The King of the Castle

One

Even as the branch-line train came into the station halt I was saying to myself: “It’s not too late. You could go straight back even now.”

During the journey I had crossed the Channel the night before and had been travelling all day I had been mustering my courage, assuring myself that I was no foolish girl but a sensible woman who had decided to take a certain action and was going to carry it through. What happened to me when I reached the castle depended on others; but I promised myself I should act with dignity, and behave as though I were not desperately anxious, hiding from them the fact that when I thought of what my future could be if they rejected me, I faced panic. I should let no one know how much this commission meant to me.

My appearance I felt for the first time in my life was in my favour.

I was twenty-eight and, in my dun-coloured travelling cloak and felt hat of the same colour, calculated to be useful rather than decorative, and after having travelled all night; I certainly looked my age. I was unmarried and had frequently intercepted pitying glances on that account and had heard myself referred to as ‘an old maid’ and ‘on the shelf. This had irritated me with its implication that the main reason for a woman’s existing was dedication to the service of some man a masculine assumption which, since my twenty-third birthday, I had determined to prove false; and I believed I was doing so. There could be other interests in life; and I consoled myself that I had found one.

The train slowed down. The only other person who alighted was a peasant woman carrying a basket of eggs under one arm and a live fowl under the other.

I took out my bags there were several of them, for they contained all I possessed my small wardrobe and the tools I should need for my work.

The only porter was at the barrier.

“Good day, madame,” he was saying.

“If you don’t hurry the baby will be born before you get there. I heard your Marie had started her pains three hours back. The mid wife’s gone to her.”

“Pray it’ll be a boy this time. All those girls. What the good Lord is thinking of…”

The porter was more interested in me than in the sex of the expected baby. I was aware that while he was talking he was watching me.

My bags were now beside me and as he stepped forward about to blow his whistle and send the train on its journey, an old man came hurrying on to the little platform.

“He, Joseph!” the porter greeted him and nodded towards me.

Joseph looked at me and shook his head.

“Gentleman,” he said.

“Are you from the Chateau Gaillard?” I asked in French, which I had spoken fluently from childhood. My mother had been French and when we had been alone we had conversed in that language although in my father’s presence English was always spoken.

Joseph came towards me, his mouth Slightly open, his eyes incredulous.

‘ “Yes, mademoiselle but…”

“You have come to pick me up.”

“Mademoiselle, I have come for a Monsieur Lawson.” He spoke the English name with difficulty.

I smiled and tried to force a nonchalance, into my manner, reminding myself that this was the smallest of the hurdles over which I should have to jump. I pointed to the labels on my baggage: D. Lawson.

Then realizing that Joseph probably couldn’t read I explained: “I am Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“From England?” he asked.

I assured him this was so.

“I was told an English gentleman.”

“There has been some mistake. It is an English lady instead.”

He scratched his head.

“Shouldn’t we be going?” I asked. I looked down at my baggage. The porter came slowly over, and as he and Joseph exchanged glances I said with authority: “Please put my baggage into the er… conveyance and we will leave for the chateau.”

I had practised self-control for years and there was no trace of the apprehension I was feeling. My manner was as effective here as it was at home. Joseph and the porter carried my bags to the waiting trap; I followed, and in a few moments we were on our way.

“The chateau is far from here?” I asked.

“Two kilometres or so, mademoiselle. You will see it soon.”

I looked about me at the rich wine-growing land. It was the end of October and the harvest was over; I supposed they would now be preparing for the next year’s crop. We skirted the little town with its square dominated by the church and hotel de ville, with its branching narrow streets, its shops and houses; and then I had my first glimpse of the chateau.

I shall never forget that moment. My common sense of which in the last year I had consoled myself I had plenty as a compensation for having little else-disappeared; and I forgot the difficulties in which I had recklessly placed myself. In spite of all the alarming possibilities which logical reasoning suggested were inevitable, I laughed quite audibly and said equally audibly: “I don’t care what hap pens. I’m glad I came.”

Fortunately I had spoken in English and Joseph could not understand. I said quickly: “So that is Chateau Gaillard!”

“That’s the chateau, mademoiselle.”

“Not the only Gaillard in France. I know the other in Normandy, of course. The one where Richard Coeur de Lion was kept a prisoner.”

Joseph grunted and I hurried on: “Ruins are fascinating, but old castles which have been preserved through the centuries are far more so.”

“The old chateau has had some narrow escapes. Why, in the days of the Terror it was almost destroyed.”

“How fortunate that it wasn’t!” I heard the emotion in my voice and hoped that Joseph hadn’t. I was enchanted by the chateau; I longed to live in it, to explore it, to become familiar with it. I felt it was where I was meant to be, and that if I were sent away I should be desperately unhappy and not only because I did not know what I should do if I went back to England.

Briefly I allowed that alarming possibility to come between me and my contemplation of the chateau. There was a distant cousin somewhere in the north of England actually a cousin of my father’s of whom he had spoken now and then.

“If anything-happened to me you could always go to my cousin Jane. She’s a difficult woman; you’d have a wretched time; but at least she would do her duty. ” What a prospect for a woman who, having been denied those personal attractions which are the key to marriage, had developed a defensive shell, largely made up of pride. Cousin Jane… never! I had told myself. I would rather become one of those poor governesses depending on the whims of indifferent employers or mischievous children who could be even more diabolically cruel. I would rather place myself in the service of some querulous old woman as a lady’s companion. No, I should be desolate, not because the dark pit of loneliness and humiliation gaped before me, but because I should be denied the infinite joy of doing the work I loved the best in the world in a setting which merely by its existence could make my life interesting.

It was not quite as I had imagined it; it surpassed expectations.

There are occasions in life when reality is more exciting, more enchanting than the picture the imagination has supplied but they are rare; and when they come they should be savoured to the full.

Perhaps I had better enjoy these moments because they might be the last I would enjoy for a long time.

So I gave myself up to the contemplation of that magnificent piece of fifteenth-century architecture standing there in the midst of the vine country. My practised eyes could place it within a decade or two.

There had been extensive building in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but the additions had not detracted from the symmetry; rather they gave it its character. I could see the cylindrical towers which flanked the main building. The chief staircase would, I knew, be in the polygon al tower. I was fairly knowledgeable about old houses and although often in the past I had resented my father’s attitude towards me, I was grateful for all he had taught me. The aspect was purely medieval; and the solid buttresses and towers gave an air of having been built for defence. I calculated the thickness of those walls with their narrow slits of windows. A fortress surely. As my eyes went from the keep overlooking the drawbridge to the moat dry, of course I caught a glimpse of rich green grass growing there.

Excitement gripped me, as I gazed up at the corbel led parapet supported by numerous machicolations about the outer facade.

Old Joseph was saying something. I guessed he had decided that the arrival having turned out to be a woman instead of a man was no concern of his.

“Yes,” he was saying, ‘things don’t change at the chateau. Monsieur Ie Comte sees to that. “

Monsieur Ie Comte. He was the man I should have to face. I pictured him, the aloof aristocrat, the sort who would have driven through the streets of Paris in his tumbrel to the guillotine with haughty indifference. So he would banish me.

“Ridiculous,” he would say.

“My summons was clearly meant for your father. You will leave immediately.”

It would be useless to say: “I am as competent as my father was. I worked with my father. In fact I know more about old paintings than he did. That was the side of the business he always left to me.”

