The Gentleman Nicolas Lancaster

CHAPTER 3: The Gentleman Nicolas Lancaster

I was to be boarded in the very room in which Queen Anne had bedded during her time with the French court. The room was large and lit by two sets of wide doors that opened out onto a private balcony at the back of the house. The bed was large and covered with a feather down mattress and pillows. There was a canopy of green silk with matching hangings. The covers were like ivory with the inn's monogram stitched in the center in gold. Beautiful tapestries hung on the paneled walls: altar cloths and great trains of courtiers bearing the fleur-de-leis on blue standards. A grand fireplace sat in the wall opposite the bed, a second portrait of the queen hung over the mantle.

The young woman in the country dress assured me that all arrangements for my stay had been taken care of and that I was to be allowed full use of the library still kept in the house. "Be assured that we will do all that is necessary to make your stay as productive as possible, mademoiselle. I am to understand that you will be going to the Chateau de Chagny while you are staying with us?" said the young woman as the last of my luggage was taken from the tram and placed at the foot of the bed.

"Oui," I replied. "Were there arrangements made as to how I might go between the chateau and here?"

"M. Rigalto has arranged for a car for you, mademoiselle. You shall have one of the men from the inn to drive you as you wish. If you wish to go to the chateau now, I can fetch him for you."

I turned on the spot, taking in the whole of the room and feeling the uncomfortable ache in my bones from riding in the taxi for so long. "Thank you, but I believe I will go to the chateau tomorrow. For now, I would like to rest."

"As you wish, mademoiselle. If you fancy something to read, the library is in the east wing of the house. Its doors are always open when there is daylight." The young women dropped again into an unmistakable curtsy and backed out of the room.

I stared up into the dark eyes of Anne Boleyn as the young woman quietly shut the door to my rooms. I could hear the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees in the orchard and the crunch of gravel as a second car arrived out front. The heavy feeling of sleep clouded my thoughts so much that I swore that I saw Anne's lips quirk upwards in a sly smile. I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand and stumbled over to the bed, quite certain that I would fall into sleep before I sank onto the mattress.

I awoke what seemed several hours later. The sun burned crimson and orange through the windows of my rooms as it sank below the horizon. The room was warm and quiet, much like my apartments in Paris. So comfortable was the bed that I was hardly inclined to move, much less rise for supper.

There was a soft knock on the door of my rooms. "Yes?" I called, waiting as the young woman poked her head around the door. "We are serving supper in the dining hall, mademoiselle. Would you like to come down, or should I have something sent up to you?"

Still fighting the muffled grogginess of sleep, I forced myself to sit up. "I will come down, thank you. Please give me a few moments to freshen up."

The young woman smiled and backed out of the room as I stood and made my way to the small bathroom attached to my rooms. I splashed my face several times with cold water and combed through my dark hair with my fingers. My black eyes stared back at me from the looking glass over the sink. Even to myself, I looked unbelievably tired and ill at ease.

I stumbled sleepily as I made my way from my rooms down the hallway toward the grand staircase. My stomach was once again tied in tight knots and my hands were trembling with unease as I leaned heavily against the banister while I climbed slowly down the stairs. Bright candlelight flickered from the chandelier hanging in the entryway, seeming to dance in time with the sound of tinkling cutlery and laughter from the dining hall.

A dark headed man stood at the doorway, his head tilted back to rest against the frame. His eyes opened at the sound of my shoes muffled against the carpets. He looked up at me, a curious expression on his face. "You must be Mlle. Leroux," he said, his voice a smooth and deep timbre that vibrated to my bones. He inclined his head in a slight bow. "I am Nicolas Lancaster."

"Good evening, M. Lancaster," I replied, inclining my head back at him. "Please excuse my appearance, as I had a lengthy ride from Paris and desired a nap before supper."

He smiled indulgently and offered me his arm. "Would you allow me to escort you in to supper?" he asked. Quietly, I accepted and allowed him to steer me into the dining hall and into a seat next to his own.

