Nine Coaches Waiting by Mary Stewart
‘Ah, yes,’ said Florimond calmly. He peered at the miniature men. ‘Dear me, I have got myself into an odd tangle, haven’t I? Perhaps I need spectacles. You’re quite right, my dear Léon, it’s a mistake to underrate one’s opponent. Never do that.’ The big hand shifted a couple of men with quick movements. The mild clever face expressed nothing whatever except interest in the Lilliputian manœuvres on the board.
I saw Léon de Valmy glance up at him swiftly, and the look of amusement that came and went like the gleam on the underside of a blown cloud. ‘I don’t.’ Then he smiled at Philippe, silent on his stool. ‘Come and finish the game, Philippe. I’m sure your aunt won’t drive you upstairs just yet.’
Philippe went, if possible, smaller and more rigid than before. ‘I-I’d rather not, thank you.’
Léon de Valmy said pleasantly: ‘You mustn’t allow the fact that you were losing to weigh with you, you know.’
The child went scarlet. Florimond said, quite without inflection: ‘In any case we can’t continue. I disarranged the pieces just now. The situation wasn’t quite as peculiar as your uncle supposed, Philippe, but I can’t remember just what it was. I’m sorry. I hope very much that you’ll give me the pleasure of a game another time. You do very well.’
He pushed the board aside and smiled down at the child, who responded with one quick upward look. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, smiling amiably at his host, launched without pausing straight into one of his improbable stories, thus effectively forcing the general attention back to himself. Philippe remained without moving, small on his stool, the picture of sulky isolation. I watched him, still feeling in my damn-them mood. He must have felt my glance, because eventually he looked up. I winked at him and grinned. There was no answering gleam. The black lashes merely dropped again.
Then the door opened, and Seddon, the butler, came in. He crossed the floor to Madame de Valmy’s side.
‘Madame, a telephone message has just come through from Monsieur Raoul.’
I saw her flash a glance at her husband. ‘From Monsieur Raoul? Yes, Seddon?’
‘He asked me to tell you he was on his way up, madame.’
The base of Léon de Valmy’s glass clinked down on the arm of his chair. ‘On his way? Here? When? Where was he speaking from?’
‘That I couldn’t say, sir. But he wasn’t at Bellevigne. He said he would be here some time tonight.’
A pause. I noticed the soft uneven ticking of the lovely little clock on the mantel.
Then Florimond said comfortably: ‘How very pleasant! I don’t know when I last set eyes on Raoul. I hope he’ll be here for dinner?’
Seddon said: ‘No, monsieur. He said he might be late, and not to wait for him, but that he would get here tonight.’
Léon de Valmy said: ‘And that was all the message?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Madame de Valmy stirred. ‘He didn’t sound as if there was anything wrong … at Bellevigne?’
‘No, madame. Not at all.’
Florimond chuckled. ‘Don’t look so worried, my dear. They’ve probably had a week of the mistral and he’s decided to cut and run for it. The original ill wind.’
‘He doesn’t usually run in this direction,’ said his father, very dryly. ‘Very well, Seddon, thank you.’
Madame de Valmy said: ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to see Mrs. Seddon straight away about a room?’
‘Of course, madame.’ Seddon, expressionless as ever, bent his head. I saw Héloïse de Valmy glance again at her husband. I couldn’t see his face from where I sat, but she was biting her bottom lip, and to my surprise she looked strained and pale.
A nice gay welcome for the son of the house was, it appeared, laid on. Him and Philippe both … As a cosy family home the Château Valmy certainly took some beating. The Constance Butcher also ran.
Then the central chandelier leaped into a lovely cascade of light. Seddon moved forward to draw curtains and replenish drinks. Glasses clinked, and someone laughed. Philippe moved cheerfully to help Florimond pack away the tiny chessmen … and in a moment, it seemed, under the bright light, the imagined tensions dissolved and vanished. Firelight, laughter, the smell of pine logs and Schiaparelli, the rattle of curtain-rings and the swish as the heavy brocades swung together … it was absurd to people the lovely Château Valmy with the secret ghosts of Thornfield.
The Demon King turned his handsome grey head and said in English: ‘Come out, Jane Eyre.’
