“And she refused to tell you the name of her lover?”
Madame Bastide nodded.
“That’s what worries me. If it was one of the young men … well, we’d not like it but we could put it to rights.
But as she won’t say, I’m afraid. Why should she be afraid to tell us if it could all be put right? That’s what I want to know. It looks as if it’s someone who can’t do the right thing. “
I asked if I could make some coffee, and to my surprise she allowed me to. She sat at the table staring blankly before her and when I had made it I said could I take a cup up to Gabrielle.
Permission given I carried the cup upstairs and when I knocked at the door Gabrielle said: “It’s no use, Gran’mere.” So I opened the door and went in holding the cup of steaming coffee.
“You … Dallas!”
“I’ve brought you this. I thought you might like it.”
She lay and looked at me with leaden eyes.
I pressed her hand. Poor Gabrielle, her position was that of thousands of girls and to each it is a new and personal tragedy.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“You can’t marry and …”
She shook her head more violently and turned it away so that I could not see her face.
“Is he … married already?”
She closed her lips tightly and refused to answer.
“Well, in that case, he can’t marry you and you’ll just have to try and be as brave as possible.”
“They’re going to hate me,” she said.
“All of them…. It won’t be the same again.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“They’re shocked … they’re hurt… but they’ll grow away from that, and when the child comes they’ll love it.”
She smiled at me wanly.
“You always want to make things right, Dallas, people as well as pictures. There’s nothing you can do, though. I’ve made my bed, as they say, and I’m the one that’s got to lie on it.”
“Someone else should be with you in this trouble.”
But she was stubborn and would not tell anything.
I went sadly back to the chateau remembering that happy table on Christmas Day and thinking how suddenly, how alarmingly, life could change. There was no security in happiness.
The Comte did not return to the chateau immediately after the wedding.
Philippe and his bride had gone to Italy for their honeymoon and I wondered whether the Comte had found someone with whom to amuse himself now that he had so cynically handed Claude to Philippe.
That, I told myself angrily, was the most reasonable explanation of his absence.
He did not return until it was almost time for Claude and Philippe to come home and even then he made no attempt to see me alone. I asked myself whether he sensed my disapproval. As if he would care for that!
Still, he might decide that I was being even more presumptuous than usual.
I was very disappointed, for I had been hoping to talk to him again and I was dreading the time when Philippe and his wife returned. I was certain that Claude already disliked me and I imagined she was the sort of woman who would make no secret of her dislike.
Perhaps it would be necessary to take up Philippe’s offer to find me other employment. In spite of my growing apprehension, the thought of leaving the chateau was distinctly depressing.
After the three weeks’ honeymoon they returned, and on the very day following her arrival I had an encounter with Claude and discovered how deeply she disliked me.
I was coming from the gallery when we met.
“I should have thought you would have finished the work by now,” she said.
“I remember how well advanced you were at Christmas time.”
“Restoring pictures is a very exacting task. And the col lection in the gallery has been sadly neglected.”
“But I thought it would present little difficulty to such an expert.”
“There are always difficulties and a great deal of patience is required.”
“Which is why you need such concentration and cannot work all day?”
So she had noticed my method! And was she hinting that I was wasting time in order to prolong my stay at the castle?
I said warmly: “You can be assured, Madame de la Talle, that I shall finish the pictures as quickly as possible.”
She bowed her head.
“It is a pity that they could not have been completed in time for the ball which we are giving to our friends. I expect you, like the rest of the household, are looking forward to the second ball.”
She swept past me before I had time to answer. She was clearly indicating that she would not expect to see me at the first. I wanted to cry out: “But the Comte has already invited me. And he is still the master of the house!”
I went to my room and looked at the green velvet dress.
Why shouldn’t I go? He had asked me and he would expect me. What a triumph to be welcomed by him under the haughty nose of the new Madame de la Talle.
But by the night of the ball I had changed my mind. He had not found an opportunity of being with me. Did I really think that he would take my side against hers?
I went to bed early on the night of the ball. I could hear the music now and then from the ballroom as I lay trying to read but actually picturing the brilliant scene. On the dais the musicians would be playing behind the banks of carnations which I had seen the gardeners arranging during the day. I pictured the Comte opening the ball with his cousin’s wife. I imagined myself in my green dress with the emerald brooch I had won at the treasure hunt pinned to it. Then I began thinking of the emeralds in the portrait and myself wearing them. I should look like a comtesse.
I gave a snort of laughter and picked up my book. But I found it difficult to concentrate. I thought of the voices I had heard from the top of the staircase which led to the dungeons and I wondered whether those two were together now. Were they congratulating each other on their cleverness in arranging this marriage which brought her under his roof?
What an explosive situation! What would come out of it? It was small wonder that scandal surrounded the Comte. Had he been as reckless in his treatment of his wife?
I heard footsteps in the corridor outside my room. I listened. They had stopped outside my door. Someone was standing there. I could distinctly hear the sound of breathing.
I sat up in bed, my eyes fixed on the door; then suddenly the handle turned.
“Genevieve!” I cried.
“You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been standing outside wondering whether you were asleep.”
She came and sat on the bed. Her blue silk ball dress was charming but her expression sullen.
“It’s a hateful ball,” she said.
“Why?”
“Aunt Claude!” she said.
“She’s not my aunt. She’s the wife of Cousin Philippe.”
“Speak English,” I said.
“I can’t when I’m angry. I have to think too much and I can’t be angry and think at the same time.”
“Then perhaps it would be an even better idea if you spoke English.”
“Oh miss, you sound just like old Esquilles. To think that woman is going to live here …”
“Why do you dislike her so?”
“I don’t dislike her. I hate her.”
“What has she done to you?”
“She’s come here to live. If she would stay in one place all the time I wouldn’t mind because then I shouldn’t have to go where she was.”