The Black Swan (21 page)

They hailed me with pleasure.

“Were you coming to visit us?” asked Phillida.

“Well … not exactly. I thought it would be nice if I saw you …”

“It certainly is. Unfortunately we are just going visiting. What a pity!”

“Come tomorrow afternoon,” said Roland. “We shall be at home then.”

“I should love that. What time?”

“Two … no, two thirty?”

“Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

They waved and rode off. I was rather relieved in a way. I wanted to think of the position. I did not want to do anything rash. I could perhaps ask their advice about returning home. Jean Pascal had looked after us on the journey out. I must remember that I should have to get myself across the country and my knowledge of the language was far from perfect. I was not sure of trains and so on. I would need help. I was not sure that I could ask Jean Pascal. I had a feeling that he might try to hinder me.

I wondered whether I could put the matter of my departure to the Fitzgeralds. I needed time to think … to ponder, so it was just as well that our meeting had been postponed until the next day.

I got through that day somehow. I was on tenterhooks wondering whether I should be able to escape without Belinda and Jean Pascal knowing what was going on.

The next day, immediately after luncheon, I was on my way to the Fitzgeralds’. I was surprised on my arrival to find that they had a visitor. It was a young woman who was vaguely familiar to me; and as soon as I heard her name, I remembered.

“This is Madame Carleon,” said Roland. “She is a neighbor of ours.”

“I picked her up,” explained Phillida, “which was really very clever of me.”

“Phillida is very good at that, as you know yourself,” added Roland.

I knew now where I had seen her before. She was the young woman who had come into the hall of the château and displeased Jean Pascal by her presence.

“This is Miss Lucie Lansdon,” went on Roland.

“I am very pleased that we meet,” said Madame Carleon in very accented English.

“I, too,” I replied.

“We met before at the Château Bourdon,” she went on.

“Very briefly,” I said.

“This will not be so brief,” said Roland. “Do sit down. Madame Carleon has told us so much about the countryside. We have been so fortunate in the friends we have made here.”

Madame Carleon was very attractive. She had abundant blond hair which was beautifully dressed and she wore a riding habit of light navy which accentuated her fairness; her eyes were deep blue and she had a short nose and a rather long upper lip; this gave her a kittenish look, which was appealing. She was animated in conversation, now and then breaking into French, but making a great effort to speak our language.

She asked me how I liked the château.

“It’s a wonderful place,” she said. “I know it well. And you are a friend of Mademoiselle Bourdon … the new daughter, I believe.”

“Yes. We were brought up together … until we were about ten years old. Then Belinda went to Australia and she has been back only a short time.”

“Very
interessante.
And she is a very attractive girl, this Miss Belinda.”

“Oh yes. She has become engaged …”

“Here?”

“Well. He was not exactly a friend of Monsieur Bourdon. He is English and was visiting friends here. They brought him along to dine … and it was love at first sight.”

“But that is charming,” said Madame Carleon.

“And there is family approval on both sides?” asked Roland.

“Well, certainly on this side. I think Sir Robert does not have much family.”

“How very exciting,” put in Phillida.

And we went on to talk about the various places of interest in the neighborhood. Madame Carleon lived in Bordeaux and had already taught the Fitzgeralds a great deal about the town.

“I was always interested in Bordeaux,” said Roland, “because it belonged to England once. It came to us with the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine to Henry II, and Richard II was born there.”

“So we became enormously interested in the history of the place,” went on Phillida. “We really have had a wonderful time in France. Roland and I were wondering whether we would go along the old pilgrims’ way to St. Jacques de la Compostela.”

“A very daunting journey, I’m afraid,” said Roland. “It takes you right through the Médoc to the Dordogne valley.”

Madame Carleon lifted her shoulders and spread out her hands. “Oh, but you are the adventurous ones.”

“Perhaps we’ll do it one day,” said Roland.

And so we talked until tea was served.

