Bright Hair About the Bone (20 page)

She looked from Paradee to the retreating back of d'Aubec, undecided but keeping her seat in the saddle. When she could make Paradee listen to her, she spoke calmly. Such a nuisance but Lady Uffington was an old and very dear friend of the family…but more than that…perhaps Paradee was aware that Lady Uffington was also the patroness of Professor Merriman? she improvised, now determined on her course. Andrew had rather thought the old nuisance might be passing through on her way from one watering hole to the next, going south for the summer, and Letty had promised him to meet her if the opportunity arose. And here it was arising. It would not be wise to decline contact with such an influential and wealthy woman. Letty's light stress on the word “wealthy” produced a gleam of understanding at last.

And anyway, she added, seeing his fingers relax their grip, wasn't this just the opportunity they'd been hoping for? As a guest, she could take in details of the château with an archaeologist's eye and report back tomorrow morning. With d'Aubec's mother, the countess, and old Lady Uffington both present she would be perfectly adequately chaperoned.

His hand dropped to his side and he grinned. “You English! You'd take tea with the Devil if he sent you a correctly worded invitation. I can see you're determined to chase down this rich old biddy, but you're not leaving without a further warning…”

He raged on, assuaging his guilt and unease, and Letty listened dutifully, understanding his concern and glad of it. Finally, she turned Goliathe. A gentle kick was the only urging the horse needed to set off in pursuit of Carnaval.

As she passed under the arch into the road she heard Paradee's voice shouting after her, “Take care! Don't trust him! Or his mother!”

CHAPTER 20

C
uriosity clashed with irritation as she cantered along behind d'Aubec. He knew she would follow. He'd attempted no persuasion and had avoided any confrontation with Paradee simply by ignoring him. It had appeared to be her choice to accept his invitation. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her willing company, and she controlled Goliathe's speed enough to keep him a good fifty metres behind d'Aubec until, at last, they rounded a spur in the road and came within sight of his stronghold.

The threatening bulk of the thirteenth-century defensive walls towered over her, warning her off, and it took all her pride and obstinacy to keep her on the track winding through the guardian ranks of vines marching upwards to the moat's edge and its bridge. She rode over, expecting to hear at any moment the clang of a portcullis descending, into the jaws of the imposing entrance.

Once through the curtain wall, Letty reined in to gaze at Brancy le Château sleeping in the June sunshine. Her first impression was of how kindly time had dealt with the great building; how gently the ochre wash, faded to milky whiteness where the sun struck and darkening to amber under the eaves, was dappled by reflections from the moat, how the formal march of tall windows across the front was softened by the cracked and faded blue of their shutters, some discreetly closed and speaking of coolness within and some hospitably open on a tall interior. She took in the swelling corner turrets, their arrogant purpose contradicted by the fairy-tale peaked roofs. As she watched, the impression of mighty but comforting informality was completed by a flight of fat white pigeons, which circled the blue sky and settled prettily on the cascade of rosy tiles among the ranks of round dormers that climbed the roof.

At least the house welcomes me,
she thought, heartened. The perfect proportions had concealed the great size of the château. Within the entrance door, with its shell pediment, lay an inner courtyard—neatly bisected to sunlight and shadow by the declining sun—and beyond that a rising jumble of roofs and chimneys; of turrets and battlements reaching up to the sky and back into a turbulent past.

D'Aubec had already handed his horse to the care of a dark and unsmiling man, and he gestured to Letty to do the same. “Jules, see to the horses!” And off he strode across the gravelled courtyard.

Letty gave Goliathe into the care of the groom, thanking him as she did so and venturing to add, “Monsieur Jules, I noticed that Carnaval has a loose shoe on his near hind.”

The groom looked surprised to be addressed by a guest and in such an open English manner, but gravely acknowledged the information and the brilliant smile which had accompanied it.

She joined d'Aubec, who had paused to watch the exchange. “How's your courage holding out, Miss Talbot? Ready for an assault on the inner sanctum?”

“Why should I not be? I see no hostile hordes repelling invaders. If I had a suspicious mind, I would say I was expected. Shall we proceed to the second act of your charade, d'Aubec? After you.”

