The Devil on Horseback (31 page)

“Are you suggesting that I … It … it’s utterly false.”

“Of course. But after all, you did come here. You were friendly with the Comte. It was obvious that you had hopes. You see there is the foundation.”

“Madame,” I said, “I find this conversation nonsensical and offensive. You must excuse me as I wish to bring it to an immediate end.”

“I am sorry. I thought you should know the truth.”

“Good day, Madame.”

“I understand your indignation. You have been treated unfairly. I’m afraid the Comte is ruthless. He uses people for his own ends.”

I shook my head and turned away.

She said: “You must wait for Etienne. He will take you back.”

“I am going now. Goodbye.”

Shaken and trembling I went out to the stables. I wanted to put as far as possible between that woman and myself. Her insinuations were not only offensive; they were frightening.

How dared she suggest that the Comte had brought me here as a scapegoat, that he had killed his wife in order that he might marry Gabrielle and had done it in such a way that the blame could be attached to me.

It was inconceivable. It was the raving of a jealous woman. How could I doubt his sincerity after those scenes between us. That he was a sinner he had never denied. He had much to answer for, but he could never have deceived me so utterly, treated me so callously, as he would have if what she was suggesting were true.

And yet . How suspicious I was! I had been thrust into a world which, brought up as I had been by a god fearing mother with definite ideas of right and wrong, I could not understand.

How long had her affair with him continued? Was it still going on? Did she still attract him? Ethics, morals were considered so differently in the society from which I had come. Perhaps in high places in England there was a similarity. The King’s eldest son. Prince George, was notorious for his amours and so were his brothers. There were scandals among the aristocracy. I was sure that those who lived and thought as my mother had, enjoyed happier lives. Then I began to wonder why simple people were thought to be less clever than the sophisticated ones, when the simple people were often happier, and as everyone sought happiness, the wise must be those who knew how to find it and keep it.

Tortured by my thoughts I had come some way down the path and had reached the spot where the undergrowth grew thickest.

I did not know what it was that broke into my thoughts but I was suddenly uneasily aware of being watched. It might have been the cracking of a twig; it might have been a certain premonition. I could not say, but in that moment all my senses were alerted. I had the feeling that I was being watched and trailed . and for an evil purpose.

“You must never go out alone.” Those were the Comte’s injunctions. I had disobeyed them. Well, not exactly. Etienne had accompanied me to his mother’s and I had expected him to come and take me back, which no doubt he would have done had not I, incensed by his mother’s insinuations, left when I did.

Fifine, my mare, had been ambling quietly along for it was difficult to gallop or canter along this path. It would be dangerous, for she needed to pick her way carefully lest she trip over a gnarled root or a tangle of bracken.

“What is it, Fifine?” I whispered.

She moved forward cautiously.

I looked about me. It seemed dark because of the trees. There was silence and then suddenly a sound . a stone being dislodged . a presence, close . very close.

I was fortunate on that day. I leaned forward to speak to Fifine, to urge her forward and just as I did so a bullet whistled past that spot where a few seconds before my head had been.

I did not hesitate. I dug in my heels. I said: “Go, Fifine!” She did not need to be told. She was as aware of danger as I was.

Neither of us cared for the unevenness of the path. We had to get away from whoever was trying to kill me.

There could be no doubt that that was the intention for another shot rang out. This was wider of the mark but clearly I was the target.

It was with tremendous relief that I came into the stables.

One of the grooms came forward and took Fifine from me. I said nothing to him. I thought it wiser not to. My legs were trembling so much that I could scarcely walk.

I went to my room and threw myself on my bed.

I lay there staring up at the canopy. Someone had tried to kill me. Why? Someone had lain in wait in the undergrowth waiting for me to pass along. Who had known that I had visited Gabrielle?

Etienne. Leon, I remembered, had been there when Etienne had suggested the visit. I had mentioned it to Margot. Any of the servants might have known.

Had someone lain in wait for me? But for that sudden bending forward to speak to Fifine the chances were that I should now be lying dead in the lane.

Margot put her head round the door.

“Minelle, where are you? I heard you come in.” Then she saw me.

“What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

I said, my teeth still chattering: “Someone has just tried to kill me.”

She sat on the bed and stared at me.

“What? When? Where?”

“In the path from Gabrielle LeG rand house to the chateau. Half-way down the path I felt I was being stalked. It was lucky that I did. I leaned forward to urge Fifine on just as a bullet came whistling past my head.”

“It must have been someone shooting birds.”

“I think it was someone who wanted to kill me. There was a second shot and it was aimed at me.”

She had turned pale.

“So,” she said, ‘they are tired of throwing stones through our windows. Now they have decided to kill us. “

“I believe it was someone who wanted me out of the way.”

That’s nonsense. Who would? “

That,” I said unsteadily, ‘is what I have to find out.”

To face an attempt on one’s life is an unnerving experience and the shock is greater than one at first realizes.

Margot had spread the news. She was flatteringly concerned and horrified. We discussed it at table.

Etienne said, as Margot had: They have substituted guns for stones.

”

Leon was unconvinced. They have no weapons. If they rose theirs would be scythes and pitchforks . not guns. Where would they get guns?

They haven’t enough money to buy bread . let alone guns. “

“But why Mademoiselle?”

She is reckoned to be one of us now,” answered Etienne.

They went on speculating and I could only believe that Etienne was right. One of them had procured a gun. Why should not one of the servants have stolen it from the gun room? After the behaviour of Bessell and Mimi I knew that even those whom we had misguidedly trusted were no friends of ours.

A subtle change had crept over the household. They knew of the attempt on my life and sometimes it seemed as though they regarded it as very significant. It was as though it were a sign of the changing mood. The time when they threw stones was passing; they were ready to take stronger action. There was a brooding tension inside the house which I had not noticed before. That such existed outside, I had been well aware, but now it seemed to be creeping closer.

When I saw Mimi she would cast down her eyes as though she were ashamed, as well she might be. It was different with Bessell. His manner had become almost truculent. There was the implication: You have to think twice about giving me orders now. I know too much.

I think that perhaps the most distressing of all was NouNou. For most of the time she was shut away in the rooms she had occupied with the Comtesse. She would not allow anything to be touched in those apartments and the Comte had said that she was to be humoured. The servants said they could hear her talking to the Comtesse as though she were still there; and on those occasions when I saw her she would look at me with wide staring eyes seeming to see nothing. The Comtesse’s death had unbalanced her, it was said.

Leon and Etienne were greatly concerned about what had happened to me.

Etienne blamed himself. T should have been there to bring you back to the chateau,” he said.

“I intended to come and half an hour later would have been there. I thought you would stay longer.”

I did not wish to explain to him that I had found his mother’s insinuations so offensive that I had no alternative but to leave.

I merely said: “The shot might have been fired from the bushes if you had been there.”

T suppose so,” he admitted.

“Of course it wasn’t meant for you personally … just anyone who was not a peasant. But if I’d been there I should have been through those bushes and caught the villain. You must be careful. Never go out unattended again.”

Leon was equally concerned. He waylaid me once when I was in the garden alone and said quietly: “I want to speak to you. Mademoiselle Minelle.”

As we walked away from the chateau together he went on:

“I think you may be in danger.”

“You are thinking of the shot?”

He nodded.

“Etienne thinks it was not meant for me personally. I suppose we are all in danger.”

“It’s the gun that puzzles me,” he said.

“Had it been a stone … or even a knife thrown at you, I could have understood it more. I don’t think it was merely a sign of the times.”

“What do you think?”

“I think that you should lose no time in getting back to England. I wish I could take you.” He looked at me quizzically.

“Dear Minelle, you should not be involved in all this.” He waved his arms.

“It is too unsavoury.”

“But who would want to kill me? No one here really knows me personally.”

He shrugged his shoulders. There has been a death at the chateau and there are unpleasant rumours. “

“Don’t you believe that the Comtesse took her own life?”

Again that lifting of the shoulders. Her death was opportune. The Comte is now free. It is what he has wanted for a long time. We do not know what happened. Perhaps we shall never know, but people talk. I can tell you that they will be talking of the death of the Comtesse in the years to come and there will always be speculation. That is how legend grows up. Do not let it concern you. Go away. Put it all behind you. You do not belong in this decaying society. “

“I have promised to stay with Margot.”

“She will have her own life. You will have yours. You are being caught up in matters which you do not really understand. You judge people by yourself, but let me tell you-all people are not so honest.” He smiled at me frankly.

“I would be your friend … your very good friend. I have a great admiration for you. I would come to England with you but I am chained here and here I must remain. But please go. You are in danger here.

That is a warning which should not be ignored. Good luck was with you once. It may not be again. “

“Tell me what you know. Who would want to kill me?”

“All I know is that you must suspect everyone … everyone until you have proved them to be innocent.”

“You know something.”

“I know this: You are a good and charming young lady whom I admire and wish to see in safety. While you are here you are in danger. Please go back to England. There is still time. Who knows, very soon it may be too late.”

I turned to him and looked into his face. There was real concern in those vivid blue eyes and his smile was not jaunty as it usually was.

I liked him very much. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry I had once thought I saw his face at the window when the stone had been thrown into the ballroom.

Then a terrible feeling of insecurity came to me. He had said: Trust no one. No one. Not Leon, Etienne, not even the Comte.

He looked at me rather wistfully and said softly: “Perhaps … when this is over … I will come to see you in England. Then we may talk of … many things.”

Margot was greatly concerned.

“Just suppose that bullet had killed you. What should
have done?”p>

I couldn’t help smiling. That was a typical Margot remark.

But she was anxious on my account as well as her own. I would often find her watching me intently.

“It’s frightening you, Minelle,” she said.

“You look different.”

“I’ll get over it.”

“I’ll swear you didn’t sleep well last night.”

T kept dozing, half awake, half dreaming I was back in the lane. Once I thought I saw a face in the bushes. “

“Whose face?” she asked eagerly.

“Just a face…”

That was not quite true. It was a face I had seen before.

The face which I saw on the night of the ball. Leon’s face . and yet not Leon. It was as though a mischievous artist had sketched a few lines on Leon’s face-distorting it with rage, envy and a desire to harm. It was so unlike the Leon I had known that somehow I could not connect the two. Leon had always been kindly and during our conversation had been deeply concerned. I knew that he was tolerant more so than Etienne. He saw the people had a case but while he believed great concessions should be given to them, he did not believe in the destruction of a society. It seemed to me that Leon more than any of them understood what was needed and this was natural enough since he had an opportunity of seeing both sides of the case.

Margot talked a great deal about Chariot and her satisfaction that she had discovered him. She was in a rare euphoric mood. It was well, she said, that she had found out Bessell’s true nature. She did not believe Mimi was to blame. She had been influenced by Bessell, but she would be glad to be rid of them both.

“How long is the period of mourning?” she asked.

“It’s a year in England, I believe,” I replied.

“It’s probably the same in France.”

“A year … what a long time!”

“It seems unnecessary to set a time for mourning,” I commented sadly.

“When one has lost someone who is dear, the mourning goes on through one’s life. It is not so intense as it was at first, of course, but I don’t believe one ever forgets.”

“You’re thinking of your mother again. You were lucky to have such a mother, Minelle.”

“But if she had not been as she was, if she had been less good and kind and understanding, I shouldn’t be missing her so sorely now.