The side of the business! How explain to a haughty French count that a woman could be as efficient, as clever at the specialized work of restoring old paintings as a man.

“Monsieur Ie Comte, I am an artist myself….”

I could picture his scornful looks.

“Mademoiselle, I am not interested in your qualifications. I sent for Monsieur Lawson. I did not send for you. Therefore oblige me by leaving my house’ (… my residence? .. my castle?) ‘without delay.”

Joseph was looking at me shrewdly. I could see that he was thinking that it was very odd that Monsieur Ie Comte had sent for a woman.

I longed to ask questions about the Comte, but naturally I could not.

It would have been useful if I could have learned a little about the household, but it was out of the question to inquire. No. I must put myself into the right mood; I must feel that there was nothing unusual in taking my father’s place, so that I could convey this to others.

In my pocket was the request. That was the wrong word. Monsieur Ie Comte would rarely request; he would command as a king to a subject.

The king in his castle! I thought. Monsieur Ie Comte de la Talle summons D. Lawson to the Chateau Gaillard to carry out the work on his pictures as arranged. Well, I was Dallas Lawson, and if that summons was meant for Daniel Lawson, then my answer was that Daniel Lawson had been dead for ten months and that I, his daughter, who in the past had helped him in his work, was now carrying on in his place.

It was about three years earlier that my father had been in correspondence with the Comte, who had heard of his work, for Father had been well known as an authority on old buildings and paintings.

Perhaps in the circumstances it was natural that I should grow up with a reverence for these things, which had turned into a passion. Father encouraged me in this and we spent many weeks in Florence, Rome and Paris doing nothing but looking at art treasures; and every moment I could spare in London was spent in the galleries.

With a mother who was not very strong and a father who was almost always absorbed in his work, I was thrown a great deal on my own resources. We saw few people and I had never formed the habit of making friends easily. Not being a pretty girl I felt at a disadvantage and there seemed to be a constant need to hide this which made me develop a far from attractive, over-dignified manner. Yet I longed to share experiences with others; I longed for friends. I was passionately interested in the affairs of others, which always seemed more exciting than anything that could happen to me. I would listen enraptured to conversations which were not intended for my ears; I would sit quietly in the kitchen while our two servants, one elderly, one young, discussed their ailments and love affairs respectively, and stand quietly listening to people in shops when I was shopping with my mother; or if anyone came to the house I was often discovered in what my father called eavesdropping. It was a habit of which he did not approve.

But when I went to my art school, for a while I began to live my life first-hand as it were, rather than through my ears.

Yet that did not satisfy Father either, for there I fell in love with a young student. In romantic moments I still wistfully remembered those spring days when we wandered through St. James’s and Green Parks and listened to the orators at Marble Arch, and strolled along the Serpentine into Kensington Gardens. I could never be there without remembering; that was why I never went if I could help it. Father had objected because Charles had no money. Moreover Mother, who by that time had become an invalid, needed me.

There was no great renunciation scene. That romance had just grown out of spring-time and youth; and with the coming of autumn it was over.

Perhaps Father had thought it would be better if I had not the opportunity to become involved with anyone else, for he suggested I leave the art school and work more closely with him. He said he would teach me far more than I could ever learn at school. He was right, of course; but although I learned so much from him, my opportunity to meet people my own age and live my individual life was lost. My time was divided between working with Father and looking after Mother. When she died I was stunned by my grief for a long time and when I recovered a little I felt that I was no longer young; and as, long ago, I had convinced myself that I was not attractive to men, I turned my desire for love and marriage into a passion for paintings.

“The work suits you,” my father once said.

“You want to restore everything.”

I understood what he meant. I had wanted to make Charles into a great painter when he wanted to be a care free student. Perhaps that was why I lost him. I wanted to restore Mother to her old vigour and interest in life. I tried to chivvy her out of her lassitude. I never tried to change Father. That would have been quite impossible. I realized that I had inherited my forcefulness from him, and at the time he was stronger than I. I remember the day the first letter came from Chateau Gaillard. The Comte de la Talle had a gallery of pictures which were in need of attention; and he would like to consult my father about certain restoration of the chateau. Could Monsieur Lawson come to Chateau Gaillard, estimate what work was necessary, and if a satisfactory arrangement could be reached, stay until it was completed?

Father had been delighted.

“I will send for you if possible’, he had told me.

“I shall need your help with the pictures. You will enjoy the place. It’s fifteenth-century and I believe a great deal of the original is there. It’ll be quite fascinating.”

I was excited. First because I longed to spend a few months in a French chateau; secondly because Father was beginning to accept my superior knowledge where pictures were concerned.

However, a letter had arrived from the Comte postponing the appointment. Circumstances made the visit impossible at present, he wrote, giving no detailed explanation. He would probably be in touch later.

About two years after receiving that letter Father had died quite suddenly of a stroke. It had been a terrible shock to realize I was on my own. I felt bereft, lonely and bewildered moreover I had very little money. I had become accustomed to helping Father in his work and I wondered what would happen, for although people had accepted the fact that I was his assistant and no doubt very useful in that capacity, how would they feel about my standing on my own?

I talked it over with Annie, our elderly servant, who had remained with us for years and was going off to share a home with a married sister. She thought there were only two things I could do. I could be a governess, as many ladies had to be, or a companion.

“I’d hate either,” I told her.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. Miss Dallas. There’s many a young lady, educated like yourself, who’s found herself left and been forced to.”

“There’s the work I’ve done with Father.”

She nodded, but I knew she was thinking that no one would want to employ a young woman to do the things my father had done. That I could do them, was not the point. I was a woman, and therefore no one would believe my work could possibly be any good.

Annie was still with me when the summons came. The Comte de la Talle was now ready for Monsieur D. Lawson to begin the work.

“After all, I am D. Lawson,” I pointed out to Annie.

“I can restore pictures as well as my father could, and I can see no reason why I should not.”

“I can,” replied Annie grimly.

“It’s a challenge. It’s either this or spending my days teaching.

Father’s lawyers have assured me of the urgent need to earn a living.

Fancy teaching children to draw when they have no talent and don’t want to learn! Or perhaps spending my time with a fretful old lady who finds fault with everything’I do! “

“You have to take what comes. Miss Dallas.”

This has come to me so it’s exactly what I am doing. “

“It’s not right. People won’t like it. It was all very well going with your father and working with him. You can’t go on your own.”

“I did finish the work after he died … at Mornington Towers, you remember.”

“Well, that was what he started. But to go to France … a foreign country … a young lady … alone’ You mustn’t think of me as a young lady, Annie. I’m a restorer of pictures. That’s quite different.”

“Well, I hope you’ll not forget that you’re a young lady all the same. And you can’t go. Miss Dallas. It wouldn’t be right. I know it. It would be bad for you.”

“Bad? In what way?”

“Not… quite nice. What man would want to marry a young lady who’d been off abroad all by herself?”

“I’m not looking for a husband, Annie. I’m looking for work. And I’ll tell you this: my mother was exactly the same age when she and her sister came to England to stay with their aunt. The two girls actually went to the theatre alone. Fancy that! Mother told me she did something even more daring. She went to a political meeting once in a cellar in Chancery Lane … and, as a matter of fact, that was where she met Father. So, if she hadn’t been bold and adventurous she wouldn’t have had a husband at least not that one.”

