The Changeling (63 page)

“I feel honored to escort two beautiful young ladies,” he said gallantly.

As we settled into the train Belinda said: “This is an adventure. Not for you, mon père. You have had too many adventures to get excited about one … if it is an adventure for you which this is not, of course.”

She had decided to call him “mon père.” “Father” seemed wrong somehow. She said, you could not suddenly start calling someone father. She thought mon père more suitable and he seemed to like it. So that was what he had become.

He said now, “I can still get excited about adventures and I do admit that this one is filling me with elation.”

We all leaned forward to wave to Celeste who was standing at the door. As we did so, I caught a glimpse of Amy’s Jack, the deliverer of documents. He was standing on the other side of the road.

“Did you see the young man?” I asked Belinda. “He’s waiting for a glimpse of Amy.” As the carriage moved off I told them about my conversation with Amy. “He delivers documents,” I added.

“An odd occupation,” said Jean Pascal. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It may be that Amy didn’t get it right or he is trying to impress her.”

“I daresay that was it. What of your sister, Rebecca? What does she think about your coming to France?”

“It was all arranged so quickly. I have written to her, but I am wondering whether she will have received my letter by now.”

“I always had such a great respect for Rebecca. A wonderful lady. And now she is living in my old home. I find that rather amusing.”

“Oh, they love High Tor. It’s a fine old house.”

“I agree.”

“It’s a very special place for me, I believe,” said Belinda somewhat roguishly.

Her father chose to ignore that remark and, always alert for his reaction, Belinda did not pursue it.

“Everything looks different this morning,” she said. “That’s because we are leaving London.”

In a very short time we had reached the station. We were in good time but the boat train was already waiting. A porter took our luggage and we were conducted along the platform to a first class carriage.

“I expect you two young ladies would like corner seats,” said Jean Pascal.

“Oh yes, please,” cried Belinda.

She got into the train and I was about to follow her when some instinct made me turn my head. I looked along the platform and, to my astonishment, I was sure a young man I saw not far from us was Amy’s friend, Jack.

No, I thought. We left him near the house. It couldn’t possibly be. What would he be doing here at the boat train?

“Come on,” said Belinda. “What are you waiting for?”

I got into the train.

“Here is your window seat,” said Jean Pascal. He took my arm and as I sat down his hand lingered on mine.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

I could not stop thinking of Amy’s Jack. It must have been someone who bore a resemblance to him. He was really quite an ordinary young man and the mistake was understandable.

Belinda sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she said.

It was during the Channel crossing that I met the Fitzgeralds.

The sea was smooth and Belinda and I were sitting on the deck with Jean Pascal. Belinda was talking animatedly with her father. I sometimes felt I was a little
de trop.
It was easy for me to understand that. Belinda wanted to be alone with the father whom she had recently discovered. She had wanted me to come along with them, true, and she had been very insistent that I should but there were moments when they wished to be alone together and this was one of them.

I stood up and said, “I am going to take a little walk.”

“Don’t go too far away,” cautioned Jean Pascal.

“No, I won’t. I’ll keep you in sight.”

I walked a little way and paused to lean on the rail and look at the sea. There was no sight of land, and the faintest breeze ruffled the waves a little. I stood, filling my lungs with the fresh air. Where was Joel now? I wondered, as I did constantly. How was Gerald faring with his what-could-be-called a wild goose chase? How could he discover what others had failed to do?

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” said a voice beside me.

I turned. A young woman was standing beside me. She was taller than I, fair-haired and had a pleasant smile.

“Very,” I replied.

“We’re lucky to have it so smooth. It can be quite rough really.”

“I’m sure it can. You cross often, do you?”

“Not often, but I have done it before … when it wasn’t so pleasant. Is this your first crossing?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then I’m glad it is a good one.”

There was silence while we both looked out to sea. Then she said, “Are you staying in France?”

“Yes … for a time.”

“Beautiful country.”

