“I can tell you that. They are emeralds.”
Tt would be a wonderful picture when restored. That dress as it must have been when it was painted, and the emeralds. “
“It will be interesting to see what it looks like when you have finished with it.”
“I shall start at once.”
“You have all you require?”
“For a beginning. I will go to my room for what I need and get down to work immediately.”
“I can see you are all eagerness and I am delaying you.”
I did not deny this and he stood aside for me as I passed triumphantly from the gallery. I felt I had come satisfactorily through my first encounter with the Comte.
What a happy morning I spent working in the gallery! No one disturbed me. I had returned with my tools to find that two of the menservants had taken the picture from the wall. They asked if there was anything I needed. I told them I would ring if there was. They looked at me with some respect. They would go back to the servants’ quarters, I knew, and spread the news that the Comte had given his permission for me to stay.
I had put on a brown linen coat over my dress and I looked very businesslike. Oddly enough as soon as I put on my coat I felt competent. I wished I had been wearing it during my meeting with the Comte.
I settled down to study the condition of the paint. Before I attempted to remove the varnish I must assess the tightness of the paint to the ground. It was clear that there was more discoloration here than from the ordinary accumulation of dust and grime. I had often found that before using a resin on varnish it was wise to wash carefully with soap and water. It took me a long time to decide on this course but eventually I did.
I was surprised when a maid knocked on the door to remind me that it was time for dejeuner. This I took in my room and as it was a practice never to work after lunch, I slipped out of the chateau and walked to the Maison Bastide. It seemed only courteous to tell them
what had happened since they had shown such interest in whether or not I stayed.
The old lady was in her rocking chair and delighted to see me. The children, she told me, were having lessons with Monsieur Ie Cure; Armand, Jean Pierre and Gabrielle were working; but it was a great pleasure to see me.
I seated myself beside her and said: “I have seen the Comte.”
“I heard he was back at the chateau.”
“I am to restore a picture and if it is a success I am to complete the work. I have already started; it is a portrait of one of his ancestors. A lady in a red dress and stones which at the moment are the colour of mud. The Comte says they are emeralds.”
“Emeralds,” she said.
“They could be the Gaillard emeralds.”
“Family heirlooms?”
“They were … once upon a time.”
“And no longer so?”
“Lost. I think during the Revolution.”
“I suppose the chateau passed out of the hands of the family then?”
“Not exactly. We are far from Paris, and there was less trouble here.
But the chateau was overrun. “
“It seems to have survived fairly well.”
“Yes. It’s a story that’s been handed down to us. They were forcing their way in. Perhaps you have seen the chapel? It is in the oldest part of the castle. You will notice that over the door on the outer wall there is broken masonry. Once a statue of St. Genevieve stood there high over the door. The revolutionaries were bent on desecrating the chapel. Fortunately for Chateau Gaillard they tried to pull down St. Genevieve first; they were drunk on chateau wine when they attached ropes about the figure, but it was heavier than they thought and it collapsed on them and killed three of them. They took it for an omen. It was said afterwards that St. Genevieve saved Gaillard.”
“So that is why Genevieve is so called?”
“There have always been Genevieves in the family; and although the Comte of the day went to the guillotine, his son, who was a baby then, was cared for and in time went back to the chateau. This is a story we Bastides like to tell. We were for the People for liberty, fraternity and equality, against the aristocrats but we kept the baby Comte here in this house and we looked after him till it was all over. My husband’s father used to tell me about it. He was a year or so older than the young Comte.”
“So your family history is close to theirs.”
“Very close.”
“And the present Comte … he is your friend?”
“The de la Talles were never friends of the Bastides,” she said proudly.
“Only patrons. They don’t alter … and nor do we.”
She changed the subject and after a while I left and went back to the chateau. I was eager to continue with my work.
During the afternoon one of the servants came to the gallery to tell me that Monsieur Ie Comte would be pleased if I joined the family for dinner that night. They dined at eight o’clock, and as it would be such a small party it would be in one of the smaller dining-rooms. The maid said that she would take me there if I would be ready at five minutes to eight.
I felt too bewildered to work after that. The maid had spoken to me with respect, and this could only mean one thing: not only was I considered worthy to restore his pictures, but of even greater honour, I was to dine in his company.
I wondered what I should wear. I had only three dresses suitable for evening, none of them new. One was brown silk with coffee-coloured lace, the second very severe black velvet with a ruffle of white lace at the throat, and the third grey cotton with a lavender silk stripe. I decided at once on the black velvet.
I could not work by artificial light, so as soon as the daylight faded I went to my room. I took out the dress and looked at it. Velvet fortunately did not age, but the cut was by no means fashionable. I held it up to myself and looked at my reflection. My cheeks were faintly pink, my eyes reflecting the black velvet looked dark and a strand of hair had escaped from the coil. Disgusted with my silliness I put down the dress and was adjusting my hair when there was a knock at the door.
Mademoiselle Dubois entered. She looked at me disbelievingly and then stammered: “Mademoiselle Lawson, is it true that you have been invited to dine with the family?”
“Yes. Does it surprise you?”
“I have never been asked to dine with the family.”
I looked at her and was not surprised.
“I dare say they want to discuss the paintings with me. It’s easier to talk over the dinner table.”
“The Comte and his cousin, you mean?”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“I think you should be warned that the Comte has not a good reputation where a woman is concerned.”
I stared at her.
“He doesn’t regard me as a woman!” I retorted.
“I’m here to restore his paintings.”
“They say that he is callous, and in spite of that some find him irresistible.”
“My dear Mademoiselle Dubois, I have never yet found any man irresistible and don’t intend to start at my time of life.”
“Well, you are not all that old.”
Not all that old! Did she too think I was thirty?
She saw that I was annoyed and hurried on deprecatingly: “There was that poor unfortunate lady his wife. The rumours one hears are … quite shocking. It’s terrifying, isn’t it, to think that we are under the same roof with a man like that.”
“I don’t think either of us need be afraid,” I said.
She came close to me.
“I lock my door at nights … while he is in the house. You should do the same. And I should be very careful… tonight. It might be that he wants to amuse himself while he’s here with someone in the house. You can never be sure.”
“I will be careful,” I said to placate and get rid of her.
As I dressed I wondered about her. Did she in the quiet of her room dream erotic dreams of an enamoured Comte’s attempts to seduce her? I was certain that she was in as little danger of such a fate as I was.