Chateau d'Eaux

By: Elizabeth Baker - Aug 17, 2006

18th July '06  AWG 1144458

    "It's intolerable Frankie," sobbed Daphne to her husband. "He broke into the house, with that woman, and they took all their wedding presents."

    "Heconsoled her, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. Frankie hated anything incorrect. He had been a diplomat for many years and didn't like to see his wife, 30 years his junior, so upset.

    "Steady on old thing," he said concerned.

    "My sister!" she exclaimed her mouth tight and eyes rolling upwards in anger. "They stole her Bunnings!," referring to some valuable oil paintings. "And recently he made over a million for that London Company yet he left  her to sew pieces of carpet together for flooring in that little rented flat after they kicked her out of Farm House. They stood over her as she left her home with the boys. The cruelty of it!"

  "The scoundrels, they'll throw him out of the club." muttered Frankie.

  "Poor Harriet will feel much better with a change of air."

   The doorbell rang.

   "Chin up darling." said Frankie as they came down the grand main staircase towards the stained glass inner front door.

   "Frollick, will you take Madam's bags to the Alvis? We should be leaving soon."Daphne said to the butler.

   "Very well Madam," said Frollick opening the door to reveal a small elegant lady with short curly red hair. Her puffy eyes were red from crying, she tried to avoid their gaze, and seem calm.

   "Don't distress yourself dear," said Frankie kindly, kissing Harriet's cheek. "We'd better hurry. We don't want to hold them up."

    Daphne wrapped a long chiffon scarf with a leopard skin print around her strawberry blond coiffure, and drove Harriet and Frankie in the stately Alvis convertible, down the curling driveway, and off to the local airport. One of her Maxcraft Airlines planes was waiting, looking like a polished steel diner, to take them to Le Havre. She drove the car straight into the plane, then the ramp pulled up behind.

   Soon they arrived in France.

   Frankie cheered them up by letting them have a little shop when they reached Paris where they stayed at their usual society orientated hotel in La Rue Royale for a couple of nights.

   "Doesn't Harriet's husband remind you of Terry Thomas?" Daphne had asked Frankie.

   "Not unlike dear," he responded.

    Harriet giggled to herself. She felt out of danger in Paris. Life looked a more tolerable to Harriet now she was abroad. When she looked at herself in the dressing table mirror that evening, after a glass of champagne, she found herself wondering how her husband could possibly prefer the other woman. Harriet was still young. Maybe there was hope for her yet. She stepped out of her silk velvet cocktail dress, and put her diamond cluster earrings, in a safe place, on top of the Louis Quatorse commode. Then she turned back to the looking glass. She thought of her boys and a big tea rolled down her cheek.

    She remembered something Daphne had said to her, "They treat the mothers like bitches and the bitches like mothers in that family."

    It was true and it really upset her. With red eyes she went to bed and after a while took a travel pill and fell into a deep sleep.

    They were on the road again, early the next morning, with Daphne behind the wheel as usual, the large Louis Viuton trunk attached behind. Frankie sank into the back seat, dozing off for most of the way to Vichy and the Auvergne, whilst the two women chatted away.

   "My dear, in Joan of Arc!s day," said Daphne, "they used to throw them into the pit in full armour and just let them rot away."

   They could see the distinctive outline of Castle d!Eaux for miles down the valley before they arrived. The sheer cliff, over which the ancient ramparts and buttresses towered, seemed impregnable.  Some of the 46 inhabitants of the little walled village of Eaux came out to wave and greet them. Harriet felt like The Queen.

   "Bon soir, bon soir," Daphne beeped the horn and Frankie waved.

   "They're so sweet the French. Don't put on false airs and graces. Not like the nouveau riches in Bournemouth, Harry."

   "Vulgar," agreed Frankie.

    She swung the great car across the portcullis under the entrance portico archway, passed the gatehouse and around over the raked gravel, to stop in front of the huge open doors of the Chateau. They juddered to a standstill.

    "Well done Daphy dear, excellent driving," said Harriet.

    "Hear hear!"echoed Frankie . "You're a brick, Daphy."

    "Help me out. I'm stuck to the seat," laughed Daphne.

    "Permettez-moi Madam," an old retainer ran to open the door for her, another unstrapped their trunk and cases.

    "I am so happy to see you,"Daphne cried.

    The servants loved and admired Daphne and Frankie, more than his nephew who now owned the castle and was always away, gradually selling off his inheritance to pay for his lifestyle and his wife's extravagant tastes. Another smiling face came forward and Daphne extended her hand.

    "Cher Antoine," beamed Daphne, in fluent French, but with a strong English accent, "Comment ca va? Bien? Est ta femme, Matilde?"

  "Bien venue Mesdames et Monsieur, j'espere que vous avez passes bien la voyage. Nous sommes tres contents a vous revoir," said the lined face grinning from ear to ear.

