“That was several years ago.”
“But she found her mother dead.”
“I see that you have been well informed of the family’s history.”
I stood up suddenly. I took a step towards him. He immediately rose although I was tall he was considerably taller than I and looked down at me. I tried to read the expression in those deeply set eyes.
“She is lonely,” I said.
“Don’t you see? Please don’t be harsh with her. If you would only be kind to her… if only …”
He was no longer looking at me; a faintly bored expression had come into his face.
“Why, Mademoiselle Lawson,” he said, “I thought you had come here to restore our pictures, not ourselves.”
I felt defeated.
I said: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I should have known it was useless.”
He led the way to the door; he opened it and bowed his head slightly as I went through.
I went back to my room wondering what I had done.
The next morning I went to the gallery to work as usual, expecting a summons from the Comte because I was certain that he would not allow such interference to pass. I had wakened often during the night to recall that scene, exaggerating it to such an extent that it was as though the devil himself had sat opposite me in that chair watching me through heavy-lidded eyes.
Lunch was brought up as usual. While I was eating it, Nounou came up.
She looked very old and tired and I guessed she had scarcely slept all night.
“Monsieur Ie Comte has been in the schoolroom all the morning,” she burst out.
“I can’t think what it means. He has been looking at all the exercise books and asking questions. Poor Genevieve is almost hysterical with fright.” She looked at me fearfully and added: “It’s so unlike him. But he has asked this, that and the other and he says he thinks she is quite ignorant. Poor Mademoiselle Dubois is almost in a state of collapse.”
“No doubt he feels it is time he took some notice of his daughter.”
“I don’t know what it means, miss. I wish I did.”
I went for a walk, taking a road which neither passed the Bastides’ house nor led into the town. I did not want to meet anyone; I merely wanted to be alone to think about Genevieve and her father.
When I returned to the chateau it was to find Nounou in my room waiting for me.
“Mademoiselle Dubois has gone,” she announced.
“What?” I cried.
“Monsieur Ie Comte just gave her her salary in lieu of notice.”
I was shaken.
“Oh … poor woman! Where will she go? It seems so … ruthless.”
“The Comte makes up his mind quickly,” said Nounou, ‘and then he acts. ”
“I suppose there will be a new governess, now.”
“I do not know what will happen, miss.”
“And Genevieve, how is she?”
“She never had any respect for Mademoiselle Dubois … and to tell the truth nor did I. She is afraid, though.”
After Nounou had gone I sat in my room wondering what would happen next. And what of myself? He could not call me inefficient. The work on the pictures was progressing very satisfactorily; but people were dismissed for other failings. Insolence, for one thing. And I had dared summon him to his own library, to criticize his treatment of his daughter. Now that I came to consider it calmly I had to admit that it would be understandable if I received my orders to go. As for the pictures, he could find someone to continue with the work. I was by no means indispensable.
Then, of course, there was the affair of the dress. I had been the loser, but every time he saw me he would remember what his daughter had done and remember, more over, that I had had too close a glimpse into his family’s secrets.
Genevieve came to my room and uttered a sullen apology which I knew she did not mean. I was too depressed If to say much to her.
When I was hanging up my things for the night I looked for the dress, which I had thrown into the wardrobe. It was no longer there. I was surprised and wondered whether Genevieve had removed it, but I decided to say nothing about its disappearance.
I was working in the gallery when the summons came.
“Monsieur Ie Comte would like to see you in the library, Mademoiselle Lawson.”
“Very well,” I said.
“I will be there in a few moments.” I picked up the sable brush I had been using and studied it thoughtfully. It is my turn now, I thought.
The door shut and I gave myself a few seconds in which to compose myself. Whatever happened I should pretend indifference. At least he would not be able to say I was incompetent.
I braced myself to go to the library. I thrust my hands into the pockets of the brown linen coat I was wearing, for fear they might tremble and betray my agitation. I wished my heart would not beat so fast; it might be obvious. I was glad my thick matt skin did not flush easily; but I guessed my eyes would be brighter than usual.
Without any outward show of haste I went to the library. As I approached the door I touched my hair and was reminded that it was probably untidy as it often became when I was working. All to the good. I did not want him to think I had prepared myself for the interview.
I knocked at the door.
“Please come in.” His voice was soft, inviting, but I did not trust his gentleness.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Lawson.”
He was smiling at me, intently, mischievously. What sort of mood was this?
“Please sit down.”
He took me to a chair which faced the window, so that the light was full on my face, and seated himself in shadow. I felt it was an unfair advantage.
“When we last met you were kind enough to express an interest in my daughter,” he said.
“I am very interested in her.”
“So good of you, particularly as you came here to restore the pictures. One would imagine you had little time to spare for that which did not concern your work. “
Now it was coming. I was not progressing fast enough. I was not giving satisfaction. This afternoon I would be speeding on my way from the chateau just as yesterday poor Mademoiselle Dubois had gone.
A horrible depression came over me. I could not bear to go. I should be more wretched than I had ever been in my life. I should never forget the chateau. I should be tormented by memories all my life. I wanted so much to know the truth about the chateau . about the Comte himself whether he was such a monster as most people seemed to think him. Had he always been as he was now? If not, what had made him so?
Did he know what I was thinking? He had paused and was watching me intently.
“I don’t know what you will think of my proposition, Mademoiselle Lawson, but one thing I do know is that you will be absolutely frank.”
“I shall try to be.”
“My dear Mademoiselle Lawson, you do not have to try. You are so naturally. It is an admirable characteristic and may I say one which I greatly admire.”
“You are very kind. Please tell me of this… proposition.”
“I feel my daughter’s education has been neglected. Governesses are a problem. How many of them take the posts because they have a vocation?
Very few. Most take them because, having been brought up to do nothing, they suddenly find themselves in a position where they have to do something. It is not a good motive for undertaking this most important occupation. In your profession it is necessary to have a gift. You are an artist. “
“Oh, no … I would not claim …”
“An artist manquee,” he finished and I sensed his mockery.
“Perhaps,” I said coolly.
“You see how different from these poor dejected ladies who come to teach our children! I have decided to send my daughter to school. You were gracious enough to offer an opinion as to her well-being. Please give me that candid opinion on this.”