Daughter of Deceit (28 page)

I sat back, listening to the clop-clop of the horses’ hoofs.

“It seems almost as though they know the way,” I commented.

“Oh, they do. They have done it so many times, and it is usually these two who make the journey. Castor and Pollux—the Heavenly Twins. They are, I regret to tell you, not really apt names. They are far from heavenly, those two! But they can always be trusted to get us home. You will see how they prick up their ears and make an extra spurt when we are within a mile of home.”

I wondered whether Robert was a little nervous. He seemed to be trying hard to make cosy conversation.

It was late afternoon when we reached the house. We had come through an avenue of trees and had gone about half a mile before it came into view. It was appropriately named, for it was indeed grey, but the green foliage around it robbed it of the sombre aspect it might otherwise have had. At either end were the cylindrical towers, aptly named “pepper pot,” which are characteristic of French architecture. In front of the house were several stone steps leading to a terrace, and this gave a delightful touch of homeliness and softened the effect of the harsh grey stone.

We had pulled up, and two grooms appeared. Robert alighted and helped me down.

One of the grooms asked if we had had a good journey.

“Yes, thank you,” said Robert. “This is Mademoiselle Tremaston. We shall have to find a horse for her to ride while she is here.”

The groom spoke in rapid French.

“He says he will be there to help you choose. I’ll take you to the stables tomorrow and we shall fit you up.”

A terrible sense of loss crept over me, as I remembered my lessons with Roderick. I was longing with great intensity to be back at Leverson. I knew I should never forget. Why had I thought I might, merely by coming away?

Robert was saying: “I want to show you some of our villages. You’ll find them interesting. They are different from those in England.”

“I shall look forward to that,” I said.

He took my arm and we mounted the terrace steps. I noticed that the shrubs in the white tubs were very well cared for.

I commented on them and Robert said: “That is Angele’s doing. She said the house had an unwelcoming look, and they help to dispel that. Perhaps she is right.”

“I can imagine that would be so.”

We were facing an iron-studded door. It opened suddenly and a manservant stood there.

“Ah, good day, Georges,” said Robert. “We’re here. This is Mademoiselle Tremaston.”

Georges was a small man with dark hair and bright, alert eyes. He studied me and bowed. I sensed this was a somewhat formal household.

I stepped into a hall, at the end of which was a staircase, and at the foot of this was a woman. She came forward to greet me and I knew at once that she was Madame du Carron, Angele, for she was sufficiently like Robert for me to guess that she was his sister.

“Welcome, Mademoiselle Tremaston.” She spoke English with a pronounced French accent. “I am happy that you have come.”

She took my hands and I immediately thought: How different from Lady Constance. I reprimanded myself. I must stop continually harking back.

“I am happy to be here,” I said.

“And you have had a good journey?” She looked from me to Robert. “Welcome to La Maison Grise. It is good to see you, Robert. It is trying, is it not … that journey? La Manche … what you call the Channel … it can be a monster.”

“It was quite a benevolent monster this time,” I replied lightly, “which was fortunate for us.”

“But it is a long journey. What would you wish? To your room … or perhaps some refreshment … some coffee … a glass of wine?”

I said I should like to go to my room first and wash.

“That will be best. Berthe!” she called.

Berthe must have been hovering near, for she came at once.

“This is Berthe. She will look after you. Berthe … hot water for Mademoiselle.”

“Certainement, madame.
” Berthe gave a quick smile in my direction, accompanied by a brief curtsy.

“Come this way,” said Angele. “When you are ready, we can have a long talk. We can get to know each other, is that not so? That is … if my English will let us. Perhaps you have some French?”

“A little. I think perhaps your English might be more reliable.”

She laughed, and I felt we had made a good start.

I was taken to my room. It seemed dark until Angele opened the shutters: then the light flooded in and showed me how pleasant it was. The carpet and curtains were in a shade of pale pink; the furniture was delicate, and I felt I had stepped back a hundred years, for there was an elegant eighteenth-century atmosphere about the place. On one of the walls was a delicate tapestry—a charming reproduction of Fragonard’s “Girl on a Swing.”

I gave an exclamation of pleasure.

“You like it?” asked Angele.

“I think it is enchanting.”

“Then I am content. Robert says it is very important that you feel … how is it? …
comme chez vous.
”

“At home! You are so kind,” I said.

“Robert tells me of your great sorrow. We wish to help.”

“I am grateful to you.”

“Let me show you this.” She crossed to one corner of the room
and drew back a curtain, disclosing an alcove in which was a large cupboard and a table on which stood a ewer and washbasin. On the floor was a hip bath.

“We call it the
ruelle.
”

“How very convenient,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

She took my hand and pressed it. Then she withdrew hers and seemed a little ashamed to have shown such emotion.

She said briskly: “Berthe will bring along the hot water. Your bags are here. Perhaps you would like to come down in an hour, say? I will come for you then. Is that too long?”

“I think it will be just right, thank you.”

At that moment, Berthe came in with the hot water.

“Do you need help to unpack?”

“Thank you, no. I can manage.”

“In an hour, then?”

“Yes, please.”

I was alone.

How different from the welcome I had received at Leverson Manor! I must stop thinking of Leverson. It was far away … out of my life. It must be. It would have been better if I had never seen it … never known Roderick.

