CHAPTER V

AT THE CHÂTEAU

IT was towards the end of a lovely afternoon in May that Adrienne arrived at her destination. Both her uncles had accompanied her to town, and seen her off in the boat express to Dover. She had a quick, smooth passage across the Channel, then a long train journey to Paris, where she stayed for the night at a comfortable English hotel recommended by friends. She did a little sight-seeing in the morning, and then took the train on to Orleans. Here a car was waiting for her. The chauffeur, who could speak broken English, explained matters:

"Monsieur, he mean to come hisself, but at last minute he called away—a terrible accident happen to Jean Lucien, he be the fermier—and Monsieur he drive him to hospital all quickly, and not return in time. And Madame he tell myself to come."

Adrienne stepped into the car, and as she drove along the smooth, straight roads with their rows of poplar trees on either side, and noted the small patches of cultivated land, with the peasants tilling their ground, and the women and children busy hoeing and weeding in the bright sunshine, she felt that England was already very far away. A spasm of home-sickness crept into her heart, and then she laughed at it.

"Why, I was breakfasting at home yesterday—it is too ridiculous of me. It takes no time to get here, and I can go back when I like."

She repeated these last words very emphatically, and found comfort in doing so. They rushed through villages, and climbed hills between woods of young, freshly planted trees. Finally they slowed down in a quaint little village with a green, and a big pump in the middle of it round which was a little group of idle men. There was a small church on a rising knoll outside the village, and then they came to some beautifully wrought iron gates between two tall grey stone pillars. The gates were open, and they glided up an avenue of chestnut trees now in full bloom.

At intervals there were great stone vases and blue wooden seats, then they rounded a curve and the Château was in sight. In the mellow afternoon sunshine Adrienne admired it. It was a grey stone building with a deep blue slated roof; long, narrow windows were on either side of a very handsome front door under a stone portico. A flat stone terrace ran along the whole length of the Château. A fountain was playing into a marble basin at one end of it. Statuettes of boys and nymphs adorned the low stone wall that edged the terrace. There was an untidy piece of park surrounding the Château, cows were grazing in it. The trees were few in number, but there was an old walled garden behind the house, and quite a long line of stables and outbuildings. There appeared to be no flowers, but some young orange and myrtle trees were in blue painted tubs just outside the front door.

Before Adrienne had had time to pull the heavy iron bell-handle, the door was opened, and an old white-haired butler appeared, bowing low before her.

"Is Madame at home?" Adrienne asked in her best French.

He led the way without a word across a dark polished parquetry floor, then up a broad shallow flight of stone steps along a wide corridor which contained some rather shabby settees ranged against the walls, one or two gilt tables, and some good oil paintings hanging from a highly decorated ceiling.

Pierre, the old manservant, threw open a beautifully carved mahogany door halfway down the corridor, and Adrienne was in the presence of her aunt.

She was a small slight woman with pale golden hair, and a pathetically sad-looking face. She was dressed in black, and had a black lace mantilla wound round her head and neck. Adrienne thought that she looked more youthful than ever, but she was well over sixty years of age. She carried herself well, and her face was rouged and powdered. She had very pretty, delicate hands and used them in talking, as a Frenchwoman would have done.

"At last!" she exclaimed, as she drew Adrienne forwards by both her hands, and imprinted two dainty kisses upon each cheek in turn.

"I thought I should never get you! How you have grown and—yes—improved. You were no beauty as a child, but you give promise of it now—a little too rosy perhaps for good breeding, but it is your outdoor country life. And how are the brothers? As inseparable as ever? Now come and sit down. Pierre, we will have tea; tell Louis and Gaston to take Mademoiselle's luggage to her room."

The last sentence was said in French. Adrienne glanced around her. It was a long, narrow salon furnished mainly in Louis Quatorze style; the floor was polished till it shone like a mirror, but dust lay on pictures and ornaments, and the decoration of the room was very shabby. There was a bright wood fire burning, and Adrienne was glad of it, for the room seemed to her damp and unused.

She discovered later that her aunt never sat in it when she was alone. The Countess motioned to her to sit down upon a faded blue satin couch; and if Adrienne's bright young eyes were taking in her environment, her aunt's sharp eyes were taking in her niece.

In her neat dark blue travelling suit, with her blue velvet hat pushed well down on her shapely little head, Adrienne would have passed muster in Paris.

Tired she was, but not so tired that she could not talk very pleasantly to her aunt till the tea arrived.

A small silver tray with a very big silver teapot and fragile china cups was placed on a little table in front of her aunt. A few sweet biscuits on a plate was the accompaniment to the tea, which Adrienne found weak and tasteless. But it was hot, and Pierre served it, as if it were the choicest champagne.

