Rewind

by Liz Ann Hawkins

  I zeroed in on the musicians in an alcove across from us, stringed instruments filling the space with sound. It only added to the magic of the evening as music always does for me.

  Then it was our turn at the top of the stairs. There was an official looking man dressed in a red jacket and black “hose” as my dad called them, wearing a poofy hat with a rather large feather sticking out of it. I was intrigued by the feather, as it seemed to whack the poor man standing to his right every time he moved his head. The man would wave it away and rub his nose as if trying to stifle a sneeze. The whole thing made me want to laugh. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep a straight face as Official Feather Man stated: “Lord and Lady Blanchett of Normandy, and Mademoiselle Blanchett.” My dad had given them a “Frenchified” version of our last name, along with where our ancestors hailed from France. Again, I tried not to laugh as I steered clear of the feather and headed toward the stairs. My dad, true to his word, kept hold of both my mom and me as we descended, sorry, floated down the grand staircase into the king’s Hall. I think I held my breath the entire way and let it out at the bottom, with the staircase behind me and without having made an embarrassing scene. You know, like rolling down the stairs and knocking everyone else out of the way in a giant emerald green bowling ball fashion.

  “See?” my dad said, “Told you we’d do just fine.” He smiled at me and patted my hand, still in the crook of his arm.

  We looked around the room. This would have been the place where the king would have received guests, held court, settled disputes, and well, held dances and whatever entertainments suited him. Opposite the stairs, up on a dais, stood the thrones of the king and queen of France. They were cordoned off with a thick red velvet rope, probably because everyone, myself included, was dying to sit in one. There were windows on the right side of the room, the heavy draperies pulled back to show off a magnificent view, the Loire River sparkling in the twilight. And to my left, there were French doors that stood open leading out to the most beautiful garden terrace I had ever seen.

  The sculpted gardens were in full bloom, and every single tree and shrub was draped with twinkling fairy lights. Also not 16th century obviously, but magical just the same. The dancing continued outside as well. Tables were set up with elaborate dishes and the food looked more like sculptures than food that was supposed to be eaten. The garden was huge, not just one garden really, but a series of gardens connected by pathways. I’m not talking about gardens filled with veggies and stuff like that. In these gardens, every bush was sculpted into a shape, the shapes offset by paths. It looked like a giant drawing of geometrical designs. Not that I could see them all now as the sun was setting and the fairy lights truly started to shine.

  “So beautiful,” I breathed to my parents as we stood in the doorway overlooking the gardens. I noticed far off in the gardens what appeared to be a big teepee or tent made of wood. Pointing to it, I asked my dad what in the world it could be.

  “Oh, that!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with excitement. “That’s for the bonfire. Or what was called the chavande. It’s June 24th, remember. Midsummer! Otherwise known in France as the ‘Fête de la Saint-Jean,’ or Feast of St. John. This is what we celebrate tonight.”

  My dad, he can get excited over the craziest of things. Sigh.

  “Do we get to roast marshmallows? Make s’mores?” I asked, though I knew what the answer would be. Yep, there it was...the look down the nose again, one raised eyebrow. Well a girl could hope, right?

  And then, promising my parents I’d meet them at the bonfire later, I was off and dancing with the group of kids my age. We all laughed and admired each other’s outfits. Or rather, the girls admired each other and couldn’t help laughing at the boys in their “hose,” the worst part being the “upper hose” with a codpiece hiding their boy parts. Seriously embarrassing. I supposed it did make for using the “necessary” a bit easier, but still. Thank goodness their jackets covered them for the most part, otherwise we’d all start laughing hysterically. Not easy to do when you can hardly breathe, remember.

  Taking a break from the intricate dances we’d been practicing, we all filled our plates with the elaborate offerings of food: meats of every kind, mostly wild game that might have been served back then, along with various sides, breads, and sugary sweets. At least I could recognize the pastries. We sat outside nibbling on food and enjoying the cool evening air.

