“Now, you must lie down. Here on this sofa. So much more restful than sitting.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“Forgive me, mademoiselle, it is very necessary. I am going to make you some coffee.” There was an open fire in her grate and on a hob a kettle was singing.
“Good hot strong coffee. It will help you to feel better. My poor mademoiselle, it has been terrible for you!”
“How did you know what had happened?”
She turned to the fire and busied herself with the coffee.
“Genevieve came back by herself. I saw by her face …”
“You guessed?”
“It happened before. There was one of the governesses. Not like you at all… A pretty young lady a little brazen perhaps, … Genevieve did the same thing to her. It was soon after her mother died … not long afterwards.”
“So she shut her governess in the oubliette as she did me. How long did she stay there?”
“Longer than you did. You see, as she was the first, I didn’t find out until some time. Poor young lady, she was fainting with fear. She refused to stay in the chateau after that… and that was the end of her as far as we were concerned.”
“You mean that girl makes a habit of this?”
“Only twice. Please, mademoiselle, do not excite your self. It is bad for you after what happened.”
“I want to see her. I shall make her understand …”
I realized that the reason I was so angry was because I had been near to panic and was ashamed of myself, disappointed and surprised. I had always believed myself to be so self-reliant and it was as though I had removed a film from a painting and found something unsuspected beneath. And here was another discovery, I was doing that which I had so often condemned in others turning my anger on someone because I was angry with myself. Of course Genevieve had behaved abominably but it was my own conduct that was upsetting me now.
Nounou came and stood beside the sofa, clasping her hands together and looking down at me.
“It is not easy for her, mademoiselle. A girl like her to lose her mother. I have tried to do my best.”
“She was devoted to her mother?”
“Passionately. Poor child, it was a terrible shock for her. She has never recovered from it. I trust you will remember that.”
“She is undisciplined,” I said.
“Her behaviour on the first occasion we met was intolerable, and now
this … I suppose I should have been left there indefinitely if you had not discovered what she had done.”
“No. She only wanted to frighten you, perhaps because you seemed so well able to take care of yourself and she, poor child, is so definitely not.”
“Tell me,” I said, ‘why is she so strange? “
She smiled with relief.
“That is what I want to do, mademoiselle, to tell you.”
“I should like to understand what makes her act as she does.”
“And when you do, mademoiselle, you will forgive her. You will not tell her father what has happened this afternoon? You will not mention it to anyone?”
I was unsure. I said promptly: “I certainly intend to speak to Genevieve about it.”
“But to no one else, I beg of you. Her father would be very angry and she dreads his anger.”
“Wouldn’t it be good for her to realize the wickedness of what she did? We shouldn’t pat her on the back and tell her nothing matters because you came and rescued me.”
“No, speak to her if you wish, but I must talk to you first. There are things I want to tell you.”
She turned away and busied herself at the table.
“About,” she said slowly, ‘her mother’s death. “
I waited for her to go on. She could not have been more eager to tell me than I was to hear. But she would not speak until she made the coffee. She left the brown jug to stand and came back to the couch.
“It was terrible … that to happen to a young girl of eleven. She was the one who found her dead.”
“Yes,” I agreed, ‘that would be terrible. “
“She used to go in and see her mother first thing in the morning.
Imagine a young girl going in and finding that! “
I nodded.
“But it was three years ago and terrible as it was it does not excuse her for locking me in that place.”
“She has never been the same since. She changed after wards. There were these fits of naughtiness in which she seemed to delight. It is because she misses her mother’s love; because she is afraid …”
“Of her father?”
“So you have seen that. At the same time there were the questions and inquiries. It was so bad for her. The whole household believed that he had done it. He had his mistress….”
“I see. The marriage was unhappy. Did he love his wife when they were first married?”
“Mademoiselle, he could only love himself.”
“And did she love him?”
“You have seen how he frightens Genevieve. Francoise was afraid too.”
“Was she in love with him when she married him?”
“You know how marriages are arranged between such families. But perhaps it is not so in England. In France among our noble families marriages are always arranged by the parents. Isn’t it so in England?”
“Not to the same extent. Families are apt to disapprove of a choice but I do not think the rules are so rigid.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Here is it so, mademoiselle. And Francoise was betrothed to Lothair de la Talle when they were in their teens.”
“Lothair …” I repeated.
“Monsieur Ie Comte. It is a family name, mademoiselle. There have always been Lothairs in the family.”
“It’s a king’s name,” I said.
“That is why.” She looked puzzled and I said quickly: “I’m sorry. Pray go on.”
“The Comte had his mistress as Frenchmen do. No doubt he was more fond of her than of his affianced bride, but she was not suitable to be his wife, and so my Francoise married him.”
“You were her nurse too?”
“I came to her when she was three days old, and was with her till the end.”
“And now Genevieve has taken her place in your affections?”
“I trust to be with her always as I was with her mother. When it happened I couldn’t believe it. Why should it have happened to my Francoise? Why should she have taken her own life? It was unlike her.”
“Perhaps she was unhappy.”
“She did not hope for the impossible.”
“Did she know of his mistress?”
“Mademoiselle, in France these things are accepted. She was resigned.
She feared him; and I fancied she was glad of those visits to Paris.
When he was there . he was not in the chateau. “
“It does not sound to me like a happy marriage.”
“She accepted it.”
“And yet… she died.”
“She did not kill herself.” The old woman put her hands over her eyes and whispered as though to herself: “No, she did not kill herself.”
“But wasn’t that the verdict?”
She turned on me almost fiercely.
“What other verdict could there be except murder?”
“I heard it was an overdose of laudanum. How did she get it?”
“She often had toothache. I had the laudanum in my little cupboard and I used to give it to her. It soothed the toothache and sent her to sleep.”
“Perhaps she accidentally took too much.”
“She did not mean to kill herself. I am sure of it. But that was what they said. They had to … hadn’t they … for the sake of Monsieur Ie Comte?”
“Nounou,” I said, ‘are you trying to tell me that the Comte murdered his wife? “
She stared at me as though startled.
“You cannot say I said that, mademoiselle. I said no such thing. You are putting words into my mouth. “