“Angelique does not approve,” said Phillida. “But she humors our English custom of afternoon tea.”

“I think it is a very charming custom,” said Madame Carleon.

I found it interesting but I had wanted to talk to the Fitzgeralds about the journey home, and I felt I could not speak of this in the presence of Madame Carleon. I thought, I will come here tomorrow perhaps for I must get away soon.

When we were leaving, Madame Carleon said, “I will go part of the way with you. There is someone I have to see before going home and it is on my way.”

We left together and before we had gone very far it occurred to me that our meeting had been contrived for almost immediately she began to talk of Jean Pascal. She said, “I hope you are comfortable at the château.”

“But … yes.”

“I hope you will not be angry with me … for what I say.”

“Angry? Why should I be?”

“It could seem perhaps … how do you say in English? … a little impertinent. Is that the right word?”

“I can’t tell you that until I hear what it is you are going to say.”

“I must tell you that I know Jean Pascal very well indeed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes … as well as two people can know each other. You understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“He is a man not to trust …
particulièrement
a young girl.”

“I understand what you mean.”

“He can be … dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“I feel I must tell you … must warn. … Is that what I mean?”

“I believe it is.”

“There have been so many. This girl, your Belinda, she is not the only child … there are many of them in the country here. He thinks because he owns the château he has the right. …”

“
Le droit de seigneur,
you mean?”

“
Exactement.
”

“I understand fully what you are trying to tell me. I have guessed something of this.”

“He and I … we were lovers … for a long time. My husband … oh, I am a wicked woman … I deceive him. I did not mean to. I love him … in a way … but I was fascinated … you understand?”

“Yes.”

“My husband … he find us. It break his heart. He die soon. He was very sick. I think we kill him. And Jean Pascal … he does not care. He snap his fingers. He has promised marriage … but no. Not now. He is tired of me. He lookround for new people.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“To warn.”

“I don’t need warning.”

“You are so young … and believe me, Mademoiselle Lansdon … youth is very attractive to one so … jaded? … is it?”

“Yes,” I assured her. “Jaded. I know all this and I am not in the least tempted.”

“Then I am happy for you. I need not have spoke.”

“I appreciate it very much. It was kind of you … but, because of my feelings, quite unnecessary.”

“Then I am glad. He would be no good. He makes no woman happy. Oh, he is very charming … in the beginning … but after …”

“It was good of you to want to warn me.”

“I see you so young … so fresh … so innocent.”

“I am all these, but I do know something of the world and I am not in the least likely to become one of his victims.”

“And you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. I thank you for your kindness. You were not to know it was not necessary.”

“I am hurt, you see.”

I did understand the feeling of a discarded mistress. An unpleasant thought occurred to me. Had he dispensed with her because of his designs on me? I must get away. I could not stay longer in the château.

Madame Carleon said, “I will turn off here. I am content. I have spoken. My conscience is happy now. I say good-bye. Perhaps we meet again, eh?”

I said I hoped we would and rode back to the château.

Belinda wanted to know where I had been.

“I looked everywhere. I wanted to talk to you. I’ve written to Celeste. Mon père thinks it would be best for us to have the wedding there.”

“Good Heavens! You’re just engaged and that was all fixed in a hurry because poor Bobby had to go back. He’s the one you’ll have to consult about the wedding.”

“Oh, he’ll want to have it just as I want it.”

“I think his opinion might be asked.”

“Well, it will be … but after we’ve made the plans.”

“Just the same old Belinda,” I said. “Everything must fit in with you.”

“Of course,” she replied.

Jean Pascal expressed displeasure, too.

“What happened to you this afternoon, Lucie?” he asked.

“I rode out and met the Fitzgeralds.”

“That seems to be becoming a habit.”

“It is pleasant to meet one’s compatriots abroad.”

“I suppose so. But I missed you.”

I could not bear that look in his eyes. I thought about Madame Carleon. What would he say if he knew I had spent the afternoon with her? Moreover what would he say if he knew that she had told me of him? It was nothing I did not already guess, of course, but it was confirmation.