I tried to concentrate on my new surroundings. They were extremely interesting. I wanted to know more about Robert’s life here, his widowed sister, and, of course, there was the great-niece and her father.

I was beginning to think I was right to have come.

I unpacked, and by the time I had had a bath and changed into a blue silk dress, the hour was nearly up. I sat by the window looking out over the lawn to what seemed like a small copse. I could see that the grounds were extensive.

There was a knock on the door. It was Angele.

“Am I too soon?”

“No, no. I am ready.”

“Then, please come.”

Robert was waiting for us and with him was a young girl who I guessed was Marie-Christine.

Robert said: “I hope you liked your room.”

“It is charming,” I told him, and turned towards the girl.

“This is Marie-Christine,” said Robert.

“How do you do?” she said in English, while making a little curtsy, which I thought charming.

“I am so pleased to meet you,” I said.

She regarded me steadily.

“I believe,” said Robert, “that Marie-Christine has been practising her English so that she could greet you in your own language.”

“How very nice of you,” I said.

She continued to watch me, and I could not help feeling vaguely uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

“Dinner is served,” said Robert. “I am sure you are hungry. I am.”

I was not really so, being completely absorbed in my surroundings.

“We are eating in the small dining room today,” said Angele. “As there are only four of us, that is more suitable.”

It was not really small, and was furnished in the same elegant manner as what I had seen of the rest of the house. Robert sat at one end of the table, Angele at the other. I was on Robert’s right, Marie-Christine on his left. There were two servants to attend to us —a kind of butler supervising and a parlourmaid to hand round the dishes. Robert had said it was a small household, but there seemed to be numerous servants.

As we ate, Angele asked about my home in London. I told her that I had no home in London now and Robert looked at me a little reproachfully.

“You know the house is for your use,” he said.

“That is kind of you, Robert,” I said. I turned to Angele. “In fact, I have been staying with friends in the country. I am really not sure what I am going to do.”

“Your bereavement, of course,” said Angele. “I am sorry.”

There was a brief silence. I broke it by saying to Marie-Christine: “Do you have a governess?”

“Oh yes, Mademoiselle Dupont.” She grimaced slightly, to indicate that Mademoiselle Dupont was a little severe.

I
smiled. “Does she teach you English?”

“Oh yes. But she does not speak it as well as you do.”

Everybody laughed.

“Well, perhaps you will learn a little from me while I am here.”

“Oh yes, please. I want to.”

“Marie-Christine cannot bear not to know everything,” said Angele indulgently. “She does not like to be …” She paused. “Outside any matter. Is that not so, Marie-Christine?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, it is the right idea, if one wants to learn,” I said.

“Do you like riding?” she asked me.

“Yes, I do. I learned to ride not long ago. When I lived in London, there was little opportunity.”

“I’ll take you with me,” she promised. “I am a very experienced rider.”

“My dear child,” protested Angele.

“Well, I am good. Jacques said so. And we have to tell the truth, don’t we? You will be safe with me, Mademoiselle Tremaston.”

“I am sure I shall, and I shall look forward to riding with you.”

“Tomorrow, then,” she said. “It has to be afternoon. Mademoiselle Dupont will not release me in the morning.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

Robert was looking on benignly. He was obviously delighted that I was getting on well with his family. And I felt comforted because they all seemed determined to make me happy here; and that night, when I retired to the elegance of my eighteenth-century bedroom, my feeling was that I had been wise to come.

The next morning, Berthe brought my hot water at seven-thirty and told me she would be back with my
petit dejeuner.

I guessed that everyone took their breakfast in their bedrooms. Breakfasts here were not the meal they were at home, with a
sideboard full of delicacies like devilled kidneys, eggs, bacon and kedgeree.

My French was adequate enough to enable me to deal with Berthe, and I told myself it would improve during my stay in France.

In due course, Berthe arrived with a tray, on which was hot crusty bread, a pot of coffee and a jug of hot milk.

I was surprised not only that was I able to consume it with relish but that I was also looking forward to the day’s experiences.

I found my way down to the hall and to the garden. The air was fresh and the scent of flowers was everywhere. I made my way to the pond in the centre of the lawn, in which two nymphs stood, their arms entwined. I could look back at the house now. I studied the towers, the grey walls and the shuttered windows. The sun glinting on the stones picked out little brilliants here and there. Grey, menacing in a way … but there was the terrace with the white tubs of flowering shrubs, and the green climbing plant, the tentacles of which clung in places to the grey stone as though determined to soften it.

“Good morning.” Robert was coming towards me.

How kind he was! How eager to make me happy. Charlie had been the same, and his kindness had led me to that acute unhappiness. How I yearned to be back in the old days, which I had believed would never end.

“I trust you slept well,” said Robert.

“Very well indeed. My room is lovely. I feel like Madame de Pompadour.”

“Oh … nothing so grand as that! But we do want you to be comfortable here.”

“I can see that. If I am not, it will be no fault of yours or your sister’s.”

He put his hand over mine. “Dear Noelle,” he said. “I understand how it is. We are going to try to make you put all that behind you. It is the only way.”

“I know. If only it were as easy as it sounds.”

“It will come in time. Angele was saying she was going to show you the house this morning.”

“That will be interesting.”

“And this afternoon, you have promised to go riding with Marie-Christine.”