Shadows of the Chateau

CHAPTER 4: Shadows in the Chateau

My driver left the car at the front of the Chateau de Chagny, promising that he would be nearby while I toured the house. The young woman at The King’s Bed had certainly not lied: the chateau looked remarkably like the little inn. The balcony above the door was hung with silver streamers made of silk. Standards bearing the fleur-de-leis hung from each window, fluttering in the breeze. The left of the chateau was covered with crawling ivy and flowers. A great, sprawling lawn fell away from the left of the house, leading up to a grand orchard of apples and pears. A sweeping garden of lilies and roses lay tucked away around the right side of the house, swaying in the soft breeze.

The keeper of the grounds answered the door at my first knock, and bowed slightly as he allowed me inside. “Good morning, Mlle. Leroux,” he said as he closed the oak door and secured the bolt. “I have instructions that you are to see anything in the house you wish.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” I replied, hugging my bag to my side. “I would very much like to see the Lady de Chagny’s sitting room today.”

The keeper smiled and led the way through the entryway to the grand staircase at the back of the house. There were dozens of portraits hanging on the walls, each of the same young woman. Her hair was a bundle of chestnut curls that tumbled down her back, her eyes a bright and brilliant blue. She wore an abundance of gowns, from the many hues of blue and pink to pale yellows and whites. The largest of all the portraits hung on the landing of the upper floor.

Her smile was wide and radiant. Her hair was wound in a halo of pearls and flowers. Her gown was pale violet and swept the floor in the Victorian style. Her arms were wrapped around a bundle of swaddling clothes, out of which peeked the sweet round face of a newborn child. “The Lady de Chagny and her child, Erik,” said the keeper, watching the awe wash over my face as I stared upwards at the portrait. “There is another portrait of her ladyship in the sitting room, with Erik not long before his death. It is this way, mademoiselle.”

I followed the keeper up the grand staircase and into the west wing of the chateau. Her ladyship’s sitting room was in the same position in the house as my rooms at The King’s Bed. As the keeper said, there was a second portrait of the Lady de Chagny and her son over the fireplace. A single wall had been inlaid with shelves that creaked with the heaviness of many volumes of books and blown and spun glass ornaments. My eyes swept the fourth shelf, desperately seeking some tome or ornament to stand out amongst the others as that parcel G.H. sent me to retrieve.

“I thank you for your help,” I said softly, dropping into a slight curtsy. “Might I have a few moments to look through her ladyship’s books?”

“Of course, mademoiselle,” he replied, bowing his head. “I shall be at the end of the hallway if you should need anything.” With that he backed out of the room and shut the door softly behind him.

I waited for a long moment and listened to the sound of the keeper’s footfalls growing fainter as he reached the end of the hallway. I crossed the room quickly and bolted the door swiftly, hoping the iron lock did not echo too loudly in the empty hallway. There seemed to be a hundred books and ornaments on the shelves in the sitting room; at least several dozen were on the shelf indicated by G.H. Sunlight filtered in through the velveteen curtains as I stood in the center of the sitting room, desperately trying to decide what I should do.

For several minutes, I paced across the thick Persian rug and stared at the shelf. Each time I came closer and closer to the wall of shelves, my eye was drawn to the center of the shelf and the smallest volume. My hands trembled and my heart pounded with anticipation as I pulled the book from the shelf. I opened the plain, cloth cover to find “The Psalter of Anne the Queen” written in a neat, flowing script on the inside cover. I should not have been surprised to find a book of prayers from the Catholic Church in the Lady de Chagny’s sitting room. After all, she married Lord Philippe in the holy wedding mass and saw that Erik had a proper Catholic christening.

My fingers flipped through the pages of her ladyship’s prayer book, barely aware of anything else in the world. When I looked up to replace the book on the shelf, I saw something tucked away behind the other volumes. Its hue was so far removed from the grain of the wood that had been used to make the shelves themselves. My hands are tiny, but it was quite a difficult squeeze to reach the hidden object. The texture beneath my fingertips was smooth and cool, much like the cover of my research notebook. After several minutes of struggling, I was able to clasp the object in my hand and dislodge it from its hiding place.

In my hands, I held an old, well cared-for journal. It was tied closed with a supple thong of brown leather, its pages rough as parchment and heavy with ink. I slipped the journal into my bag, my heart thrumming against my ribs with nervousness. Her ladyship’s prayer book was still clutched in my hand as I crossed the room to unbolt the door. My eyes caught the portrait of the Lady de Chagny that was over the fireplace. I stared into the bright blue eyes that seemed somehow listless as she held her toddler child in front of her. Perhaps, even then, she knew that she was to lose her only son in only a few months time.

I tore my gaze from the sad eyes that were staring down at me and pulled at the iron ring to open the door. The cool air of the hallway rushed against my face as I edged out of the sitting room, closing the door behind me. “Pardon me, monsieur,” I said softly as I reached the end of the hallway. I held out her ladyship’s prayer book for the keeper to see. “Might I be allowed to borrow this for a while? I am staying at The King’s Bed, you see. It was once Queen Anne’s home, and I would love to read her Psalter in the library of her former home.”

The keeper looked down his old nose at me for several long moments before nodding so slightly that his jowls barely shook. “Oui, mademoiselle, but best keep that to yourself. Not many know Lady de Chagny owned a copy of that book,” he whispered. He straightened and bowed his head to me. “Do you wish to see anything else today?”

“No, monsieur,” I replied. The keeper led me down the grand staircase and into the main entryway. “I thank you for your service today. Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me some stories of this house when I return tomorrow.”

The keeper nodded as he unbolted the front door of the house. “Anything you wish, mademoiselle.”

The sun was hanging high above the chateau as I heard the bolt of the door slide into its cradle once more. True to his word, my driver was standing at the backdoor of the car. “Did you find anything of interest, Mlle. Leroux?”

“Oui, and thank you,” I replied as I slid into the backseat. I clutched my bag against my stomach. I longed to retire to my rooms at the inn, have a nap before supper, and lock myself in the library to read the journal.

Much to my surprise, however, M. Lancaster was waiting on the grand balcony, watching for my arrival.

Copyright © 2008 The Mistress Snape