  “Hey you guys, have you heard of the hidden tunnels that run below the castle here?” Alex, one of the boys in the group, asked us. I’d heard stories of course. I guess the others had too, as we all seemed to be nodding our heads.

  “Didn’t King Francis the 1st build a tunnel that went all the way to the house he gave to Leonardo da Vinci?” I said. Pretty sure I had remembered that detail correct.

  “Yeah, I think that’s right,” one of the others said.

  “Well,” Alex nodded his head and paused to build anticipation for whatever he was going to share with us. His face was in shadows, but there was the sound of mischief in his voice. “I found the hidden door in the castle,” he whispered. Everyone started asking questions at once.

  “Where is it?”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Did you go inside?”

  “Was it spooky?”

  “Shhhh! Quiet.” We all huddled closer as he described the place in hushed tones so as not to be overheard by the adults milling about. “It’s in the king’s bed chamber, hidden behind a tapestry.” There was a collective intake of breath. The King’s bed chamber was part of the exhibit, but petitioned off so that people didn’t jump on the bed or mess up the furniture. In other words, it was off limits to visitors beyond the path that went through the room and into the next. He told us he couldn’t get the door open without someone seeing him, but tonight, he’d stashed some tools in one of the rooms, ready to try again.

  “So who wants to come with me?” he asked us, looking around the group, his eyes challenging each of us like a triple dog dare.

  As much as I was curious about the tunnels and where they would lead, I wasn’t keen on getting caught.

  “How could we do it without our parents looking for us? Not to mention being seen by the catering staff,” I ventured, as it seemed that everyone was a little afraid to commit.

  “Easy,” Alex said. “The bonfire. Everyone will be distracted and far enough away from the castle. We’ll leave one by one and meet in the outer chamber of the room.”

  “Wow, you’ve really thought this through.” I was surprised. I wouldn’t have had as much foresight to plan ahead as he had. “Okay.” I took a deep breath and before I had a chance to really, really think it through added, “I’m in!”

  Well that’s all it took, one brave person to go first and the rest agreed readily. We made final plans and then dispersed, mixing with the other guests and biding our time until we could sneak away and explore the tunnels. I got more and more excited just thinking about it. I’m not normally the adventurous one, but hidden passageways? In a castle? Heck, yes! Did they really go all the way to what was now called the Clos de Lucé where da Vinci once lived?

  I was about to find out.

  Chapter 5

  One minute I was running through the tunnels with everyone else, our cell phone flashlights bouncing off the walls of rock along with the sound of our voices, each of us choosing a different off-shoot to explore, with the plan to meet back in the main tunnel. The next minute, there was a flash of light as if lightning had come straight from the sky through every layer of the castle, hitting the tunnel right where I stood. I somehow stumbled then, and it was suddenly pitch black. I felt completely disoriented like I’d just gotten off one of those rides at an amusement park that spins you senseless. Wait, lightening in a tunnel? That wasn’t possible, was it? Wouldn’t I have been electrocuted? Wouldn’t something be burning? Instead, it felt like I had been sucked into a spinning vortex. I could have sworn I had flown through the air of the
tunnel in slow motion, tumbling head over heels in midair and landing back on solid ground. Had I tripped on something? What in the world just happened? I thought to myself.

  My iPhone was still in my hand, but the flashlight had gone off. I tried to switch it back on to see where I was, but the battery must have died. Strange, because it had been fully charged before entering the tunnels. Slipping the phone back in the pocket of my dress, I reached my hands out to follow the walls of the tunnel, trying to orient myself in the dark. I couldn’t tell if I was going back the way I had come, or going forward.