“You were always one for making what you wanted sound right. I know you of old. But I say this; It’s not right. And I stick to that.”

But it had to be right. And so, after a great deal of consideration and trepidation, I had decided to accept the challenge and come to Chateau Gaillard.

We crossed the drawbridge and as I looked at those ancient walls with their moss and ivy, supported by the great buttresses, as I gazed at the cylindrical towers, at the rounded roofs rising to conical points, I was praying that I might not be sent away. We passed under the archway and entered a courtyard with grass growing between the cobbles, and I was struck by the silence. In the centre of the courtyard was a well about which was a parapet and stone pillars supporting a dome. There were a few steps leading to a loggia in front of one side of the building, and I saw the words ‘de la Talle’ entwined in the fleursdelis cut into the wall above a door.

Joseph took out my bags, set them by this door and shouted: “Jeanne.”

A maid appeared and I noticed the startled look in her eyes when she saw me. Joseph told her that I was Mademoiselle Lawson, I was to be taken to the library and my arrival was to be made known. The bags would be taken to my room later.

I was so excited at the prospect of entering the castle that I felt quite reckless. I followed Jeanne through the heavy studded door into a great hall on the stone walls of which hung magnificent tapestries and weapons. I quickly noticed one or two pieces of furniture in the regence style one of these a magnificent table of carved gilt wood, with the delicate lattice work which became so popular in France during the early eighteenth century. The tapestries, which were exquisite and of the same period as the furniture, were in the Beauvais style with Boucher-like figures. It was wonderful; and my desire to pause and examine almost overcame my fear, but already we had turned off the hall and were mounting a flight of stone steps.

Jeanne held aside a heavy curtain and I was stepping on a thick carpet in great contrast to the stone steps. I stood in a short dark corridor at the end of which was a door. When this was thrown open the library was disclosed.

“If Mademoiselle will wait…”

I inclined my head. The door was shut and I was alone.

The room was lofty, the ceiling beautifully painted. There would be great treasure in this place, I knew; and I could not bear to be sent away. The walls were lined with leather-bound books and there were several stuffed heads of animals which seemed to guard them ferociously.

The Comte is a mighty hunter, I thought, and imagined him relentlessly pursuing his prey.

A clock with a carved cupid poised above its face stood on the mantelpiece and on either side of it were two delicately coloured Sevres vases. The chairs were upholstered in tapestry and their framework was decorated with flowers and scrolls.

But impressed as I was by these treasures, I was too apprehensive to give them my full attention. I was thinking of my coming interview with the formidable Comte and rehearsing what I would say to him.

There must be no loss of dignity on my part. I must remain calm, yet I must not appear too eager. I must disguise the fact that I longed to be allowed to work here, that I might succeed and so move on to win further commissions. I believed that my future hung on the next few minutes. And how right I was.

I heard Joseph’s voice.

“In the library, monsieur….”

Footsteps. Any moment now I should face him. I went to the fireplace.

Logs were laid there but there was no fire; I looked at the painting above the Louis XV clock, not seeing it; my heart was beating fast and I was gripping my hands in an effort to stop them trembling, when the door opened. I pretended not to be aware of it so that I might gain a few seconds’ respite in which to compose myself.

There was a brief silence, then a cool voice said: “This is most extraordinary.”

He was about an inch taller than I, but I was tall. The dark eyes were at the moment puzzled, but they looked as though they could be warm; the long aquiline nose suggested arrogance; but the full lips were not unkind. He was dressed in riding clothes which were very elegant a trifle too elegant. His cravat was ornate and there was a gold ring on the little finger of each hand. He was fastidious in the extreme and not as formidable as I had imagined him. This should have pleased me, but I felt faintly disappointed. Yet this man was more likely to be sympathetic towards me than the Comte of my imagination.

“Good day,” I said.

He took a few steps forward. He was younger than I had thought he would be, for he could not have been more than a year or so older than I . perhaps my own age.

“No doubt,” he said, ‘you will be good enough to explain. “

“Certainly. I have come to work on the paintings which are in need of attention.”

“We understood that Monsieur Lawson was to arrive today.”

“That would have been quite impossible.”

“You mean he will come later?”

“He died some months ago. I am his daughter, and am continuing with his commitments.”

He looked rather alarmed.

“Mademoiselle Lawson, these paintings are very valuable …”

“It would scarcely be necessary to restore them if they were not.”

“We could only allow an expert to handle them,” he said.

“J am an expert. My father was recommended to you. I worked with him.

In fact the restoration of buildings was his forte . pictures were mine. “

This is the end, I thought. He is annoyed to have been placed in a distasteful situation. He will never let me stay. I made a desperate effort.

“You had heard of my father. Then that means you had heard of me. We worked together.”

“You did not explain …”

“I believed the matter was urgent. I thought it wiser to obey the summons without delay. If my father had accepted the commission I should have come with him. We always worked together.”

“Pray be seated,” he said.

I sat down in a chair with a carved wooden back which forced me to sit straight while he threw himself on to a settee, his legs stretched out before him.

“Did you think. Mademoiselle Lawson,” he said slowly, ‘that had you explained that your father was dead we should have declined your services? “

“I believed that your object was to have the pictures restored and was under the impression that it was the work which was important, not the sex of the restorer.” Again that arrogance, which was really the outward sign of my anxiety! I was certain that he was going to tell me to go. But I had to fight for a chance, because I knew that if only I could get it I could show them what I could do.

His brow was wrinkled as though he were trying to come to a decision; he was watching me covertly. He gave a little laugh which was quite mirthless and said: “It seems strange that you did not write and tell us.”

I rose to my feet. Dignity demanded it.

He stood up. I had rarely felt as wretchedly miserable as I did when I haughtily walked to the door.

“One moment, mademoiselle.”

He had spoken first. It seemed a small victory.

I looked over my shoulder without turning.

“Only one train leaves our station each day. This is at nine o’clock in the morning. It would be necessary for you to drive some ten kilometres to catch a mainline train for Paris.”

“Oh!” I allowed dismay to show on my face.

“You see,” he went on, ‘you have placed yourself in a very awkward situation. “

“I did not think that my credentials would be slighted without scrutiny. I have never worked before in France and was quite unprepared for such a reception.”

It was a good thrust. He rose to it.

“Mademoiselle, I assure you, you will be treated as courteously in France as you would be anywhere else.”

I raised my shoulders.

“I suppose there is an inn a hotel where I could stay the night?”

“We could not allow that. We can offer you hospitality.”

“It is good of you,” I said coldly, ‘but in the circumstances . “

“You spoke of credentials.”

“I have recommendations from people who were very i9

pleased with my work in England. I have worked in some of our great houses and have been entrusted with masterpieces. But you are not interested. “

“That is not true, mademoiselle. I am interested. Any thing connected with the chateau is of the utmost concern to me.” His face had changed as he spoke. It was illumined by a great passion his love for this old house. I warmed towards him. I should have felt as he did if such a place were my home. He went on hurriedly: “You must admit that I am justified in my surprise. I expected a man of experience and am confronted by a young lady …”

“I am no longer young, I assure you.”

He made no effort to refute this, still seeming preoccupied with his own thoughts his emotions where the chateau was concerned, his indecision as to whether to allow me, whose skill he doubted, near his wonderful paintings.

“Perhaps you would show me your credentials.”