I must get away.

I wondered whether to consult Belinda. No, that would be useless. In any case she was too immersed in her own affairs. She did not want to leave yet. She must wait for Bobby’s return and the plans they would make. How long, I wondered, could I endure to stay in the château?

Then I thought of Rebecca. I had turned to her all my life when I was in difficulties. I should have done so before.

I would write to her. I would explain that I had to get away quickly. I knew what Rebecca would do. She would come to France—Pedrek with her—and they would take me back to safety and Cornwall. On the other hand, could I travel alone?

I decided to try Rebecca first. That night I wrote to her.

Dear Rebecca,

I have to get away from here. Belinda has become engaged and will not leave just yet. I could, I suppose, travel on my own, but I feel very uncertain. I should have to get the train to Paris and then from Paris to Calais and so on. Once I was on the Channel ferry I should be all right. It is the uncertainty of the language which daunts me.

Dear Rebecca, I need to come home at once. Do help me. If you could come out … or Pedrek … perhaps both of you … I know I am asking a lot, but I have always known that you were there to help me, and I feel very shaken in view of everything that has happened. I have just heard the terrible news that Joel was killed. It seems too much. I feel weak and foolish, but I know you will understand. I so much want to come home … to be with you.

Love from your sister,

Lucie

I felt better when I had written that letter. I thought of all Rebecca had been to me through my life and I knew she would not fail me now.

It was a great comfort to have taken some action. I would post the letter tomorrow. How long would it take to reach her, I wondered? But at least I had taken some action.

I got into bed. I could not sleep; and suddenly I was alert, for I heard a faint noise outside my room. I sat up, startled. Someone was on the other side of the door.

Silently I leaped out of bed. I went to the door. Slowly the handle turned.

I stood leaning against the door. I could hear the sound of breathing on the other side. I knew who was there and I was trembling with fear.

Belinda would have spoken sharply, demanding to be let in. Moreover it was late. She would have come earlier.

I knew who was there. It was Jean Pascal, and he was trying to surprise me in my sleep.

I waited. I heard the frustrated sigh … and then the sound of retreating footsteps.

He had gone.

I leaned against the door, still shaking. I thought of him, angry and frustrated, beating the swan.

Had I not locked the door he would have been in the room. The thought of that filled me with horror.

I must get away. I could not stay here another night.

Tomorrow I must take action.

I had a sleepless night, but I grew calmer in the morning. If necessary I must make my way home. I could find out about trains. Anything was better than spending another night in this château. I had been lucky. He had not knocked and asked to come in. He had known what my response would have been. He had planned to come into my bedroom, catch me asleep, surprise me … and then what?

I was limp with horror at the images which my tortured mind conjured up.

I rose and unlocked the door, and in due course Thérèse came in with my
petit déjeuner.

I forced myself to eat it. I washed and dressed and put on my riding habit for an idea had come to me.

I was going to leave, and I could find out about the journey from the Fitzgeralds. They traveled a great deal and would be the ones to advise me.

I made my way down to the stables. The household was not yet awake. I saddled a horse and rode over to them.

They were just finishing breakfast when I arrived.

“Lucie!” cried Phillida. “This is a surprise!”

Roland stood up to greet me.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you …” I began.

“Nonsense. We’re delighted to see you at any time.”

“Perhaps I am making too much of this …” I stammered. “But … er … I want to get away from the château. I have to go at once.”

“What’s happened?” asked Phillida.

Roland held up a hand to silence her. “You will take the train to Paris,” he said. “It’s a long journey. Then you will have to change trains … from Paris to Calais. There you get to the docks for the Channel ferry. Did you say you wanted to go today? I don’t think that would be possible. The train leaves for Paris at ten o’clock. No … you couldn’t possibly do that.”

“I’ll go tomorrow then. I’ll have to have one night more …”