  “Alex? Hello? Anyone?” I tried calling out to find the others, but the tunnel was eerily quiet. I felt as if I were the only one there, but that couldn’t be right. I knew there was a whole group of us. Then why couldn’t I hear the others? Did they see that big blast of light like I did? Had they found a different tunnel and left me behind? The texture of the wall beneath my hand seemed to change from rock to wood. Ah, a door! I felt around the edges of the door, trying to discover where the hinges were, feeling for a handle of some sort so I could pull it open. There, I found hinges on the right-hand side. Sliding my hand to the left, I found a round metal handle that squeaked when I tugged on it, probably from rust and disuse. I hope this door opens, I thought. Who knew what was on the other side? I just prayed it was a room that would lead me back to the main part of the castle so I could figure out where I was and at least find my parents. I tugged the handle again, harder this time, but nothing budged. Please, oh please don’t be cemented in, I pleaded with the unseen stars above. I’d obviously need more force to get this thing to move. So I grabbed the ring with both hands, and put one foot up on the wall to help push off. Blowing a curl off my face, I silently counted to three. One. Two. Three. I shoved off the wall while simultaneously pulling with all my might. Success! It moved. OK, maybe only an inch, but still, that meant it hadn’t been closed off for the past 400 years. I tugged again and soon a sliver of light shone through the crack. I stopped, and listened to see if there were voices. I sure didn’t want to pop out of the wall and surprise anyone. But honestly, if there’d been someone there, I’m sure they would have heard the squeaky hinges. I managed to get the door opened just enough to slide me and my ginormous dress through, brushing cobwebs and whatever gross stuff I’d run into off my face. Ick! I didn’t even want to know.

  I looked around to get my bearings and found I was in what looked like a bedroom. And, uh, it looked like it was being used. What? I didn’t know people actually still lived in the castle. I mean, how weird would that be with tours going through it every day? But sure enough, there was a bed with heavy curtains hung all around, and a chair next to it with a pile of clothes flung over it. The walls were covered with tapestries, and...wall sconces? Are those things fake? I wondered, walking over to one to see how they’d recreated such a thing to look like real fire burning on a stick. Whoa, wait a second.‒I pulled my hand back quickly before I could burn myself.T‒hat IS real fire on a stick! Why in the world would they leave this thing burning during a ball? With all these people in the castle? And in a bedroom that none of the guests were meant to see? In fact, why was there a fire burning in the fireplace? Granted, it was burning low, but still, dangerous, right? I noticed a window near the bed and went to see if I could figure out where I was by looking outside. Maybe I’d see the bonfire? The window was higher up than I thought and I had to push the chair over to stand on it. Carefully lifting up the yards of fabric of my dress, and trying not to stand on the pile of clothes, I put one foot on the chair and hauled myself up. I had to grab the iron bars of the window to keep my balance.

  I took in the scene below, but nothing looked familiar. I saw woods in the distance, but no garden, and no bonfire. I had just deduced that I must be on the back side of the castle when a voice startled me from behind, causing me to lose my grip on the window.

  “What are you doing in my chambers?” I managed to hear and process in French, when I lost my my balance and knew without a doubt that I was about to fall off the chair. I flailed my arms trying to regain balance, but it was a lost cause. So, I braced myself for the landing and fell into two strong arms instead, whacking my rescuer in the face with a flying arm in the process. I heard an “Oof!” while I muttered a “Sorry!” and we stumbled to the ground together. He absorbed the brunt of the fall and I landed with a thud on top of him, his arms still holding me close in a protective embrace. My arms were around his neck as if he were a buoy in the middle of the ocean. Only instead of ocean, we seemed to be drowning in the emerald green waves of my dress.

  I thought maybe if I just closed my eyes, this whole embarrassing moment would go away. But as I opened them, nope, I was still there sprawled on top of someone, staring at a gold button on a rock-solid chest. My gaze continued up, following the buttons to the face I hardly dared look at. My own burned red with embarrassment. There was a chiseled jaw, covered with a dusting of facial hair perfectly outlining the jawline, full lips, a long nose down which two beautifully blue eyes stared back at me. What? I don’t remember an Adam Levine look-alike at the ball. Who was this guy? Flustered, I tried desperately to remove myself from his person, but only managed to get more and more tangled up in my stupid dress with all its stupid layers. He grabbed hold of both my arms to hold me still, and somehow, got the two of us off the ground, setting me down squarely in front of him.