I walked back to the table and from an inner pocket of my cloak took a bundle of letters and handed them to him. He signed for me to be seated. Then he too sat and began to read the letters. I folded my hands in my lap and clasped them firmly. A moment before, I thought I had lost; now I was not so sure.

I watched him while pretending to study the room. He was trying to make up his mind what he should do. This surprised me. I had imagined the Comte to be a man who was rarely in doubt, who made quick decisions, having no difficulty as to the wisdom of them since he would believe himself always to be right.

“They are very impressive,” he said as he handed them back to me. He looked full at me for some seconds, then went on rather hesitantly: “I expect you would like to see the pictures.”

“There seems little point if I am not to work on them.”

“Perhaps you will. Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“You mean …”

“I mean that I think you should stay here at least for a night. You have had a long journey. You are tired, I am sure. And as you are such an expert’ he glanced at the letters in my hand ‘and have been so highly congratulated by such eminent people, I am sure you would at least wish to see the pictures. We have some excellent examples of painting in the chateau. I do assure you that it is a collection worthy of your attention.”

“I am sure it is. But I think I should be getting to my hotel.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

“Oh?”

“It is very small and the food is not of the best. You would be more comfortable in the chateau, I am sure.”

“I should not care to make a nuisance of myself.”

“But of course you would not. I am going to insist that you stay here, and that you now allow me to call the maid to take you to your room.

It has been prepared, you know, although of course we did not know it was to be for a lady. Still, that need not concern you. The maid will bring some food to your room. Then I suggest you rest awhile and later you must see the paintings. “

“Then you mean that you want me to do the work I came to do?”

“You could give us your advice first, could you not?”

I felt so relieved I changed my feelings towards him. The dislike of a moment ago turned to liking.

“I would do my best, Monsieur Ie Comte.”

“You are under a delusion, mademoiselle. I am not the Comte de la Talle.”

I was unable to control my amazement.

“Then who …”

“Philippe de la Talle, the Comte’s cousin. So you see it is not I whom you have to please. It is the Comte de la Talle. He is the one who will decide whether or not he will entrust you with the restoration of

his paintings. I assure you that if the decision rested with me I should ask you to begin without delay.” “When can I see the Comte?”

“He is not at the chateau and will doubtless be absent for some days.

I suggest that you remain with us until his return. In the meantime you can examine the paintings and then be ready to estimate what is needed by the time of his return. “

“Some days!” I said in dismay.

“I fear so.”

As he moved to the bell rope and pulled it, I was thinking: This is a respite. At least I shall have a few days in the chateau.

I guessed my room was close to the keep. The window aperture was large enough to contain two stone benches on either side although it narrowed to a slit. I could only look out by standing on tiptoe; below me was the moat and beyond that the trees and vineyards. I was amused that even as I reviewed the uncertainty of my position I could not stop myself assessing the house and its treasures. Father had been the same. The most important thing in his life had been ancient monuments; the paintings a good second. With me it was paintings first, but I had inherited something of his passion for buildings.

The lofty room was full of shadows even though it was early in the day, for, picturesque as the window embrasure was, it excluded the light. The thickness of the walls astonished me, although I had been prepared for it; the huge tapestry which covered almost the entire surface of one was in muted shades of peacock blue, in fact, peacocks figured in it peacocks in a garden of fountains, colonnades, reclining women and gallants, clearly sixteenth-century. The bed was canopied and behind it was a curtain, and when I drew this aside I recognized what was beyond as a ruelle an alcove found in French chateaux. This one was large enough to be like a small room and contained a cupboard, a hip-bath, and a dressing-table on which stood a mirror. I caught a glimpse of myself and laughed suddenly.

Yes, I did look capable. Almost formidable. I was travel-stained, my hat was pushed too far back on my head so that it was even less becoming than usual; my hair long, thick and straight, my only good point was completely hidden.

The maid had brought the hot water and asked if I would care for cold chicken and a carafe of the vin du pays. I replied that it would suit me admirably; and I was glad when she went, for her obvious curiosity and excitement at my presence was a reminder of what a reckless thing I had done.

I took off my cloak and the unbecoming hat. Then I took out the pins and let my hair fall about my shoulders. How different I looked now not only younger, but vulnerable. Now I could be that frightened girl behind the confident woman I pretended to be. Appearances were important, I must remember. I was proud of my hair. It was dark brown but the touches of chestnut in it were so marked that they shone almost red in sunlight.

I washed from head to foot in the hip-bath and felt refreshed. Then I put on clean linen and a grey merino skirt with a light cashmere blouse of a matching colour. The blouse buttoned high at the neck and I assured myself that in it I could be mistaken for a woman of thirty when I put up my hair, of course. I disliked the grey for I took a great pleasure in colours. I knew instinctively that a certain shade of blue, green or red or lavender would have given character to the grey skirt; but much as I loved combining colours to produce beauty I had never wanted to experiment with my clothes. The light coats I wore for my work were in dull brown, as plain and severe as those my father had worn in fact I wore his, which were a little too broad but fitted otherwise.

There was a knock on the door as I was buttoning my blouse. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the dressing-table. My cheeks had flushed a little; and with my hair which fell to my waist and spread itself about my shoulders like a cloak, I certainly looked different from the undaunted woman who had been shown into the room.

I called: “Who is there?”

“Mademoiselle, your tray.” The maid had come into the room. I held back my hair with one hand and drew aside the curtain very slightly with the other.

“Please leave it there.”

She put it down and went out. I realized then how hungry I was, so I came out to inspect the tray. A leg of chicken, a twist of crusty bread still warm from the oven, butter, cheese and a carafe of wine. I sat down there and then and ate. It was delicious. The wine of the country, made from the grapes grown within sight of the castle! The food and the wine made me sleepy. Perhaps the latter was very potent; in any case I was tired. I had travelled through the previous day and night; I had slept little the night before that and I had scarcely eaten either.

I felt a dreamy contentment creeping over me. I was here in the chateau for a while at any rate. I was going to see the treasures of the place. I remembered other occasions when I had stayed with Father in great houses. I recalled the excitement of coming upon some rare work of art, that glow of understanding and appreciation which was like sharing in the joy of the Creator. Surely similar experiences were waiting for me in this chateau . if only I could stay to enjoy them.

I closed my eyes and felt the rocking of the train; I thought of the life of the castle and the life outside it. The peasants tending the grape-vines, exulting in the vendange. I wondered whether the

peasant-woman’s child was born and whether it was a boy; I wondered what the Comte’s cousin was thinking of me, or whether he had dismissed me from his mind. I slept and dreamed I was in a picture gallery, that I was cleaning a picture and that the colours which were emerging were more brilliant than any I had ever seen before-emerald against grey scarlet and gold.

“Mademoiselle …”

I started out of my chair, and for a moment couldn’t remember where I was. A woman was standing before me small, thin, her brows brought together in a frown which suggested anxiety rather than annoyance. Her dusty-looking hair was arranged in curls and bangs, puffed up and frizzed in a vain attempt to hide how scanty it was. Anxious grey eyes studied me from under the frown. She wore a white blouse adorned with little pink satin bows and a dark blue skirt. Her hands nervously plucked at the pink bow at her throat.

“I fell asleep,” I said.

“You must be very tired. Monsieur de la Talle has suggested that I should take you to the gallery, but perhaps you would rather rest a little longer.”