“You know it well?”

“Not really. But I have visited it several times. This time we are going farther south than usual. Near Bordeaux.”

“Oh … so are we!”

“On holiday?”

“Yes … I suppose so. Visiting.”

“I’m convalescing.”

“Oh! You’ve been ill?”

“My brother says I need a rest away from the damp of home. He thinks this is the place. He says the climate is good for the vines so it will be for me. That’s why he’s taking me.”

“How nice of him.”

“He’s a very good brother, but he fusses a little. I’m not complaining. It’s comforting. Well, there are just the two of us now, you see. Oh … here he is.”

A man was coming toward us. He was tall and had the same pleasant smile which I had thought attractive in his sister. He was a few years older than she was, I imagined.

“Oh … there you are, Phillida,” he said, not noticing me for a few seconds. “There’s a chill in the air. Button up your coat.”

She looked at me and smiled as though to say, there, I told you so.

I was about to move away when she said: “This is my brother Roland … Roland Fitzgerald.”

“How do you do?” I said.

He took my hand and shook it. He was looking at me questioningly. “I’m Lucie Lansdon,” I said.

“We were just chatting as we looked at the sea and congratulated ourselves on its calmness,” said Phillida.

He looked at her with mock exasperation which told me that it was a habit of hers to chat to strangers and one of which he did not entirely approve.

“She’s going to stay near Bordeaux,” announced Phillida.

“Oh, not exactly Bordeaux,” I said. “It’s a place near, I think. A little place called Bourdon. I imagine it’s a sort of hamlet.”

“I believe I’ve heard of it,” he said. “We shall be a few miles further south. Isn’t there a château there? Château Bourdon, I believe.”

“Yes, that’s right. I suppose I ought to be going. It won’t be long before we are disembarking.”

“It was very nice to have a chat,” said Phillida.

Her brother put his arm through hers and, smiling, I turned away and went back to Belinda and Jean Pascal.

I wondered during the long journey down to Bourdon whether I should see the Fitzgeralds again as they were traveling in the same direction; but I did not.

There were so many hours in the train … first to Paris, where we had to change, then to Bordeaux where a carriage was waiting for us, to take us the several miles to Bourdon.

It was late at night when we arrived, so I could not see the full glory of the château at that time. We turned into a long avenue with big trees on either side and we seemed to drive for at least a mile before we came to the château.

As we pulled up several people came running toward us and there appeared to be a great deal of bustle from within. I was aware of a dark imposing building. We mounted several stone steps to reach the door. Belinda was awestruck and for once silent.

Two men appeared with lanterns to guide us into an enormous hall. A sudden feeling of dread came over me, and a ridiculous impulse to turn and run back home, down to Cornwall and Rebecca. It was an absurd feeling which I dismissed at once. I was overwrought. Too much that was tragic had happened to me in too short a time. My father … Joel … I felt an almost unbearable longing for them both … my father’s shrewd common sense … Joel’s gentleness. If only I could enjoy them again.

I glanced at Belinda. She clearly felt no such misgivings: her mood was one of sheer enchantment.

People were scurrying about in all directions; and Jean Pascal was giving orders in rapid French. Thérèse … Marie … Jeanne … Jacques … Georges … there seemed to be so many of them. I gathered that first we were to be shown our rooms where we could wash and change before eating.

I was given in the care of Thérèse who was middle-aged and brisk. She took me up a wide staircase to a corridor which was long and dark. She set down a candelabrum which she was carrying and lighted its three candles, then she held it high and I followed her to the room which had been chosen for me.

I shivered a little. I thought, it will be different in daylight. I was trying to shake off that sense of foreboding.

Thérèse indicated the hot water and towels which had been set up in a little alcove, and which I later learned was called a
ruelle.
I managed to understand what she was saying, which was that she would return for me in fifteen minutes and take me to the dining room.