  “Er, I’m very sorry about that.” I decided an apology was in order, but knew my face was burning red with embarrassment. I kept my head down, smoothing out the yards of skirt fabric, and fluffing it up to keep from looking him in the eye. “I’m usually not so clumsy, but you scared me.”

  “Pardon, mademoiselle...I frightened you? Need I point out, again, that you are trespassing in my private quarters? I believe I am still waiting for an explanation.”

  “Yeah, what’s with that anyway? Who goes about living in castles? Is this just like, a one-night thing? Some sort of, see-what-it’s-like-to-live-in-a-castle-without-electricity experience? This whole room is one big fire hazard.” I waved my arms around to include all the burning wall sconces to prove my point. Granted, I was stalling for time, not really wanting to come clean about the whole creeping-around-the-tunnels-that-we-weren’t-supposed-to-be-in thing. And I might also have been babbling a bit, like I sometimes do when confronted by extremely good-looking boys I’ve just met. Because trust me, he really was nice to look at. But seriously, he didn’t have to look down his long nose at me as if I were five.

  “M’moiselle,”‒yeah, he had that superior look perfected,‒“eeven if I could manage to understand the peculiar way you speak, I do not have to explain myself to you or to anyone. This castle, as you say, is my home. I am Charles, son of Francis the First, King of France.”

  “Bwahaha!” I started to literally laugh out loud, but then caught a glimpse of the serious look on his face. For some reason, he didn’t seem amused by this reaction. OK, well maybe someone hired some actors to make this night feel more legit. I got it. Whatever. Two could play this game. Hmmm, who would I be in this time period? The ancestor my dad told me about popped into my head, the musician I must take after. That’s it, I thought, and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “A prince, eh?” I grabbed my skirts on each side and made a rather ridiculous curtsy, bowing my head as one must in front of royalty, and trying really hard not to roll my eyes. “Isabelle Blanchet, court musician, at your service, Sire.”

  “A musician?” His eyebrows raised like he didn’t believe me. Come on, it was more believable than saying I was a princess, don’t you think? He paced back and forth in front of me, mumbling to himself. I couldn’t quite make out the words. A few popped out at me; a lady, musician, impossible. OK, this guy was getting on my nerves. The game was getting old. But at the same time….

  “Wait. Why do you think a woman can’t be a musician? I will have you know I have ancestors who came before me, women, who were also musician
s, and I carry on their tradition.” Well, at least I had one ancestor, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m tired of this charade, I’m going to find my parents.” Turning, with my chin in the air, I strolled toward the door. Or, OK, I might have been stomping. I was mad after all.

  He stopped in his tracks, and blocked my path. “In my experience m’moiselle, women who are musicians are most often spies. Just as women who dabble in herbology are most often witches. The odd coincidence that places you here, in a room you have no business being in, and claim to be a musician tells me that you are in fact, a spy. What information you are looking for, and for whom you may be working, eludes me. But make no mistake, I will find out.”

  “Alright, that’s enough. Seriously, do you get off on this kind of thing? Is that why you like to playact in the 16th century and pretend to be a prince? So you can put down women and feel all superior? I don’t care what century you’re from. You, sir, are an egotistical sexist pig!” With that I picked up my skirts and swept past him, head held high, face burning. The nerve of that guy! Really, where do they find these people? Typical freaking Frenchman. I had just made it to the door when I heard him speak again in a low voice.

  “Prove it.”

  “Prove what? I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  “There you are wrong, m’moiselle. I could have you thrown in the stocks just for having found you in my room. I could have your head for the insults you threw at a Prince of France. Prove that you are the musician you confess to be, and you might just save your pretty head for one more day.”

  This guy was too much. Really, taking this acting gig to the extreme weren’t we? Whatever. I just needed to get out of this room and find my parents. Maybe he’d cool his heels then and I could palm him off on someone else to playact with. “You want me to sing? Fine, I can sing.” I took a deep breath ready to launch into a song when he grabbed my arm and stopped me.

  “Not here.” He pulled me out the door, into the hallway. “In front of the king and his assembly.”