“Oh, no, no. What is the time?” I consulted the gold watch it had belonged to my mother which was pinned to my blouse. As I did so I saw the hair falling over my shoulders and I felt myself flush slightly. Hastily I pushed it back.

“I must have been so tired that I slept. I’ve been travelling through the night.”

“Of course. I will come back.”

“That is good of you. Will you please tell me who you are? You know I am Miss Lawson come from England toer .”

“Yes, I know. We were expecting a gentleman. I am Mademoiselle Dubois, the governess.”

“Oh I had no idea …” I stopped. Why should I have any idea as to who was who in this household? The thought of my hair flowing down my back was disconcerting It was making me stammer in a way I never should if I could have presented my usual severe demeanour.

“Perhaps you would prefer me to come back in say … half an hour?”

“Give me ten minutes in which to make myself presentable and then I shall be happy to accept your kind offer. Mademoiselle Dubois.”

She ceased to frown and smiled rather uncertainly. As soon as she had left me I went back to the ruelle and looked at myself. What a sight!

I thought. My face flushed, \softline my eyes bright, and my hair in such confusion! I seized my hair and drew it tightly back from my forehead; I i plaited it and wound the plaits into a bulky mound which I pinned up on the top of my head. I looked taller that way. The flush was dying from my cheeks and my eyes were now dull grey. They were the shade of water and reflected other colours I wore as the sky will change the colour of the sea. For that reason I should have worn greens and blues; but having assured myself that my assets did not lie in personal attractions and that if I were going to win the confidence of my employers I must present myself as a sensible woman, I cultivated dull colours as I did my somewhat prickly exterior. I believed they were the necessary weapons for a woman alone in the world with her own battles to fight. Now my mouth was set in the firm no-nonsense lines which I tried to adopt; and by the time Mademoiselle Dubois returned I was ready to play my familiar role.

She looked startled when she saw me, so I knew what a bad impression I had made in the first place. Her eyes went to my head and I felt a grim satisfaction, for now there was not a hair out of place it was neat and severe as I liked it to be.

“I am so sorry I disturbed you.” The woman was too apologetic. That

little matter was over and it was my fault for falling asleep and not hearing her knock. I told her this and added: “So Monsieur de la Talle has asked you to show me the gallery.

I am most eager to see the pictures. “

“I know little about pictures, but…”

“You say you are the governess. So there are children in the chateau.”

“There is only Genevieve. Monsieur Ie Comte has only one child.”

My curiosity was strong, but one could not ask questions. She hesitated as though she wanted to talk; and how I wanted to know! But I was in command of myself and growing more and more optimistic as the moments passed. It was wonderful what the brief rest and the food, the wash and change of clothes had done for me.

She sighed.

“Genevieve is very difficult.”

“Children often are. How old is she?”

“Fourteen.”

“Then I am sure you can easily control her.”

She gave me an incredulous look; then her mouth twisted slightly.

“It is evident. Mademoiselle Lawson, that you do not know Genevieve.”

“Spoilt, I imagine, being the only one?”

“Spoilt!” Her voice had an odd note. Fear? Apprehension? I couldn’t quite place it.

“Oh, that… as well.”

She was ineffectual. That much was obvious. The last person I should have chosen as a governess. If they would choose a woman like this for such a post surely my chances of getting the restoration commission were good. Although I was a woman I must look far more capable than this poor creature. And wouldn’t the Comte consider the education of his only child as important as the restoration of his pictures? That remained to be seen, of course. I was impatient for my encounter with this man.

“I can tell you. Mademoiselle Lawson, that to control that girl is impossible.”

“Perhaps you are not stern enough,” I said lightly, then changed the subject.

“This is a vast place. Are we near the gallery?”

“I will show you. You will get lost here at first. I did. In fact even now I often find myself in difficulties.”

You would always find yourself in difficulties, I thought.

“I suppose you have been here for some time,” I asked, merely to make conversation as we passed out of the room and went along a corridor to a flight of stairs.

“Quite a long time … eight months.”

I laughed.

“You call that long?”

“The others didn’t stay as long. No one else stayed longer than six.”

My mind switched from the carving on the banister to the daughter of the house. So this was why Mademoiselle Dubois remained. Genevieve was so spoilt that it was difficult to keep a governess. One would have thought that the stern King in his Castle could have controlled his daughter. But perhaps he did not care enough. And the Comtesse?

Strangely enough before Mademoiselle Dubois had mentioned the daughter I had not thought of a Com tesse. Naturally there must be one, since there was a child. She was probably with the Comte now and that was why I had been received by the cousin.

“In fact,” she went on, “I am constantly telling myself that I shall go. The trouble is …”

She did not finish, nor did she need to because I under stood very well. Where could she go? I pictured her in some dreary lodging. or perhaps she had a family. But in any case she would have to earn a living. There were many like her desperately exchanging pride and dignity for food and shelter. Oh yes, I understood absolutely. None better, for it was a fate I could envisage for myself. The gentlewoman without means. What could be more difficult to bear than genteel poverty! Brought up to consider oneself a lady, educated as well as perhaps better than the people one must serve. Continually aware of being kept in one’s place. Living with neither the vulgar gusto of the servants below stairs nor with the comfort of the family. To exist in a sort of limbo. Oh, it was intolerable, and yet how often inevitable. Poor Mademoiselle Dubois! She did not know what pity she aroused in me and what fears.

“There are always disadvantages in every post,” I comforted.

“Oh yes, indeed yes. And here there is so much …”

“The chateau seems to be a storehouse of treasures,”

“I believe the pictures are worth a fortune.”

“So I have heard.” My voice was warm. I put out a hand to touch the linenfold panelling of the room through which we were passing. A beautiful place, I thought; but these ancient edifices were in constant need of attention. We had passed into a large room, the kind which in England we called a solarium, because it was so planned to catch the sun, and I paused to examine the coat of arms on the walls. It was fairly recent and I wondered whether there might be murals under the lime wash I thought it very possible. I remembered the excitement when my father had once discovered some valuable wall-painting which had been hidden for a couple of centuries. What a triumph if I could make such a discovery! The personal triumph would of course be secondary and I had thought of that only because of my reception. It would be a triumph for art as all such discoveries are.

“And the Comte is doubtless very proud of them.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“He must be. In any case he is concerned enough to want them examined and if necessary restored. Art treasures are a heritage. It is a privilege to own them and one has to remember that art great art doesn’t belong to one person.”

I stopped. I was on my favourite hobby horse, as Father would say. He had warned me.

“Those who are interested probably share your knowledge; those who are not are bored. “

He was right, and Mademoiselle Dubois fitted into the second category.

She laughed, a small tinkly laugh without any mirth or pleasure in it.

“I should hardly expect the Comte to express his feelings to me.”

No, I thought. Nor should I. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

“I hope I haven’t lost my way. Oh, no … this is it.”

“We are now almost in the centre of the chateau,” I said.

“This is the original structure. I should say we are immediately beneath the round tower.”

She looked at me incredulously.

“My father’s profession was the restoration of old houses,” I explained.

“I learned a great deal from him. In fact we worked together.”

She seemed momentarily to resent that in me which was the exact reverse of her own character. She said almost severely: “I know that a man was expected.”

“My father was expected. He was coming about three years ago and then for some reason the appointment was cancelled.”

“About three years ago,” she said blankly.

“That would be when …”

I waited, and as she did not continue I said: “That would be before you were here, wouldn’t it? My father was coming and somewhat peremptorily he was told it was not convenient. He died almost a year ago and as I have continued with work that was outstanding naturally I came in his place.”

