The King of the Castle by Victoria Holt

Author:Victoria Holt [Holt, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Fiction, France, Mystery, Romance, Suspense
ISBN: 9780449200339
Google: IKErPwAACAAJ
Amazon: B000OB2EJU
Publisher: Doubleday
Published: 1967-09-14T12:00:00+00:00

The Comte and Philippe left for Paris the day after Good Friday; and on Monday I went to call on the Bastides, where I found Yves and Margot playing in the garden. They called out to me to come and see the Easter eggs which they had found on Sunday — some in the house, some in the out-houses; there were as many as they found last year.

“Perhaps you don’t know, Miss,” said Margot, “that the bells all go to Rome for the benediction and on the way they drop eggs for the children to find.”

I admitted that I had never heard that before.

“Then don’t you have Easter eggs in England?” asked Yves.

“Yes … but just as presents.”

“These are presents too,” he told me. “The bells don’t really drop them. But we find them, you see. Would you like one?”

I said I would like to take one for Geneviève, who would be pleased to hear that they had found it.

The egg was carefully wrapped up and solemnly presented to me, and I told them I had come to see their mother.

Glances were exchanged and Yves said: “She’s gone out …”

“With Gabrielle,” added Margot.

“Then I’ll see her some other day. Is anything wrong?”

They lifted their shoulders to indicate ignorance, so I said goodbye and continued my walk.

This took me to the river and there I saw their maid-servant Jeanne with a brouette of clothes. She was beating them with a piece of wood as she washed them in the river.

“Good afternoon, Jeanne,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Miss.”

“I’ve been to the house. But I’ve missed Madame Bastide.”

“She has gone into the town.”

“It’s so rarely that she is out at this time of day.”

Jeanne nodded and grimaced at her stick. “I hope all is well, Miss.”

“Have you reason to think it isn’t?”

“I have a daughter of my own.”

I was puzzled and wondered whether I had been mistaken in the patois.

“You mean Mademoiselle Gabrielle …”

“Madame is most distressed and I know that she has taken Mademoiselle Gabrielle to the doctor.” She spread her hands. “I pray to the saints that there is nothing wrong, but when the blood is hot, Mademoiselle, these things will happen.”

I could not believe what she was hinting, so I said: “I hope Mademoiselle Gabrielle has nothing contagious.”

I left her smiling to herself at what she thought was my innocence.

I felt very anxious, though, for the Bastides, and on my way back I called at the house. Madame Bastide was at home; she received me, her face stony with bewilderment and grief.

“Perhaps I’ve called at the wrong time,” I said. “I’ll go, unless there is anything I can do.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t go. This is not a matter which can be kept secret for long … and I know you are discreet. Sit down, Dallas.”

She herself sat heavily and leaning her arm on the table covered her face with one hand.

I waited in embarrassment, and after a few minutes when I believed she was contemplating how much to tell me she

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