred years and see it in all its glory,” he said wistfully. “The Foret d’Orient is a magical place, Fabien. Just look at those lakes, and so much unspoilt woodland.”

  “I’ve got it!” Melvyn shouted from the gloom.

  “Sorry, Mel?” Oliver shouted back.

  “Here! This is the place; under these steps is absolutely ideal. Dry as a bone,” Melvyn shouted excitedly to the others.

  Fabien and Oliver moved carefully across the dusty uneven floor into the shadows where Melvyn was standing triumphantly.

  “Just look at this!” he said to them, shining his torch under a thick planked platform.

  “Can’t see a lot, Mel!” Oliver said, squinting.

  “This is the perfect place, Oliver,” Melvyn persisted. “It’s protected from above by this obviously old platform, in front by this staircase, and from behind … well look”—he pointed his torch—“it’s a niche between these two buttresses. Perfect! Anything left here would remain untouched for … well, centuries! Even roofing repairs wouldn’t have interfered with it. Plus, it’s dark as hell and the floorboards are in good shape. See, there’s no hint of water stains.”

  “Yes, it looks like an excellent place to me!” Fabien agreed. “It’s beautifully protected.”

  “Mel, you’re absolutely right … it’s perfect. I’m ashamed to say I wouldn’t have spotted it,” Oliver conceded.

  “Good, that’s another thing out of the way then,” Melvyn said with a pleased grin.

  Oliver picked his way carefully back towards the dormer windows, followed by the others.

  “Well, it’s time to get this show on the road,” he said, taking a last glimpse out onto the parkland below.

  Back downstairs, it was as though the three men had suddenly become wired into an electric circuit. The heaviness had evaporated from Oliver’s mind, and he rolled his sleeves up in preparation to help Melvyn assemble the chest. Fabien was striding around the various rooms on the ground floor
checking the shutters were okay and drawing curtains to protect his furniture from the increasingly fierce sunlight.

  Cool morning air, laden with fresh pungent aromas from the garden, was already beginning to flow through the open windows, expelling the listless atmosphere from panelled rooms and passageways, and breathing life once again into the stale lungs of the chateau. How changed it was after a deep gulp of garden air; the whole house seemed to be rejoicing, preparing itself for the arrival of an old friend.

  Chapter 28

  Tarquin wandered into the hotel lobby with Percy and spotted Constanta tapping out a message on her mobile. It was ten forty-five.

  “Hi. Had a good old ‘lie in,’ did we?” he said, slumping into an adjacent seat.

  “Yeah. There’s nothing else to do around here, so why not sleep,” she said, her eyes not leaving the screen.

  “Where’s Petru?” he said, faintly irritated at being ignored.

  “Not sure. He went out about an hour ago to take a look around. There’s a photographic shop he saw on the way back last night and he wanted to get something … like some batteries or something like that.”

  “Oh, okay,” Tarquin said, feeling unwanted. “I think I’ll see if I can get hold of an English newspaper. Feeling a bit out of touch.”

  “C’mon, darling,” Constanta said slowly, still engrossed in her screen. “The news is all the same: financial problems here, a murder there, some gossip about a celebrity. Give it a rest!”

  “Well, of course. Perhaps I should just start writing some garbage on my mobile to a few of my friends,” he said tetchily. “I’m sure they need to know what I had for breakfast, how I slept, what the weather’s like … oh, and who I’ve fallen out with recently!”

  Constanta broke away from her screen and looked at him hotly.

  “Look, Tarquin, if it’s a problem me sitting here sending texts to a friend back home, then you don’t have to be here, okay? And by the way, I’m not discussing the fucking weather. I’m texting Petru’s sister about her mother’s health problems.”