The Countess asked her numberless questions about herself and her uncles, and then suddenly she pushed away her cup of tea from her, and produced her handkerchief. Burying her face in it, she began to sob:

"Oh, I am miserable, lonely, forlorn! Since my child has left me so heartlessly, I have suffered terribly. No one in the neighbourhood to understand or comfort me. My brothers and you refusing to come to me! And this great big old house going to pieces, and the winter with the rain and snow and darkness, and poor little me sitting up waiting, waiting for life to smile on me again, and always waiting in vain."

"Poor Aunt Cecily," said Adrienne softly. "If I were you, I would sell this old Château, and come to England and be happy in a charming little English cottage near your friends and relations. Why should you live in a foreign country away from us all?"

The Countess put down her handkerchief, and her eyes sparkled with an angry light in them:

"English cottage! Me, at my age, in my position! You ignorant, foolish girl, do you think for a moment that I would leave my husband's home and property? Do you think, after forty years of French life and Parisian society, I could settle down in an English village, with its mud, and dull stolid unsociability?"

"But we live in the country, Aunt Cecily, and we have many nice friends round us, and our village looks as well cared for as this. And we are never dull or lonely."

"Oh, bah! I have seen your life and it is not mine, nor ever will be. You will like to go to your room. Pierre will take you. We dine at eight o'clock."

Adrienne felt that she had blundered, and was being dismissed.

Pierre was summoned, and took her up another flight of stone stairs. Adrienne felt already that the old Château with its scent of polish and wood fires, its mellow atmosphere, and dignified antiquity was beginning to fascinate and hold her.

Her room was large and comfortable, with an expanse of dark shining parquetry floor, some soft rugs, and a very large state bed. Faded green satin damask curtains and hangings, a very handsome couch and writing-table, and several easy-chairs completed its furnishing; her washstand with its accessories was in a little closet adjoining the room: four big French windows open to the floor, looked out upon the park, and some woods on a rising hill, not very far from the house.

She found her luggage already there, and a stout, middle-aged peasant woman appeared, asking her if she could help her. She soon discovered that the Château was run by one family of the name of Tricard. Pierre and his wife Fanchette ruled over all supreme. She was cook, their daughter Annette was general housemaid, her husband was gardener, their young daughter helped in the kitchen, and two sons waited at table, polished the floors, and helped their mother about the house.

"We have always served the De Beaudesserts for two generations," Annette told Adrienne, as she helped her to unpack her things; "but my mother remembers the time when the Château was full of great ladies and gentlemen, and there were five or six waiting men."

Then she insisted upon showing Adrienne the best state bedroom. She pulled off the coverings of the furniture, and smiled complacently when Adrienne expressed her admiration of it. The bed was a magnificent erection, gilt and blue paint and a gilded coronet over the head of it; it had blue satin hangings and curtains with gilt fringes. The sofas and easy-chairs and spindle-legged tables were all gilt and blue. Annette showed Adrienne a real lace coverlet which was laid over a blue satin one for the bed, and blue satin cushions with the same old lace upon them. The room was panelled in blue satin with gilt decorations. There were cabinets in it, but they were empty. The priceless china that used to be in them had all been sold, but there were some beautiful old paintings on the walls. Five large French windows looked out upon the old park.

"Royalty has slept in that bed," said Annette in an awed whisper. "Queen Marie Antoinette stayed here for three days once."

"How interesting!" said Adrienne enthusiastically.

She lingered in the room, trying to realize bits of the past, but Annette hurried her back to her own room.

"Madame is proud of her guest-chamber, but she will not show it to tourists. The Marquise in Château Divant is obliged by Government to let the public come through her Park and Château every Wednesday during the summer. But our Château is not so old as hers, nor so historic."

Adrienne returned to her room and went to the windows when she was left alone. There was sunshine streaming over the opposite hills, and lighting up the fresh green in the woods. The air was soft and sweet, and she drew in a long breath of it with content.

"It is very quiet, very sweet here," she thought. "I shall enjoy staying here for a time."

She slipped into a pale blue filmy dress, and then made her way downstairs. For a moment she hesitated as she came to the salon door, then she passed it, and made her way out into the garden at the back of the Château through an open door and down a flight of stone steps. Here she found herself in an old walled garden, with wisteria falling over the walls, pear and apple trees in full blossom, and two long untidy borders of spring flowers on either side of the vegetables. There were paths with box-hedge borders; in one shady corner was a clump of lilies of the valley. But she noticed that, though the vegetables looked well cared for, the flowers were utterly neglected, and she longed to get down on her knees and weed.