    Frankie smiled and nodded, very tired from the journey, as the crossed the enormous flagstones towards a staircase lined with tapestries and heraldry. He still kept a charming apartment at Eaux, high up in a turret, as he was entitled to do.

   "Porte-moi un gin and tonic avec glace s!il vous plait Antoine. Daphhy, Harriet , what would you like?"

   "Deux."

   "Trois."

   They sat together, unwinding quietly in the window seat, watching the magnificent view fade in the evening light. They didn't dress for dinner but dined en famille, as they were so tired, in the small circular dining room, lined from top to tail with dusky patterned paper. Harriet thought it strange not to see any servants about, but the table was laid out with heavily ornate silver and a six-course dinner, on a heated dining trolley.

    "The French consider it in bad taste to have servants flitting about. They're not supposed to be seen,"explained Daphne.

   Daphne heard laughter echoing down a hollow corridor on her way to bed. It went suddenly cold although she couldn't work out where it was coming from there must have been a draft.

    She found that unseen hands had unpacked her case. The thick tapestries that covered the stone walls flapped a little. A cheery fire burned bravely in the grate.  Daphne sipped some mineral water and decided to take a bath. "Strange they have no loos," she thought, looking at the elaborate plumbing and bidet. There was only one loo at Eaux, miles away down the corridors, but she had the prettiest bathroom en suite and a dressing room too, but unfortunately sans loo.

    As she undressed she felt uneasy, as though she was being watched. She gathered her long baroque dressing gown around her.Louis 1st, Charlemagne, and Joan of Arc had probably slept in the four-poster bed. She must ask Daph in the morning, who exactly? A heavy gold  crucifix with a palm behind was fixed to the wall, above the pillows. She made the sign of the cross without thinking. There was an eerie feeling in the room. She thought about the many tragedies that had occurred within these walls, against which hers paled into insignificanceA gust blew down the chimney scattering a few red sparks against the guard.One of Frankie's ancesterors, had been killed when his horse shied and jumped over the ramparts, falling down over 100 ft to the rocks below. She thought of her boys. Wouldn't they love it here? What an adventure! A bit gruesome however. She would bring them another timeÂÂ…. She dropped off to sleep.

    She dreamed of her husband in England with that nasty, fat flirt with the dyed red hair. Home breaker! She was restless as she lay in the lumpy bed, then suddenly, dozed off into a dreamless sleep.

    She turned over and wondered why the door was ajar. She heard a snuffling breathing sound like a child's breath then a little sob. "What's the matter darling?" she asked kindly without thinking, and then she opened her eyes and felt for the bedside light switch. The poor little boy could only have been about five years old. His curly blond hair seemed strangely long, for the 50's. He was wearing an unusual handmade nightdress. She wondered why he didn't have pajamas, and then remembered she was in France.

   "Who knows what the French wear in bed," she thought. "Or where they go to the loo."

    The child was beside himself with anguish. He was white and shaking, standing stock-still. She pulled back the bedclothes and slid down from the high bed.

    "Mon Petit, calme toi. Quesque c!est que ca?"

    He must have got lost and was frightened in the massive castle. Maybe he was one of the servant's children.

    She put her arm around him. He suddenly threw his arms around her neck and clung closely his eyes fiercely bright, his skin so white.

    "Aidez moi Madame!" he cried in fright, in a high voice.

    He was cold as ice.

    She took him under the covers, but he got no warmer. He caughed and spluttered. She was worried he may have hyperthermia. She had driven ambulances in the blitz in London. She put his little hands under her armpits to warm them, but they were still so cold. He clung tightly to her and fell asleep, breathing shallow uneven gasps and sobs.

    She felt an uncontrollable drowsiness.

    "I'll sort it out in the morning," she thought, "poor little thing. I wonder what his story is." She sighed and fell into a deep sleep, with the boy in her arms.

    The next morning, when she awoke, he was gone.

    Steaming silver jugs of coffee and milk had been placed on her bedside table by unseen hands, just before she awoke. She stirred her bowl-like cup with a gigantic silver spoon.

    She bathed and dressed and put on a chic summer dress and ballet pumps, which were in fashion. The sunshine was much warmer than she was used to in England. A warm gold instead of the thin pale light. She went down to find Daph and Frankie.

    When she asked, "Who was that little boy?" And told them what had happened. They stared at each other in dismay.

    "Harriet dear," said Frankie kindly, fixing her with his eyes, "There are many photographs of ghosts who live at Eaux."

    She looked at Daphne, expecting them to be joking.

    "Harry old thing," explained Daphne slowly, "One is a small child, with blond curls, who was walled up alive in the corridor near your room. It appears sometimes dressed in an old fashioned night dress."

   "My God!" cried Harriet, wringing her hands, " the poor angel!"

This chapter is based a true story but the names have been changed to protect the innocent.