She looked as though such a procedure was far from natural and I secretly agreed with her. But I had no intention of betraying myself to her as she had betrayed herself to me.

“You speak very good French for an Englishwoman.”

“I am bilingual. My mother was French, my father English.”

“That is fortunate … in the circumstances.”

“In any circumstances it is fortunate to be in command of languages.”

My mother had said I was too tutorial. It was a trait I should curb. I fancy it had increased since Father had died. He once said I was like a ship firing all guns to show I was equipped to defend myself just in case another should be preparing to open fire on me.

“You are right, of course,” said Mademoiselle Dubois meekly.

“This is the gallery where the pictures are.”

I forgot her then. I was in a long room lightened by several windows, and on the walls . the pictures! Even in their neglect they were splendid, and a quick look was enough to show me that they were very valuable. They were chiefly of the French school. I recognized a Poussin and Lorrain side by side and was struck as never before by the cold discipline of one and the intense drama of the other. I revelled in the pure golden light of the Lorrain landscape and wanted to point out to the woman beside me that light and feathery brushwork which might have been learned from Titian, and how the dark pigments had been used over rich colour to give that wondrous effect of light and shade. And there was a Watteau . so delicate, arabesque and pastel. and yet somehow conveying by a mood the storm about to break. I walked as if in a trance from an early Boucher painted before his decline set in and a perfect example of the rococo style, to a gay erotic Fragonard.

Then I was angry because they were all in need of urgent attention.

How was it they had been allowed to get into this state! Some I could see had darkened badly; there was a dull foggy film on others which we called ‘bloom’. A few were scratched and streaked with water. The brown acid left by flies was visible; and in some places the paint had flaked off. There were isolated burns as though some one had held a candle too closely.

I moved silently from picture to picture forgetful of everything else.

I calculated that there was almost a year’s work in what I had seen so far and there was probably a great deal more than that as there always was when one began to examine these things more closely.

“You find them interesting,” said Mademoiselle Dubois rapidly.

“I find them of immense interest, and certainly in need of attention.”

“Then I suppose you will get down to work right away.”

I turned to look at her.

“It is by no means certain that I shall do the work. I am a woman, you see, and therefore not considered capable.”

“It is unusual work for a woman.”

“Indeed it is not. If one has a talent for this kind of work, one’s sex is of no importance whatever.”

She laughed that foolish laugh.

“But there is men’s work and women’s work.”

“There are governesses and tutors, aren’t there?” I hoped I made it clear that I had no intention of continuing this aimless conversation, by changing the subject.

“It depends of course on the Comte. If he is the man of prejudice”

A voice not far off cried: “I want to see her. I tell you, Nounou, I will see her. Esquilles has been ordered to take her to the gallery.”

I looked at Mademoiselle Dubois. Esquilles! Splinters! I saw the allusion; she must have heard herself called that often enough.

A low soothing voice and then: “Let go, Nounou. You silly old woman.

Do you think you can stop meY The door of the gallery was flung open and the girl whom I at once recognized as Genevieve de la Talle stood there. Her dark hair was worn loose and was almost deliberately untidy; her beautiful dark eyes danced with enjoyment; she was dressed in a gown of mid-blue which was becoming to her dark looks. I would have known immediately, even if I had not been warned, that she was unmanageable.

She stared at me and I returned the gaze. Then she said in English:

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” I answered in the same tongue. She seemed amused and advanced into the room. I was aware of a grey-haired woman behind her. This was obviously the nurse, Nounou. I guessed she had been with the girl from babyhood and helped with the spoiling.

“So you’ve come from England,” said the girl.

“They were expecting a man.”

“They were expecting my father. We worked together, and as he, being dead, is unable to come, I am continuing with his commitments.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Shall we speak in French?” I asked in that language.

“No,” she replied imperiously. f! can speak English well. ” She said, ” I am Mademoiselle de la Talle. “

“I did assume that.” I turned to the old woman, smiled and said good day.

“I find these pictures most interesting,” I said to her and Mademoiselle Dubois, ‘but it is obvious that they have been neglected.”

Neither of them answered, but the girl, evidently annoyed to be ignored, said rudely: “That will be no concern of yours since you won’t be allowed to stay.”

“Hush, my dear,” whispered Nounou.

“I will not hush unless I want to. Wait until my father comes home.”

“Now, Genevieve …” The nurse’s anxious eyes were on me, apologizing for the bad manners of her charge.

“You’ll see,” said the girl to me.

“You may think you are going to stay, but my father …”

“If,” I said, ‘your father’s manners resemble yours, nothing on earth would induce me to stay. “

“Please speak English when you address me, miss.”

“But you appear to have forgotten that language as you have your manners.”

She began to laugh suddenly and twisted herself free of the nurse’s grasp and came up to me.

“I suppose you are thinking I’m very unkind,” she said.

“I am not thinking of you.”

“What are you thinking of then?”

“At the moment of these pictures.”

“You mean they are more interesting than I am?”

“Infinitely,” I answered.

She did not know what to reply. She shrugged and turning away from me said pettishly in a lowered voice:

“Well, I’ve seen her. She’s not pretty and she’s old.”

With that she tossed her head and flounced out of the room.

“You must forgive her, mademoiselle,” murmured the old nurse.

“She’s in one of her moods. I tried to keep her away. I’m afraid she’s upset you.”

“Not in the least,” I answered.

“She is no concern of mine … fortunately.”

“Nounou,” called the girl, imperious as ever.

“Come here at once.”

The nurse went out, and raising my eyebrows I looked at Mademoiselle Dubois.

“She’s in one of her moods. There’s no controlling them. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you and the nurse.”

She brightened.

“Pupils can be difficult but I have never found one quite so …” She looked furtively at the door and I wondered whether Genevieve added eavesdropping to her other charming characteristics.

Poor woman, I thought, I didn’t want to add to her difficulties by telling her I thought she was foolish to suffer such treatment. I said: “If you care to leave me here I’ll make an examination of the pictures.”

“Can you find your way back to your room do you think?”

“I’m sure I can. I took careful note as we came along. Remember, I’m used to old houses.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave you. You can always ring if you want anything.”

“Thank you for your help.”

She went out noiselessly, and I turned to the pictures, but I was too disturbed to work seriously. This was a strange household. The girl was impossible. What next? The Comte and the Comtesse? What should I find them like? And the girl was ill-mannered, selfish and cruel. And to have discovered this in five minutes of her company was disconcerting. What sort of environment, what sort of upbringing had produced such a creature?

I looked at those walls with their priceless neglected pictures and in those few moments I thought: Perhaps the wisest thing would be to leave first thing in the morning. I might apologize to Monsieur de la Talle, agree that I had been wrong to come, and leave.

I had wanted to escape from a fate which I knew, since my encounter with Mademoiselle Dubois (Splinters, poor thing), could be quite terrible. I had so desperately wanted to continue with work I loved; and because of that I had come here under false pretences and laid myself open to insult.

I was so firmly convinced that I must go that I almost believed some instinct was warning me to do so. In that case I would not tempt myself by studying these pictures further. I would go to the room they had given me, and try to rest in preparation for the long journey back tomorrow.