Then, as she came to a blue painted door at the bottom of the garden, she slipped the bolt, and found herself facing a grassy path between trees. It was an entrance into the wood. She wandered along it, rejoicing in the fresh green above and around her. Presently she came to a seat, and from here, looking back, she had a good view of the Château and village.

The quaint blue roofs, the grey wood of the houses, the scent of wood fires, and the tinkle of bells as the oxen passed along the lanes with their loads delighted her artistic soul. It was all so different from England! Dreamily she gazed around her, oblivious of time, and then horses' hoofs roused her. A rider was coming through the wood, and as she looked, she recognized Guy de Beaudessert.

He dismounted directly he saw her, and held out his hand.

"I thought it was a wood nymph. Have you found your way here already? Sorry I couldn't meet you, but business prevented me. I'm on my way to the stables. The farm isn't good enough for my Estelle. What do you think of her?"

Adrienne looked at the glossy chestnut with a smile, and noted her proud and spirited bearing.

"I think she's a darling!" she said enthusiastically. "And I'm fascinated with it all here. It's so—so romantic!"

He smiled, then took a sharp turn in the woods.

"Don't follow me," he said, "or you may be late for dinner, and that is displeasing to Madame. I shall be the culprit to-day. Ask her not to wait for me."

So Adrienne returned the same way as she had come, and, as she entered the house, Pierre was clanging a great bell in the hall.

Her aunt was waiting for her in the salon. She frowned when she received Guy's message.

"He is so oblivious of my wishes. He always has been. He knows, in my delicate state of health, that punctuality of meals is most essential. I expect he thinks that now you are here, he is no longer necessary to me. Come, my dear, we will go in at once."

She slipped her hand into Adrienne's arm, and leant upon her heavily. They entered the dining-room, a rather gloomy room with painted ceiling and walls. A long refectory table in the centre and chairs surrounding it were all that was in it. The many windows were draped heavily with faded rose damask hangings. A huge cut-glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, and in this, were a number of lighted candles.

The meal commenced. Pierre waited deftly, though his steps and movements were very slow. His old hands shook as he handled the dishes, and Adrienne felt a great pity for him, as she noticed how old and frail he was. Her aunt talked, but it was chiefly about her delicate state of health. Adrienne tried to interest her in her uncles' pursuits at home, but the Countess seemed to be purely indifferent to their existence. Soup, an omelette, and chicken with salad had already been served before Guy appeared.

Adrienne drew an inward breath of relief as she saw him.

He seemed so full of life and energy, that he changed the gloomy atmosphere at once.

"So sorry, ma mère? But you have heard of Jean's accident. I have been with him; his arm will be saved, the doctor hopes, so I took the good news to his wife. It was terribly mangled; he tripped and caught it in the mowing machine."

"Do not give us any terrible details," said the Countess quickly; "you know I cannot bear any horrors. Did you cash my cheque for me at the Bank?"

Guy looked across the table at his stepmother with a slight smile, then shook his head.

Adrienne saw a look of dismay in her aunt's eyes. But she said nothing.

Then he turned to her: "Do you ride? I expect you do."

"I love it," said Adrienne, with glowing eyes.

"Then we will have some rides together. I have two horses. Sultan is quiet, and not quite heavy enough for me. Have you a side-saddle on the place, ma mère?"

"No," said the Countess quickly, "you must not forget, Guy, that Adrienne came over here to be a companion to me."

He nodded at her reassuringly.

"None of us mean to forget that fact, but she must have exercise, and in the early morning before you are awake, she and I will have rides through the lanes. We want her to become enamoured with our country, do we not? I think she is smitten with it already."

"The novelty of it is pleasant," said Adrienne a little cautiously.

"But," said the Countess with rising colour, and a little frown between her brows, "you will not have the ordering of my niece's days, Guy; it is I, her aunt, who will do that. You are too fond of arranging and ordering and willing this or that."

Guy's face was perfectly imperturbable.

"Then you," he said with a little bow towards her, "will order your niece to ride in the early mornings for her good, and I will help her to carry out your wishes."

Adrienne's delicious little laugh rang out; she could not help it.

"I hope I shall be tractable under this discipline," she said. "I shan't forget that I have come here to cheer you up, Aunt Cecily. I am sure we shall not quarrel over that."

Her aunt's frown gradually disappeared.

Guy began giving Adrienne a description of the village and the neighbourhood round.

"We are just a small community here," he said, "who know all about each other's virtues and vices and discuss them lengthily when our days are dull and time hangs heavily on our hands.