The table groaned beneath platters of roast chicken, glazed ham, scalloped potatoes, steamed vegetables, and sweet rolls. Two grand candelabras stood near each end of the table, glittering with six tapered candles each. Plates were passed around, each piled high with samples of each of the many dishes provided by our hosts. Besides M. Lancaster, and myself, there were two other guests, an elderly couple who were traveling through the countryside on their second honeymoon. Then, of course, there were our hosts: the young woman, two older gentlemen, and a young man of approximately the same age as myself.

"What brings you to this part of France, mademoiselle?" asked M. Lancaster, looking at me from the corners of his dark eyes. "Surely you are not a born Frenchwoman?"

I stifled a laugh. "Actually, M. Lancaster, I am a born Frenchwoman. However, I was raised abroad. My parents were professors of history and art. And so, of course, am I. My presence here is due to the Chateau de Chagny. I am here to study the life of the Lady de Chagny," I replied, taking the wine offered to me by one of my hosts.

"You and so many others," replied M. Lancaster. "It seems that there are always people in this part of the country looking after the Lady de Chagny."

M. Lancaster, who refused to allow the merriment of us all to wane, nearly always directed the conversation over supper. He insisted I be served first when a dessert of sherbet tart was served, and he would not allow me to leave the table without assurances that he could escort me back to my rooms.

"I am down the hall, Mlle. Leroux," he whispered later that evening as we made our way up the grand staircase to my rooms. My hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow, his own large, warm hand over my own. "Should you need me, feel free to send for me. There is a night man at the desk, and he will help you in any way he can."

I was quite sure I was blushing, but I nodded solemnly as we came to a stop outside of my door. "Thank you for your kindness, M. Lancaster. I will see you at breakfast," I said softly, bowing my head to him as so many others at The King's Bed were wont to do. Perhaps it was knowing that royalty had once been in this house, but there was an air of court ceremony blowing through these years old halls.

Largely due to my unusual nap the afternoon before, I was up with the dawn the next morning. My rooms were suffused with a soft golden pink light as I pulled myself from beneath the warm linens and threw open the doors leading out onto the balcony. The worn stones were cool beneath my bare feet and the air was crisp and clear with the scent of autumn. I stretched and pulled my dark hair over one shoulder, combing it through with my fingers.

"I do so love the country," I whispered, leaning over the railing to see the great French doors of the entry hall being thrown open to the morning.

There was a soft chuckle from somewhere to my left, and I looked over to find Nicolas Lancaster standing on his own balcony. He was sipping a mug of hot coffee and smiling out into the morning. "Good morning, Mlle. Leroux," he called from his balcony, the morning breeze ruffling his dark hair. "I trust you slept well?"

I smiled back at him though the shame at being caught in my nightdress rose in my cheeks. "Very well, thank you," I replied, dropping him a small curtsy for the fun of it. "And yourself, sir?"

"The same," he replied, holding his coffee mug up in salute. "Shall I meet you for breakfast or have you another engagement for this morning?"

"No, but thank you, sir. I had hoped to go directly to the Chateau de Chagny once my driver was prepared. I have much to look for, but I am quite unsure as to where to begin. Might I have the honor at supper tonight?" I wrapped my arms around my body against the coolness of the wind.

"Yes, now go inside before you catch your death of cold. I will go down to make sure your driver is ready to leave at your will," he said, shooing me along with a broad, handsome smile.

M. Lancaster was as good as his word. In fifteen minutes, I was showered, dressed, and laden with my leather notebook and research materials in my bag. My driver, who turned out to be one of the elderly gentlemen I met at supper the night previous, was found standing at the foot of the grand staircase waiting for me.

"Are you prepared to go to the chateau, mademoiselle?" he asked in his grandfatherly voice. When I nodded in reply, he offered me his arm and a soft, "Then off we are, then."

Copyright © 2008 The Mistress Snape