I walked towards the door and as I turned the handle it refused to move. Oddly enough in those seconds I felt

a real panic. I could have imagined that I was a prisoner, that I could not escape if I wanted to; and then it seemed as though the very walls were closing in on me.

My hand was limp on the handle and the door opened. Philippe de la Talle was standing outside. Now I under stood that the reason I couldn’t open it was that he had been on the point of coming in.

Perhaps, I thought, they don’t trust me here. Perhaps someone always has to be with me in case I attempt to steal something. That was absurd, I knew, and it was unlike me to think illogically. But I had had scarcely any sleep for two nights and was deeply concerned about my future. It was understandable that I was not quite myself.

“You were on the point of leaving, mademoiselle?”

“I was going to my room. There seems no point in remaining. I have decided to leave tomorrow. I must thank you for your hospitality and I am sorry to have troubled you. I should not have come.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You have changed your mind? It is because you think the repairs beyond your capacity?”

I flushed angrily.

“By no means,” I said.

“These pictures have been badly neglected criminally neglected … from an artist’s point of view that is but I have restored far worse. I merely feel that my presence is resented in this place and that it would be better for you to find someone … of your own sex since that seems to be important to you.”

“My dear Mademoiselle Lawson,” he said almost gently, ‘everything rests with my cousin to whom the pictures belong . to whom everything in the chateau belongs. He will be back within a few days. “

“Nevertheless I think I should leave in the morning. I can repay you for your hospitality by giving you an estimate for restoring one of the pictures in the gallery which you will find useful when engaging someone else.”

“I fear,” he said, ‘that my niece has been rude to you.

My cousin will be annoyed with me if he does not see you. You should not take any notice of the girl. She’s quite ungovernable, when her father is away. He is the only one who can put fear into her. “

I thought to myself then: I believe you are afraid of him too. And I was filled with almost as great a desire to see the Comte as I was to work on his pictures.

“Mademoiselle, will you stay for a few days and at least hear what my cousin has to say?”

I hesitated, then I said: “Very well, I will stay.”

He seemed relieved.

“I shall go to my room now. I realize I am too tired to work satisfactorily today. Tomorrow I will make a thorough study of the pictures in this gallery and when your cousin returns I shall have a clear estimate to give him.”

“Excellent,” he said, and stood aside for me to pass.

As soon as it was light next morning, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, I arose exhilarated. I intended to have a look at the chateau grounds and perhaps explore the neighbourhood. I wanted to see the little town, for the old church had struck me as being about the same period as the chateau; and no doubt the hotel de ville was as ancient.

I had had dinner in my room yesterday evening and it had been excellent. Soon afterwards I had gone to bed and slept immediately.

Now the morning brought optimism with it.

I washed and dressed and rang for breakfast. The hot coffee, home-made crusty bread and butter which arrived almost immediately were delicious.

As I ate I thought of the events of yesterday and they no longer seemed as strange as they had the previous night. I had yet to discover what sort of household this was; all I knew at present was that it was an unusual one. There was Cousin Philippe, in charge during the absence of the master and mistress; a spoilt girl who behaved badly when

her father was absent no doubt because when he was there she was in such awe of him; there was the weak and ineffectual governess and poor grey old Nounou, the nurse who had no more control over her than the governess had. Apart from that there was Joseph the groom and numerous servants, male and female, necessary to care for such a vast establishment. There was nothing unusual in such a household; and yet I had sensed mystery. Was it the manner in which everyone who had mentioned him had spoken of the Comte? He was the only one whom the girl feared. Everyone was in awe of him. Everything depended on him.

Certainly whether or not I stayed did.

I made my way to the gallery, where I enjoyed a peaceful morning examining the pictures and making detailed notes of the damage to each one. It was a fascinating task and I was astonished how quickly the morning passed. I forgot about the household in my absorption, and was astonished when a maid knocked at the door and announced that it was twelve o’clock and that she would bring dejeuner to my room if I wished.

I found that I was hungry and said that would be very agreeable. I packed up my papers and went back to my room, where the maid served me with a delicious soup, followed by meat and salad, in its turn followed by cheese and fruit. I wondered if I should eat alone in my room all the time I was here that was if I met with the approval of Monsieur Ie Comte. I was beginning to think of him as Monsieur Ie Comte and to say his name to myself with a kind of mockery.

“Others may be afraid of you, Monsieur Ie Comte, but you will find I am not.”

The afternoon was not a good time for working, I had always found; besides, I needed a little exercise. I could not, of course, explore the castle itself without permission, but I could look at the grounds and the countryside.

I had no difficulty in finding my way down to the court yard to which

Joseph had brought me, but instead of going out to the drawbridge I crossed the loggia connecting the main building with a part of the chateau which had been built at a later date and passing through another courtyard I found my way to the south side of the castle. Here were the gardens, and, I thought grimly, if Monsieur Ie Comte neglects his pictures he does not his gardens, for obviously great care was bestowed on them.

Before me lay three terraces. On the first of these were lawns and fountains, and I imagined that during the spring the flowers were exquisite; even now, in autumn, they were colourful. I walked along a stone path to the second terrace; here, laid out with parterres, were ornamental gardens, each separated from the next by box hedges and yews neatly clipped into various shapes, predominant among them the fleur-delis. Typical, I thought, of Monsieur Ie Comte! On the lowest of the terraces was the kitchen-garden, but even this was ornamental, neatly divided into squares and rectangles, some separated from each other by trellises about which vines climbed; and the whole was bordered by fruit trees.

The place was deserted. I guessed that the workers were taking a siesta, for even at this time of the year the sun was hot. At three o’clock they would be back at work and continue until dark. There must be many of them to keep the place in such good order.

I was standing under the fruit trees when I heard a voice calling:

“Miss! Miss!” and turning saw Genevieve running towards me.

“I saw you from my window,” she said. She laid her hand on my arm and pointed to the chateau.

“You see that window right at the top there that’s mine. It’s part of the nurseries.” She grimaced. She had spoken in English.

“I learned that off by heart,” she explained, ‘just to show you I could. Now let’s talk in French. “

She looked different now, calm, serene, a little mischievous perhaps,

but more as one would expect a well-brought up, fourteen-year-old girl to look, and I realized that I was seeing Genevieve without one of her moods.

“If you wish,” I replied in that language.

“Well, I should like to speak to you in English, but as you pointed out, mine is not very good, is it?”

“Your accent and intonation made it almost unintelligible. I suspect you have a fair vocabulary.”

“Are you a governess?”

“I am certainly not.”

“Then you ought to be. You’d make a good one.” She laughed aloud.

“Then you wouldn’t have to go round under false pretences, would you?”

I said coolly: “I am going for a walk. I will say good bye to you.”

“Oh, no, don’t. I came down to talk to you. First I have to say I’m sorry. I was rude, wasn’t I? And you were very cool… but then you have to be, don’t you? It’s what one expects of the English.”

“I am half-French,” I said.

“That accounts for the spirit in you. I saw you were really angry. It was only your voice that was cold. Inside you were angry, now weren’t you?”

“I was naturally surprised that a girl of your obvious education could be so impolite to a guest in your father’s house.”

“But you weren’t a guest, remember. You were there under…”

“There is no point in continuing this conversation. I accept your apology and now I will leave you.”

“But I came down specially to talk to you.”

“But I came down to walk.”

“Why shouldn’t we walk together?”

“I did not invite you to accompany me.”

“Well, my father didn’t invite you to Gaillard, did he, but you came.”