There was a basin and ewer, so I washed and combed my hair. My face in candlelight looked back at me from an antique mirror; it seemed mottled and unlike me … almost a stranger.

Why had I come here? I was asking myself. I might now be at High Tor with Rebecca. I had hesitated, it was true, but Belinda had been persuasive and I was as easily influenced by her as I had ever been.

I told myself that I was being foolish. It had been a long and exhausting journey; I was in a strange land; I had suffered a great shock from which I had not yet recovered. I would feel differently in the morning.

Thérèse came and took me down to the dining room where Jean Pascal was waiting. He took my hands and held them firmly.

“It is my earnest desire that you should be happy here, Lucie,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I shall do my best to make you like this place.”

“It is kind of you.”

Belinda had arrived.

“What an exciting place!” she cried. “I long to explore.”

“Which you shall do in the morning,” her father assured her. “I myself will take you on a tour of inspection … and Lucie as well, of course.”

“I long to see it all,” enthused Belinda.

“For tonight you must content yourself with what my servants have prepared for you. I will not have you see too much of my château for the first time in the dark.”

Belinda laughed with pleasure.

The meal seemed to go on for a long time. I felt a little better. I had just had an attack of nerves … something which I had thought could not happen to me. I was just tired and could not feel that exuberance that Belinda did.

Jean Pascal was eager for us to taste the wine. It was one of the finest vintages, he told us, and he had ordered it to be served tonight because this was a special occasion.

“And this is your own wine?” cried Belinda.

“My dear child, did you think I would allow anything else to be served in my château?”

Belinda laughed. I liked to see her happy. She had an effect on me, for she helped to lift my spirits.

When the meal was over Jean Pascal suggested we retire.

“We are all feeling the effects of the long journey,” he said. “All those hours on the train … they are a trial of endurance.”

So we said good night and Jean Pascal summoned the servants to conduct us to our rooms. Thérèse took me to mine. I could see why this was necessary. I should not have been able to find mine by myself.

Candles throw shadows over a room and somehow they disturb the imagination. The drapes had been drawn across the windows. I undressed but before getting into bed I went to the window and drew back the curtains. I could just see a green expanse in the middle of which was a fountain. There was no moon, but the stars were bright; and I felt happier with the light from them in my room.

I wondered if Belinda’s room was close to mine. She seemed to have gone in another direction when we had been escorted up after dinner.

The place seemed very quiet.

I looked at my door which was heavy, with intricate carving. It seemed to me that some of the flowers seemed to have human faces. It was beautiful, I supposed, but in a way menacing—as I saw it that night.

That was the mood I was in.

Then I noticed the key in the lock. I turned it. Now I had locked myself in.

It was amazing how much better that made me feel.

I got into bed, but it was a long time before I slept.

When I awoke the sun was shining.

The room looked quite different. I unlocked my door and went back to bed. I saw that it was seven o’clock. I lay there wondering what life would be like here. I started thinking of how much everything had changed since my father’s death. I was longing for the old days … the familiar house, the conversations we had had. I wanted to wait up for him on his late nights at the House, to enjoy once more those evenings when I sat opposite him watching him eat while he told me about the day’s proceedings; I wanted to think of a settled future with Joel, marrying with the approval of both families … settling into a way of life which was already familiar to me.

I had believed it was there … waiting for me, but with two blows, fate had decided otherwise; and there I was in an ancient château which echoed with memories of the past; it seemed to me that there were ghosts here, ready to emerge. Many stirring events must have happened here … death … unhappiness … dark secrets. Pleasures too … joys … happiness. Why, in such places, did one always think of the unpleasant things? Perhaps because they were more obtrusive.

What was I expected to do? I presumed a maid would come in with hot water. In the last few days I had tried to improve the French I had learned with Miss Jarrett; speaking it … particularly with the natives … was quite different from reading and speaking it with Miss Jarrett.

At about eight o’clock there was a tap at my door. I called for whoever was there to come in.