I must have jumped about a foot. He looked surprised, then laughed and said: ‘Did I startle you? I’m sorry. Were you very far away?’
‘Pretty far. At a place in Yorkshire called Thornfield Hall.’
The black brows lifted. ‘So we’re en rapport? No wonder you jumped.’ He smiled. ‘I shall have to be careful … And now will you take your charge away before Monsieur Florimond corrupts him with vermouth? No, Philippe, I do assure you, you won’t like it. Now make your adieux – in English, please, and go.’
Philippe was on his feet in a flash, making those adieux correctly, if rather too eagerly. I think I was almost as thankful as he was when at length, his hand clutching mine, I said my own quiet goodnights and withdrew.
Léon de Valmy’s ‘Goodnight, Miss Eyre,’ with its wholly charming overtone of mockery, followed me to the door.
Philippe was a little subdued for the rest of the evening, but on the whole survived the ordeal by uncle pretty well. After he was in bed I dined alone in my room. It was Albertine, Madame de Valmy’s sour-faced maid, who brought my supper in. She did it in tight-lipped silence, making it very clear that she was demeaning herself unwillingly.
‘Thanks, Albertine,’ I said cheerfully, as she set the last plate down just a shade too smartly. ‘Oh, and by the way—’
The woman turned in the doorway, her sallow face not even inquiring. She radiated all the charm and grace of a bad-tempered skunk. ‘Well?’
I said: ‘I wonder if you can remember whether I got Mrs. Seddon’s tablets for her last week, or not?’
‘Non,’ said Albertine, and turned to go.
‘Do you mean I didn’t or do you mean you don’t remember?’
She spoke sourly over her shoulder without turning. ‘I mean I do not know. Why?’
‘Only because Mrs. Seddon asked me to get the tablets today and Monsieur Garcin said he gave them to me last week. If that’s the case you’d think I must have handed them to her with her other packages. I’ve no recollection of them at all. D’you know if there was a prescription with the list you gave me?’
The square shoulders lifted. ‘Perhaps. I do not know.’ The shallow black eyes surveyed me with dislike. ‘Why do you not ask her yourself?’
‘Very well, I will,’ I said coldly. ‘That will do, Albertine.’
But the door was already shut. I looked at it for a moment with compressed lips and then began my meal. When, some little time later, there came a tap on the door and Mrs. Seddon surged affably in, I said, almost without preamble:
‘That Albertine woman. What’s biting her? She’s about as amiable as a snake.’
Mrs. Seddon snorted. ‘Oh, her. She’s going about like a wet month of Sundays because I told her to bring your supper up. Berthe’s helping Mariette get a room ready for Mr. Rowl seeing as how Mariette won’t work along with Albertine anyhow and she’s as sour as a lemon if you ask her to do anything outside Madam’s own rooms. Her and that Bernard, they’re a pair. It’s my belief he’d rob a bank for the Master if asked, but he’d see your nose cheese and the rats eating it before he’d raise a little finger for anybody else.’
‘I believe you. What I can’t understand is why Madame puts up with her.’
‘You don’t think she has that sour-milk face for Madam, do you? Oh no, it’s all niminy-piminy butter-won’t-melt there, you mark my words.’ Conversation with Mrs. Seddon was nothing if not picturesque. ‘But she’s like that with everyone else in the place bar Bernard, and it’s my belief she’s as jealous
I said, surprised: ‘Madame likes me? How d’you know?’
‘Many’s the nice thing she’s said about you,’ said Mrs. Seddon comfortably, ‘so you don’t have to fret yourself over a bit of lip from that Albertine.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t. How’s the asthma? You sound better.’
‘I am that. It comes and goes. This time of year it’s a nuisance, but never near so bad as it used to be. I remember as a girl Miss Debbie’s mother saying to me—’
I stopped that one with the smoothness of much practice. ‘I’m afraid Monsieur Garcin wouldn’t give me the anti-histamine today. He said I got it last week. Did I give it to you, Mrs. Seddon? I’m terribly ashamed of myself, but I can’t remember. D’you know if it was with the other things I got for you? There was some Nestlé’s chocolate, wasn’t there, and some buttons, and some cotton-wool – and was it last week you got your watch back from the repairers?’