She added hastily: “And I’m glad you came … so perhaps you’ll be glad if I come with you.”

She was trying to make amends, and it was not for me to be churlish, so I smiled.

“You’re prettier when you smile,” she said.

“Well,” she put her head on one side, ‘not exactly pretty. But you look younger. “

“We all look more pleasant when we smile. It is something you might remember.”

Her laughter was high and quite spontaneous. I found myself joining in and laughing at myself. She was pleased and so was I to have her company; for I was almost as interested in people as I was in pictures. Father had tried to curb that interest. He called it idle curiosity but it was strong in me and perhaps I had been wrong to suppress it.

Now I was eager for Genevieve’s company. I had seen her once in a mood and now as a lively but extremely curious girl; but who was I to criticize curiosity, who had more than my fair share of it?

“So,” she said, ‘we’ll go for a walk together and I will show you what you want to see. “

“Thank you. That will be very pleasant.”

She laughed again.

“I hope you will enjoy being here, miss. Suppose I talk to you in English, will you speak slowly so that I can understand?”

“Certainly.”

“And not laugh if I say something silly?”

“Certainly I shall not laugh. I admire your desire to improve your English.”

She was smiling again and I knew that she was thinking how like a governess I was.

“I am not very good,” she said.

“They are all afraid of me.

“I don’t think they are afraid of you. They are perhaps distressed and disgusted by the unbecoming way in which you sometimes behave.”

This amused her but she was serious almost immediately.

“Were you afraid of your father?” she asked, lapsing into French. I sensed that because she was interested in the subject she must speak in the language easier to her.

“No,” I replied.

“I was in awe of him, perhaps.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One can respect people, admire them, look up to them, fear to offend them. It is not the same as being afraid of them.”

“Let’s go on talking in French. This conversation is too interesting for English.”

She is afraid of her father, I thought. What sort of a man is he to inspire fear in her? She was an odd child wayward, perhaps violent; and he was to blame, of course. But what of the mother what part had she played in this strange child’s upbringing?

“So you weren’t really afraid of your father?”

“No. Are you afraid of yours?”

She didn’t answer, but I noticed that a haunted expression had come into her eyes.

I said quickly: “And … your mother?”

She turned to me then.

“I will take you to my mother.”

“What?”

“I said I would take you to her.”

“She is in the chateau?”

“I know where she is. I’ll take you to her. Will you come?”

“Why, yes. Certainly. I shall be delighted to meet her.”

“Very well. Come on.”

She went ahead of me. Her dark hair was neatly tied back with a blue ribbon and perhaps it was the way of dressing it which so changed her appearance. Her head was set arrogantly on sloping shoulders; her neck was long and graceful. I thought: She will be a beautiful woman.

I wondered whether the Comtesse was like her; then I began rehearsing

what I would say to her. I must put my case clearly to her. Perhaps she as a woman would feel less prejudiced against my work.

Genevieve halted and came to walk beside me.

“I’m two different people, am I not?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are two sides to my character.”

“We all have many sides to our character.”

“But mine is different. Other people’s characters are all of a piece.

I am two distinct people. “

“Who told you this?”

“Nounou. She says I’m Gemini-that means I have two different faces.

My birthday is in June. “

“That is a fantasy. Everyone who is born in June is not like you.”

“It is not fantasy. You saw how horrid I was yesterday. That was the bad me. Today I’m different. I’m good. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“I hope you were sorry.”

“I said I was, and I shouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

“Then when you are being foolish remember that you’ll be sorry afterwards and don’t be foolish.”

“Yes,” she said, ‘you should be a governess. They always make everything sound so easy. I can’t help being horrid. I just am. “

“Everyone can help the way he or she behaves.”

“It’s in the stars. It’s fate. You can’t go against fate.”

Now I saw where the trouble lay. This temperamental girl was in the hands of a silly old woman and another who was half scared out of her wits; in addition there was the father who terrified her. But there was the mother, of course. It would be interesting to meet her.

Perhaps she too was in awe of the Comte. Most assuredly this was so since everyone else was. I pictured her a gentle creature, afraid to go against him. He was becoming more and more a monster with every fresh piece of information.

“You can be exactly as you wish to be,” I said.

“It is absurd to tell yourself you have two characters and then try to live up to the unpleasant one.”

“I don’t try. It just happens.”

Even as I spoke I despised myself. It was always so easy to solve other people’s troubles. She was young and at times seemed childish for her age. If we could become friends I might be able to help her.

“I am eager to meet your mother,” I said; she did not answer but ran on ahead of me.

I followed her through the trees but she was more fleet than I and not so encumbered by her skirts. I lifted mine and ran but I lost sight of her.

I stood still. The trees were thicker here and I was in a small copse.

I was not sure which way I had entered it and as I had no idea in which direction Genevieve had gone I felt suddenly lost. It was one of those moments such as I had experienced in the gallery when I had been unable to open the door. A strange feeling as though panic were knocking, gently as yet, on my mind.

How absurd to feel so in broad daylight! The girl was tricking me. She had not changed. She had deluded me into thinking that she was sorry; her conversation had almost amounted to a cry for help and it was all a game, a pretence.

Then I heard her calling: “Miss! Miss, where are you? This way.”

“I’m coming,” I said and went in the direction of her voice.

She appeared among the trees.

“I thought I’d lost you.” She took my hand as though she feared I would escape from her and we went on until after a short time the trees were less thick and then stopped abruptly. Before us was an open space in which the grasses grew long.

I saw at once that the monuments erected there were to the dead and guessed we were in the graveyard of the de la Talles.

I understood. Her mother was dead. She was going to show me where she was buried. And she called this introducing me to her mother.

I felt shocked and a little alarmed. She was indeed a strange girl.

“All the de la Talles come here when they die,” she said solemnly.

“But I often come here too.”

“Your mother is dead?”

“Come, I’ll show you where she is.”

She drew me through the long grass to an ornate monument. It was like a small house and on top of it was a beautifully sculptured group of angels holding a large marble book, on which was engraved the name of the person who was buried there.

“Look,” she said, ‘there’s her name. “

I looked. The name on the book was Francoise, Comtesse de la Talk, aged thirty years. I looked at the date. It was three years ago.

So the girl had been eleven years old when her mother died.

“I come down often,” she said, ‘to be with her. I talk to her. I like it. It’s so quiet. “

“You shouldn’t come,” I said gently.

“Not alone.”

“I like to come alone. But I wanted you to meet her.”

I don’t know what prompted me to say it but I blurted out: “Does your father come?”

“He never does. He wouldn’t want to be with her. He didn’t want to before. So why should he now?”

“How can you know what he would like?”

“Oh, I do know. Besides, it’s because he wanted her to be here that she’s here now. He always gets what he wants, you know. He didn’t want her.”

“I don’t think you understand.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” Her eyes flashed.

“It’s you who don’t understand. How could you? You’ve only just come. I know he didn’t want her. That was why he murdered her.”

I could find nothing to say. I could only look at the girl in horror.

But she seemed unaware of me as now she laid her hands lovingly on those marble slabs.

The stillness all around me; the warmth of the sun; the sight of those mausoleums which housed the bones of long dead de la Talles. It was macabre; it was fantastic. My instincts warned me to get away from the house; but even as I stood there I knew that I would stay if I could and that there was more to fascinate me in Chateau Gaillard than the paintings I loved.