“I’ll be silent.”
“Good old Lucinda.”
A week passed. We rode a good deal, usually in the company of Jean Pascal. Visitors came to the château and there were one or two dinner parties.
I was longing to go home, but I found a great pleasure in walking in the grounds of the château. I liked to be alone there. I used to sit by the lake, watching the swans and the little brown duck who came waddling by. I would take a few crumbs for him and was amused by the way he would come to the edge of the lake and wait patiently for the offering.
Sometimes as I sat there I would think how strange life was, and would imagine my mother as a young girl, not much older than I was now, sitting on this very seat. There had been a black swan then. She often talked of it and how it defended its territory with venom.
How peaceful it was now, with the beautiful docile swans in place of the black one. And yet there were mysterious undercurrents…things seeming not quite what they were represented to be.
One early afternoon when I had been sitting by the lake and was returning to the château, I met the postman in the grounds. He was coming to the house with some mail.
He called a greeting. He knew who I was, for I had collected the mail from him before.
“Ah,” he said, “once more, mademoiselle, you have saved my legs. I am running a little late. Would you take this one for Monsieur Bourdon?”
I said I would and took the letter. It was a foolscap envelope with Jean Pascal’s name written on it in bold black capitals.
The postman thanked me and went on his way.
I thought Jean Pascal might be in his study, so I took the letter up there. I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I opened the door and went in. The window was open and as I entered, a gust of wind picked up the papers that were lying on the desk and scattered them over the floor.
I shut the door, hurried in, put the letter I had brought on the desk and stooped to pick up the papers.
As I did so, a phrase on one of them caught my eyes. It was Jacques and Marguerite Plantain—10,000 francs.
I stared at it. There was some writing in French which I could not entirely understand, and the address in the letterhead was that of solicitors in Bordeaux.
Understanding flashed into my mind. It was as though pieces of a puzzle had suddenly and miraculously fitted themselves together and presented me with a picture.
“Interesting?” said a voice behind me.
Jean Pascal had come into the room.
I felt myself blushing hotly as he took the paper from my hand.
Then he spoke in a cool voice that struck terror into me. “What are you doing with my papers, Lucinda?”
I heard myself stammering. “I…er…I…brought a letter. The postman gave it to me because I was on the grounds. I did knock. There was no answer, so I opened the door. The window was open, you see, and the draft…the papers fell on the floor. I was picking them up.”
“Of course.”
He picked up the rest of the papers and put them on the desk. He smiled at me. “It was very helpful of you, Lucinda. And how good of you to bring my mail.”
I escaped and went out of the château, letting the air cool my burning cheeks.
Ten thousand francs to Jacques and Marguerite Plantain. It was clear. It was for taking the baby. Why should Jean Pascal want them to take a baby?
I should have seen it before. Carl and Annabelinda had met…secretly…they had been lovers. The result of lovemaking was babies. And Carl had left her to face the consequences. No wonder she had changed. How could I not have guessed? She had fainted in class. Madame Rochère had sent for the doctor and immediately afterward Jean Pascal had come. In his suave, sophisticated manner, he had known exactly how to deal with such a situation.
She had not been to Switzerland. She had been to Bergerac, which the map showed me was near enough for convenience and far enough for anonymity. Annabelinda would agree with everything her grandfather suggested. She would realize the wisdom of his instructions about the need for secrecy.
She had had a baby and it was the one in the Plantains’ cottage. And because Marguerite had lost her baby, she was eager to have another. Moreover she had been paid handsomely to look after him and would be paid regularly throughout his life. The child would ease her pain over her own loss and give her and her husband security throughout their lives. Annabelinda’s misfortune was the Plantains’ blessing.
Now that I knew, I could think only of the baby, who would receive from Marguerite that love and care which his own mother could not give him.
I felt overburdened by this dark secret. I almost wished I had not discovered it. I myself had a secret now. I must never let anyone know that I was aware of what had happened.
As I sat looking at the swans I heard the sound of footsteps, and my heart started to pound in terror, for Jean Pascal was coming toward me.
He sat down beside me.
“I am glad I found you,” he said. “I think you and I have something to say to each other.”
“I assure you I only went into your study to take the letter. The papers blew to the floor, and naturally I thought I should pick them up.”
“But naturally. And what you saw on one, you found of great interest?”
“But I…”
“Please, Lucinda, let there be no subterfuge between us. Let me say at once that I believe what you tell me. But something did attract your attention….Well, it astonished you. It was on the paper you read.”
I was silent.
“Lucinda, my dear, you must be frank with me, as I shall be with you. What was on that paper?”
I took a deep breath. I did not know how to begin.
“It…it was the name of two people who live on the school estate, was it?” he urged.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You know these people?”
“Yes. At least, I know Madame Plantain. I talk to her when I walk past the cottage in the grounds. I knew she was going to have a baby.”
“Yes?”
“I knew the baby died and she adopted another.”
“You are a clever girl, Lucinda. You say to yourself, why should Jean Pascal Bourdon pay her money…as I have seen he has done by that paper.”
“Well…”
“Oh, come, we have finished with innuendos. If we are to understand this little matter, we must be frank. You thought how strange it was that the grandfather of Annabelinda should be paying money to these people. You think, Annabelinda has been away for some months. She suffered from a mysterious illness, and then there is a baby. Well, I am sure the situation has become clear to clever little Lucinda, who, let us admit, was somewhat puzzled about the mysterious happenings before. And when she saw that paper with the names of people she knew…she began to understand. Is that so?”
“I began to think…yes.”
“Of course.” He slipped an arm through mine and pressed it against him.
“Lucinda,” he went on, “you and I are good friends, are we not? I have always had a softness in my heart for you. You are the daughter of my dear Lucie, whom I always adored. You have been the companion of my granddaughter. I regard you as my own family.”
“It is kind of you, and I am sorry I took the letter up to your study. I should have left it in the hall.”
“Well, no. Perhaps it is as well. Now we shall have this matter cleared up. You will share our secret, and I know I can trust you not to reveal it. You are fond of Annabelinda. She has committed an indiscretion. It is not the first time it has happened in my family…your family…anybody’s family. It is nature’s way. Deplorable…but it can be set right…and forgotten. It is always wise in life to forget that which is unpleasant. Remorse is very good for us, but it should be indulged in with caution and taken in small doses, and never enough to impair the zest for living. Do you agree?”