"Madame ma mère, of course, is the centre, and the past glories of our Château and the present decay is a never-ending topic of conversation. The Curé comes next. He is a mild little man, very fond of his flock, very conscientious in his duties, very wide in his charity. I always feel a better man after I have had a talk with him."

"He wants too much," put in the Countess fretfully; "he seems to think I have bottomless gold chests from which I can give and give and give, whenever there is a birth or wedding or funeral."

"The next in importance," continued Guy, "is our notary, a very small man with a big head, and a bigger idea of his own importance than anyone round him has. He has a wife who is what we call in America a climber. She looks to end her days as mistress of a Château. I hope it won't be this one. By the way, ma mère, is it true that you have sold the fishing to him? I knew the shooting was his, that was done last autumn; but I was hoping to get some good trout here."

Adrienne could not help noticing the extreme uneasiness which the Countess showed during this speech. Her hands trembled visibly, as she peeled some fruit upon her plate.

"How else do you expect me to live?" she said in quavering tones. "It is a struggle to exist. My doctor's bills must be paid."

"Yes—yes—well—where was I? We'll dismiss the notary. He is clever; he lives by squeezing others; he is getting rich. The village folk regard him with awe. They love their Curé, they fear their notary. Who can I describe next? The doctor lives five miles away, he does not belong to the village. Ma mère will tell you all about him, she knows him better than any of us. Oh, I must tell you of little Agatha."

His voice softened, the rather amused curl of his lips disappeared.

"Agatha—I believe she will be calendered one day. To me she is amongst the saints already. You must go and see her, Cousin Adrienne. She lives with her cheery, hard-working sister in a little house at the top of a green knoll outside the village. I always wonder at such a suitable position being their home. But it was their home before Agatha was born. Her father was a chemist by profession, and also a scholar. You climb if you go to see Agatha, physically and mentally. She is a modern Joan of Arc, without her fiery enthusiasm, but she lives in the unseen, and has her visions."

"She sounds awfully interesting," said Adrienne.

The Countess shrugged her shoulders.

"The peasants are superstitious; they regard a sick girl as a seer and mystic. She fosters their credulity and poses as a saint."

"We will pass on," said Guy in his cool way, "to Nicholas Bruce the good-tempered blacksmith, to André Gaugy the talkative backbiter and tailor, to stolid Ambrose Hellier with his placid wife and sixteen children under fifteen, and who makes his cows and goats support them all, to Jacques Smuré our drunkard, and Anton Guyère our gloomy cobbler, and Gaspard Pont our newsmonger the postman.

"There are twenty-five families in all, living round us. I see ma mère is impatient! She will doubtless describe our outside neighbours better than I can."

The Countess was already rising from her seat, and Adrienne followed her back to the salon.

Candles were lighted in it now. The wood fire was blazing cheerfully. Adrienne drew up a chair close to it, and her aunt lay back in a deep cushioned chair opposite her.

"Guy is strangely indifferent to good society," the Countess said with a sigh; "he seems quite happy gossiping with the farmers and peasants. I cannot get him to accompany me to any bridge parties or tennis or tea. He hates my flat in Orleans, and wants me to give it up. As if I could vegetate in this place all the winter!"

She began talking to Adrienne about her great friend Madame Nicholas, a rich widow, who lived about a couple of miles away in a very large villa, of the Marquise de Pompagny, who had two pretty daughters and a son, and of several other friends in the vicinity of the Château.

And then a little later Guy joined them.

It was Adrienne who suggested that he should play to them.

They went out into the hall, but the Countess found it chilly, and retired to her chair by the fire. They left the salon door open for her to hear. Adrienne sat down on a couch under one of the windows, which were now shuttered up for the night. The organ was at the farther end of the hall, and worked by water power. In the dusk there, with only the dim lights of candles above the organ seat, Adrienne let Guy's enchanted music steal through her soul. He played on, aware that one of his listeners at least could appreciate his performance.

The Countess appeared at last.

"It is getting very dull for me; I am feeling tired. I think I shall go to bed, and I am sure that Adrienne ought to do so. We will wish you good night, Guy."

Guy was off his stool at once.

"Good night, ma mère. I think you and I must have a little business talk to-morrow. Can you give me half an hour before déjeuner? No? Then what hour will suit you? It is about the cheque. At five, then? I will come round at five. I shall be in Orleans to-morrow morning. I have to go there about farming business. Now, Cousin Adrienne, explore inside and out of the Château, and make friends with everybody. Then you will feel quite at home."

When Adrienne laid her head upon her pillow a little later, she said to herself:

"Courage! It is not so bad as I feared. In spite of Aunt Cecily, I believe I am going to be happy here."