‘Was it now? Maybe it was. I can’t mind just now about the pills, but I know there were a lot of things and the pills may have been with them.’ She laughed a little wheezily. ‘I can’t say I took much notice, not wanting them till now, but Mr. Garsang’s probably right. He’s as finicky as the five-times-table, and about as lively. I’ll have a look in my cupboard tonight. I’m sorry to give you the bother, dear.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I did get you the aspirins and the eau-de-cologne. They’re here, with your change.’
‘Oh, thanks, dear – miss, I mean.’
I said: ‘Is Monsieur Florimond staying, or is he only here for dinner?’
‘He only came for dinner, but I dare say he’ll stay on late to see Mr. Rowl. It might yet be they’ll ask him to stay the night if the fog gets any thicker.’
I got up and went over to the balcony windows.
‘I don’t see any fog. It seems a fine enough night.’
‘Eh? Oh yes. I think it’s only down by the water. We’re high up here. But the road runs mostly along the river, and there’s been accidents in the valley before now in the mist. It’s a nasty road, that, in the dark.’
‘I can imagine it might be.’ I came back to my chair, adding, with a memory of the recent uncomfortable session in the drawing-room: ‘Perhaps Monsieur Raoul won’t get up here after all tonight.’
She shook her head. ‘He’ll come. If he said he was coming he’ll come.’ She eyed me for a moment and said: ‘Did they – was there anything said downstairs, like?’
‘Nothing. They wondered what brought him, that was all.’
‘They’ve not much call to wonder,’ she said darkly. ‘There’s only one thing’ll make him set foot in the place and that’s money.’
‘Oh?’ I said, rather uncomfortably. There were limits to gossip, after all. ‘I thought – I got the impression it might be some business to do with Bellevigne.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Seddon, ‘that’s what I mean. It’s always Bellyveen and money.’ She sighed. ‘I told you, Mr. Rowl manages it for him and now and again he comes up and talks to him about it and then’ – she sighed again – ‘there’s words. It’s trouble every time, what with Mr. Rowl wanting money for Bellyveen and the master wanting it for Valmy and before you know where you are it’s cat and dog, or maybe I should say dog and dog because nobody could say Mr. Rowl’s like a cat, the horrible sneaking beasts, but a dogfight it’s always been, ever since Mr. Rowl was big enough to speak up for himself and—’
‘He – he must be a careful landlord,’ I said hastily.
‘Oh, I don’t deny he makes a good job of Bellyveen – he’s too like his father not to, if you see what I mean – but they do say he rackets about the place plenty between times. There’s stories—’
‘You can’t believe everything you hear,’ I said.
‘No, indeed, that’s true,’ said Mrs. Seddon, a shade regretfully, ‘and especially when it’s about Mr. Rowl, if you follow me, miss, because he’s the sort that’d get himself talked about if he lived in a convent, as the saying is.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said.
‘And where does he get the money, I ask you that?’ Mrs. Seddon was now fully and enjoyably launched. ‘Where did he get the car he was driving last time he was here? As long as the Queen Mary and a horn like the Last Trump, and you can’t tell me he got anything out of the Master so I ask you, where?’
‘Well,’ I said mildly, ‘where?’
‘Ah,’ said Mrs. Seddon darkly, ‘you may well ask. I heard the Master ask him that very question, sharp-like, the last time he was here. And Mr. Rowl wouldn’t tell him; just passed it off in that way he has with something about a lucky night and a lucky number.’
I laughed. ‘It sounds to me as if he won it at roulette. Good luck to him.’
She looked a little shocked. ‘Well, miss! I don’t say as how I think a little flutter does any harm and I’m as partial to a nice game of whist as anyone, but – well, many’s the time I wonder what Miss Debbie would have said. Many’s the time she said to me “Mary,” she said—’
‘Forgive me,’ I said quickly, ‘but it’s time for Philippe’s chocolate. I left him reading in bed and I must put his light out.’
‘Eh? Oh, yes, to be sure, how time goes on, doesn’t it? And it’s long past time I ought to be seeing if Berthe and Mariette have put that room properly to rights …’ She heaved herself onto her feet and plodded to the door, which I opened for her. ‘Have they remembered the milk?’