She hurried after him through a wide door to the coolness of an entrance hall and the sweep of an ascending stair, and passed under the detached regard of a marble ancestor in a curled periwig to a pair of high doors and an airy room.

“The summer salon,” he announced.

Faded green panelling, an intensely patterned inlaid floor, a curtain that stirred in the wind, and, in a tapestried chair by the window that gave on to a broad terrace, an elegant woman wearing a blue silk tea gown. She sat listening to the last notes of a Strauss waltz swirling to a finish as they entered and Letty had time, before she became aware of them, to take in the once beautiful face, the hair, dark as d'Aubec's but now streaked with iron grey, and a frame of a delicacy amounting to fragility.

On catching sight of them, a young man stepped to the phonograph, flipped back the arm and removed the record, and stood quietly by, watching Letty. A manservant? His gaze was rather bold, she thought.

Edmond's mother rose and hurried forward to greet her. She spoke very fast in an oddly accented English.

“Laetitia, dear Laetitia! What a joy to meet you at last! And you are every bit as bonny as your godfather told me. Your poor godfather! We were desolated to hear of Daniel's death. He had become a great friend of mine also, and I shared many an evening with him when he came over to work on those documents, full of dust, in the library. He was here the evening he died, did you know that? And such a happy evening we had passed! With Edmond away, I had Daniel all to myself. We played a game or two of
belote,
we listened to the gramophone…” Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible murmur as she remembered: “We danced a tango…He was a very good dancer, Daniel.” She fell silent.

Letty was witnessing a tangle of emotions and was struck by the sly thought:
Tango, eh?
Could it be that she was looking at the dashing Daniel's last conquest? Recovering, the countess raised her chin and confessed. “If I had only insisted on his spending the night here he might not have been attacked!” She grasped Letty's hands tightly to convey her concern. “But I ramble on. Let me introduce Constantine.”

The dark young man stepped forward and briefly bowed his head. Not a manservant, then.

“Constantine is my son's secretary and right hand. Without Constantine there would be no sanity in this household.”

Letty smiled a greeting and murmured, “Monsieur Constantine, I'm delighted to meet you,” receiving a cool: “Mademoiselle,” in response.

But Letty could not deny the warmth of the twinkling lady before her and hid a smile when, without pausing for breath, the countess addressed her son: “But, Edmond, you great lout, what do you do standing there, staring? Go, fetch the champagne! We must celebrate Laetitia's arrival.” D'Aubec flashed a smile so full of affection and humour at his mother that Letty was taken aback.

“My son speaks excellent English, do you not find, mademoiselle? He had the benefit of a Scottish governess. We are so hoping you will stay and have a simple supper with us,” the countess went on when d'Aubec, accompanied by Constantine, had left the room. “No, no! You are not to concern yourself that you are dressed for the outdoors,” she hurried on, interpreting correctly Letty's dismayed glance at her trousers and boots. “This is a horse-worshipping house, as you will find. My son has stolen you shamelessly from your evening pursuits and we are pleased to take you as we find you. Think of this as a ‘come-as-you-are' party! You are in good company—my son, you will have noticed, looks and smells like a groom.”

Letty cast an inquisitive eye over Edmond as he came back carrying a tray of champagne. Yes, the rough shirt, the cord trousers were unexceptional and reassuring; they softened the impact of the sharp, aristocratic features. As they clinked glasses and drank each other's health, Letty judged the time had come to enquire after her mysterious friend, Lady Uffington. When she did so, a look passed between mother and son, and both fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Edmond was the first to speak. “Yes, of course, as you can see—she is not here…”

Seeing Letty's eyes narrow in suspicion, he added hurriedly, “But she is not far away. Mother, we will have supper in about an hour if that is convenient? Laetitia, come with me.” Taking her by the elbow, he steered her out of the room.

         

Everything on their journey through the château spoke of ease and elegance, strongly underpinned by affluence. Darkly gleaming paintings and rich tapestries cladding the panelled walls were echoed in the glowing colours of Persian rugs scattered the length of the oak floors. Open doors gave enticing views of other rooms—a library, a music room, a billiard room, and here, towards the rear of the house, a strong smell of strawberry jam accompanied by a peal of laughter and the clatter of cutlery announced the kitchen. They emerged into a courtyard bathed in warm evening light.

