“Miss … come on.”
The feeling had passed, and I turned. As Genevieve went before me up the staircase, I felt as though my feet were made of lead and I could scarcely lift them; I almost fancied I heard a footstep behind me. It was as though icy hands were laid on me pulling me back into the gloom. It was all imagination; my throat was constricted so that I could scarcely breathe, my heart a great weight in my chest. The candle dipped erratically and for one second of horror I was afraid it was going out. I felt we should never reach the top of that stairway.
The ascent could not have taken more than a minute or so, but it seemed like ten. I stood breathless at the top of the stairs . outside the room in which was the oubliette.
“Come on, miss,” said Genevieve, her teeth chattering.
“I’m cold.”
We climbed the stairs.
“Miss,” said Genevieve, ‘can I stay in your room for tonight? “
“Of course.”
“I… I might disturb Nounou if I went back.”
I did not point out that Nounou was never disturbed; I knew that she had shared my fear and was afraid to sleep alone.
I lay awake for a long time, going over every minute of that nocturnal adventure.
Fear of the unknown, I told myself, was an inheritance from our savage forebears. What had I feared in the dungeons? Ghosts of the past?
Something that did not exist outside a childish imagination?
Yet when I did sleep my dreams were haunted by the sound of tapping. I dreamed of a young woman who could not rest because she had died violently. She wanted to return to explain to me exactly how she had died.
Tap! Tap!
I started up in bed. It was the maid with my breakfast. Genevieve must have awakened early, for she was no longer in my room.
The next afternoon I went down to the dungeons alone. I had intended to ask Genevieve to accompany me, but she was nowhere to be found and as I was a little ashamed of my terror of the night before, I wanted to show myself - here was nothing to fear.
as I stepped farther into the dungeon, a heavy door closed behind me and I could not suppress a little scream for a dark shadow loomed up behind me and a hand caught my arm.
“Mademoiselle Lawson!”
I gasped. The Comte was standing behind me.
“I…”
I began.
“You startled me.”
“It was foolish of me. How dark it is with the door shut.” Still he did not open it. I was conscious of him very close to me.
“I wondered who was here,” he said.
“I might have known it would be you. You are so interested in the chateau. So naturally you love to explore… and a gruesome place like this would be particularly attractive.”
He had laid a hand on my shoulder. If I had wanted to protest at that moment I should have been unable to; I was filled with fear the more frightening because I did not know what I feared.
His voice sounded close to my ear.
“What did you hope to discover, Mademoiselle Lawson?”
“I hardly know. Genevieve heard noises and last night we came down to investigate. I said we would come back by daylight.”
“So she is coming too?”
“She may.”
He laughed.
“Noises?” he said.
“What noises?”
“A tapping sound. Genevieve has mentioned it before. She came to my room because I was interested and I had said that if she heard it again we would investigate.”
“You can guess what it is,” he said.
“Some deathwatch beetle settling down to a banquet off the old chateau. We’ve had them before.”
“Oh … I see.”
“It would have occurred to you, of course. You must have encountered him in some of your stately homes of England. “
“Of course. But these stone walls …”
“There’s plenty of wood in the place.” He drew away from me, and going to the door threw it open. Now I could see more clearly, the miserable cages, the dreadful rings and chains . and the Comte, looking pale, I thought, and his expression more veiled even than usual.
“If we have some beetle in the place it means trouble.” He grimaced and lifted his shoulders.
“You will have this investigated?”
“In time,” he said.
“After the grape harvest perhaps. It takes those wretches a long time to tap this place away. It was only ten years ago that it was overhauled. There shouldn’t be much trouble.”
“You suspected it?” I asked.
“Is that why you were investigating?”
“No,” he said.
“I saw you turn down the staircase and followed. I thought perhaps you had made a discovery.”
“A discovery? What sort of discovery?”
“Uncovered some work of art. You remember you were telling me?”
“Yes, do tell her. Tell her to go to sleep and not listen for it.”
“I will,” I said.
We mounted the stairs together and as usual in his company my feelings were mixed. I felt as though I had been caught prying and on the other hand I was elated to be talking to him again.
I explained to Genevieve when we went riding together the next day.
“Beetles!” she cried.
“Why, they’re almost as bad as ghosts.”
“Nonsense,” I laughed.
“They’re tangible creatures and they can be destroyed.”
“If not, they destroy houses. Ugh! I don’t like the thought of our having beetles. And what are they tapping for?”
“They tap on the wood with their heads to attract their mates.”
That made Genevieve laugh and we became rather gay. I saw that she was relieved.
It was a lovely day. There had been heavy intermittent showers all the morning and the grass and trees smelt wonderfully fresh.
The grapes, which had been severely pruned so that about ninety per cent of the growth had been cut away, were looking fine and healthy.
Only the best remained, and they would have plenty of room to absorb the sunshine to make them sweet and give a real chateau wine.
Genevieve said suddenly, “I wish you came to dinner, miss.”
“Thank you, Genevieve,” I said, ‘but I cannot come uninvited and in any case I am perfectly content with a tray in my room. “
“Papa and you used to talk together.”
“Naturally.”
She laughed.
“I wish she hadn’t come here. I don’t like her. I don’t think she likes me either.”
“You are referring to your Aunt Claude?”
“You know to whom I’m referring and she’s not my aunt.”
“It’s easier to call her so.”
“Why? She’s not much older than I am. They seem to forget I’m grown up. Let’s go to the Maison Bastide and see what they’re doing.”
Her face, which had been set in discontented lines when she had talked of Claude, changed at the prospect of going to the Bastides’, and as I was afraid of these sudden moods of hers, I was very willing to turn Bonhomme in the direction of their house.
We found Yves and Margot in the garden. They carried baskets on their arms and were bent double examining the front path as they sang in their thin childish voices and now and then shouting to each other.
We tied our horses to the post and Genevieve ran to them asking what they were doing.
“Don’t you know?” demanded Margot, who was at this stage of her young life inclined to think those who did not know what she knew were excessively ignorant.
“Snails!” cried Genevieve.
Yves looked up at her grinning and held out his basket to show her. In it lay several snails.
“We’re going to have a feast!” he told her.
He stood up and began to dance, singing: