Read King of the Castle Online
Authors: Victoria Holt
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Fiction in English, #Suspense, #General, #Mystery and Detective Fiction
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.
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“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 …”