The exterior was equally lovingly cared for. Raked gravel was surrounded by formal flower beds, densely planted with bright early summer flowers, and in the centre of each bed, a nursery-rhyme rose tree. In spite of herself she was delighting in the scene unfolding before her as they moved on, crossing a wide stretch of trimmed grass shaded by chestnut trees. Under their spreading branches and revealed by degrees lay the low, golden stone stable courtyard and its wings, stretching forward in welcome, the whole neat, clean, and tidy, redolent of an ancient, solid, and homely efficiency.

As they approached, the clank of pails and stamp of hooves was momentarily drowned by the wheezing clatter of machinery and a muted bell softly sounded the half hour. It was towards this building that Letty was being resolutely steered by her silent guide.

He's crazy!
she thought.
He invites me to meet a lady I'll swear I've never heard of and takes me to the stables to do it.
Out loud she said, “Lady Uffington I assume to be some kind of a horse enthusiast, as she is to be found lingering in the stables at the aperitif hour?”

“Oh, yes,” came the laconic reply, “you could certainly say that.”

Coming to a halt in front of the entrance, d'Aubec pointed upwards and directed her gaze to the wall over the arch. The focal point of any stable building in France, this was where, traditionally, the owner would have installed a carving, often a statue, of a horse. Letty was not disappointed, though she was puzzled. Here was no flamboyant, rearing stallion, mane flowing artistically in the breeze, but, in this place of honour, was fixed a simple stone shield, carved and coloured.

“If you are your father's daughter you should be able to interpret the heraldry with no difficulty, though I can help you out if you wish. Tell me, Laetitia, what do you see?”

Stung by his cheerful insolence she focused all her attention on the carving and, finding it a rather simple, if unusual, device she recited without hesitation—“Vert, a horse courant, argent, bearing a seated lady, affrontée, of the same.” Against a green background, a rather crudely drawn silver-white horse was caught in mid-stride, running with rangy legs whilst on his back there perched, with a sideways seat and smiling down at the onlooker, a lady with flowing hair, she too drawn in silver-white.

And then the significance of what she was looking at hit her. The shape of the horse carrying the rider was very familiar. She had passed such a figure several times in England carved in the chalk on the side of the Berkshire downs near the village of—“Uffington!” Letty cried out. “The White Horse of Uffington! But this one has a lady on his back! I've never seen such a thing before.”

“And can you tell me, I wonder, what she's doing here in Burgundy?” said d'Aubec thoughtfully. “So far from home?”

         

“Lady Uffington! Of course! How do you do, your ladyship? Well, there you are and here am I! Now we've finally met—what am I supposed to do next?”

“I was right then.” D'Aubec smiled. “I've never seen the horse on the hill in Berkshire, but I remembered an illustration from a book on Celtic art. I'm sure this is what your godfather was referring to in his note and where he meant us to start our search.”

Us
…our
search?
wondered Letty. She decided to hold her peace for the moment as she could do no searching on her own account on d'Aubec's land. “‘The old girl can still show you young 'uns a thing or two,'” she quoted instead, remembering Daniel's note. “But how on earth do we follow her example?”

“I've no idea yet,” admitted Edmond. “I was rather hoping a bright little English archaeologist would be able to work out the next step.”

“Don't count on it—I have no further inside knowledge on this,” she said doubtfully. “I'm supposed to follow her, but she's not pointing in any direction, is she? She's just staring down in an impersonal way at whoever passes through the archway. Is there anything behind the carving? Have you…?”

“I have. There's nothing. Just solid wall and then the stables. The building you see here was put up in the early nineteenth century when the château was being restored after the, er, unpleasantness. It is tucked up against the western defensive wall—rather clever use of a relatively small space. I should imagine that, on completion, someone found this plaque somewhere about the place—it's obviously much older than the stables—and they preserved it by installing it here over the arch of the new building. I fear that our lady up there is no more than a distraction—an anachronism, an architectural flourish if you like.”

Letty looked up again at the indifferent stone eyes and wondered.

“It is, as you must guess, my family's insignia, the paternal d'Aubec, that is. The green background is obviously our own Burgundian hills and the horse was a symbol of the region even before horse-breeding Celtic warriors settled here. But the lady? Who could she be?”