‘It was on the tray.’
‘Ah, yes. That Berthe, now, do you find she does her work all right, miss? If there’s anything to complain of, you must be sure to let me know.’
‘I’ve no complaints,’ I said. ‘I like Berthe very much, and she keeps the rooms beautifully. You’ve only to look in the pantry here.’
She followed me into the tiny pantry, where the light gleamed on the spotless enamel of the little stove, and saucepan, beaker and spoon stood ready. I poured milk into the pan, set it on the stove and switched on. Mrs. Seddon ran a practised eye over the tiny room, and an equally practised finger over the shelf where the tins of chocolate, coffee and tea stood, and nodded her head in a satisfied manner.
‘Yes, Berthe’s a good girl, I must say, if she’ll keep her mind on her work instead of running after that there Bernard. … The sugar’s here, miss.’
‘No, not that. I use the glucose for Philippe, you remember – that’s his special tin, the blue one. Oh, thank you. D’you mean to tell me there’s something between Berthe and Bernard? I hope it’s not serious. It would be an awful pity. He’s too old for her, and besides—’
I stopped, but she took me up.
‘Well, miss, you never said a truer word. A pity it is. If that Albertine wasn’t his sister born, I’d have said why not them, they wouldn’t spoil two houses, and them as alike as two hogs in the same litter. A sour-faced, black-avised sort of chap he is and all, for a bonny young girl like Berthe to be losing her head over. But there, human nature’s human nature, believe it or not, and there’s nothing we can do about it. What are you looking for now?’
‘The biscuits. They’ve been moved. Ah, here they are.’ I put three into Philippe’s saucer, looking sidelong at Mrs. Seddon. ‘Extra rations tonight. It was a slightly sticky session in the drawing-room.’
‘That’s right. He could do with a bit of spoiling, if you ask me. And now I’ll have to go, really. I’ve enjoyed our little chat, miss. And I may say that Seddon and me, we think that Philip’s a whole lot better for having you here. He likes you, that’s plain to see, and it’s my belief that what he needs is somebody to be fond of.’
I said softly, half to myself: ‘Don’t we all?’
‘Well, there you are,’ said Mrs. Seddon comfortably. ‘Not but what his other Nanny wasn’t a very nice woman, very nice indeed, but she did baby him a bit, say what you
I said with real gratitude: ‘It’s very nice of you. Thank you.’ I lifted Philippe’s tray and grinned at her over it. ‘And I do hope all goes well downstairs. At least there’s one person who’ll be pleased when Monsieur Raoul arrives.’
She stopped in the doorway and turned, a little ponderously. ‘Who? Mr. Florimond? Well, I couldn’t say—’
‘I didn’t mean him. I meant Philippe.’
She stared at me, then shook her head. ‘Mr. Rowl hardly knows him, miss. Don’t forget Philip only came from Paris just before you did, and Mr. Rowl’s not been over since he was here.’
‘Then Monsieur Raoul must have seen something of him in Paris, or else when he was with Monsieur Hippolyte.’
‘He didn’t. That I do know. And I’d go bail him and Mr. Rowl hardly saw each other in Paree. Paree!’ said Mrs Seddon, reverting to form. ‘Paree! He’d not be the one to bother with Philip there. He had other kettles of fish to fry in Paree, you mark my words!’
‘But when we heard the car coming up the zigzag tonight with Monsieur Florimond, Philippe flew out onto the balcony like a rocket – and he certainly wasn’t hoping to see him. He looked desperately disappointed … more than that, really; “blighted” would almost describe it … Who else could he be looking for if it wasn’t his cousin Raoul?’
Then I looked at her, startled, for her eyes, in the harsh light, were brimming with sudden, easy tears. She shook her head at me and wiped her cheeks with the back of a plump hand. ‘Poor bairn, poor bairn,’ was all she would say, but presently after a sniff or two and some action with a handkerchief, she explained. The explanation was simple, obvious, and dreadful.
‘He never saw them dead, of course. Nor he wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. And it’s my belief and Seddon’s that he won’t have it they’re really gone. They were to have driven back from the airport, you see, and he was waiting for them, and they never came. He never saw no more of them. It’s my belief he’s still waiting.’