The Silk Vendetta (35 page)

”And you live hereabouts?”

“Yes, close by.”

“And you own the woods of which you are very proud and eager to keep to yourself.”

“Correct,” he agreed. “And I resent others using them.”

“They are so beautiful,” I said. “It is a shame to keep them to yourself.”

“It is because they are beautiful that I want to. You see, I am entirely mean-spirited.”

“What harm do people do in your woods?”

“Little, I suppose. But let me think. They might damage the trees … start fires. But the real reason is that I like what is mine to be mine alone. Do you think that is reprehensible?”

“I think it is a common human failing.”

”You are a student of nature?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am self-absorbed … a quite impossible creature really.”

“You have one virtue.”

“Pray tell me what good you have discovered in me?”

“You know that you are … your own words … quite impossible. To know oneself is a great virtue and so few of us have it.”

“What a charming trespasser you are! I am so glad you took it into your head to come into my woods. Please tell me, Madame Sallonger, how long will you stay among us?”

“We have come for the vendange.”

“We?”

“My daughter and I.”

“So you have a daughter.”

“Yes. She is eleven years old.”

“We have something in common. I have a son. He is twelve years old. So we are both … parents. There is something else. You are a widow. I am a widower. Is that not interesting?”

”I don’t know. Is it? There must be a great many widows and widowers in the world. I suppose they meet fairly frequently.”

“You are so prosaic … calm … logical. Is that the English in you?”

“Actually I am French by birth, English by education and upbringing.”

“The latter probably forms one’s nature more than anything. I’ll tell you something. I know exactly who you are. I was eight years old at the time. So you now know my age. In a place like this people know the business of others. It is a place where it is impossible to have secrets. There was a big furore. Henri St. Allengere and the young girl… one of the beauties of the place … the wicked old man who blighted their lives. Blighting lives is a habit of old Alphonse St. Allengere. He is one of the ogres of the neighbourhood … quite the most monstrous.”

“You are right in thinking he is my grandfather.”

“Condolences on that point.”

“I see you do not like him.”

“Like him? Does one like a rattlesnake? He is well known throughout this neighbourhood. If you go to the church you will see the stained glass windows restored by the benevolence of Alphonse St. Allengere. The lectern is a gift from him. The roof is now in excellent condition. Through him war was declared on the death watch beetle; the church owes its survival to him. He is God’s good friend and man’s worst enemy.”

“Is that possible?”

“That is something, my dear Madame Sallonger, which you with your knowledge of human nature, will be able to decide more easily than I.”

I said: “It is a long way through the woods.”

”I am glad of it. It gives me a chance to enjoy this interesting conversation.”

I was suspicious suddenly. It had not taken me long to reach that spot where the dogs had found me. He saw my look, interpreted it and smiled at me ingratiatingly.

“Where shall we emerge?” I asked.

“You will see.”

“I am not very familiar with this terrain. I want to be able to find my way back.”

“You will be safe with me.”

“I think I should be back now. They will wonder what has become of me.”

“Leave this to me.”

”I seemed not to have gone so far.”

“The woods are beautiful … you said you thought so.”

“I did. But I had no intention of lingering.”

“I give you permission to come to my woods at any time you like.”

“Thank you. That is generous of you.”

”I have my good points.”

“I feel sure you have.”

“Then I have managed to vindicate myself during this brief encounter.”

“But, of course. You have been most courteous after the first shock of finding me. Now if you will show me the way out of the woods … quickly … I shall be most grateful.”

“Your gratitude is something I appreciate. Come along.”

The trees were thinning. We were out in the open and ahead of us lay the chateau.

I caught my breath and said: “It’s magnificent.”

“The home of the Comtes de Carsonne for hundreds of years.”

“I know. I was told of them. I saw it when we arrived and was most impressed.”

”It is one of the finest and oldest chateaux in this part of the country.”

”I understand the present Comte is in residence quite often.”

“Yes. Though he is often in Paris.”

“I suppose so. Are those his vineyards?”

“Yes. Quite small compared with those of Monsieur St. Allengere … but, of course, there is something special about the chateau wine.”

“There would be, I suppose. I think I know where I am now. Thank you for rescuing me from those monsters of yours.”

“You mean my good and faithful hounds?”

I nodded. “And thank you for escorting me through the woods.”

“You are so gracious. I will attempt to be the same. I repeat; please come to my woods whenever you wish.”

“That is indeed kind of you.”

“It may be that I shall meet you there.”

I did not answer. When I had thought that he was detaining me I had been faintly alarmed, now I was sorry that the encounter was over.

We paused side by side on the slight hillock while I looked round me.

“There,” he said, “are your father’s vineyards. Go straight down the hill, cut across the field there and you will be mere.”

“I see. And thank you. Goodbye, Monsieur de la Tour.”

“Au revoir, Madame Sallonger.”

I knew he was watching me as I rode off and thoughtfully I made my way. I was tingling with pleasure. It had been very amusing. He had made quite an impression on me. I could not say that I liked him. I did not admire arrogant men. Neither Philip nor Drake had been like that. Philip had been essentially gentle; Drake was, too. This man was quite different, and all the time I felt he had been making fun of me; and there was something sensuous about the manner in which he had regarded me—something, too, in the tone of his voice. I thought he was too much aware of me … physically, and that the banter was leading to something. He made me uneasy and yet at the same time he had stimulated and excited me.

When I approached the house I saw my father. He was coming from the stables.

“Lenore,” he called, “I’m glad you’re back. I was getting anxious.”

”Is something wrong with Katie?”

“No … no. She’s all right. I heard that you had ridden off and I thought it was time you were back.”

“I had quite an adventure. You know the wood. …”

He nodded.

”I explored, and two savage looking dogs appeared. I thought they were going to attack me. Marron was quite put out.” I patted her as I mentioned her name and felt her response.

“Dogs!” said my father.

”Horrible brutes. Fortunately their owner was with them. He called them off and told me I was trespassing. The woods apparently belong to him. He talked for a while and said his name was Gaston de la Tour. Do you know him?”

He stared at me. ”Gaston de la Tour,” he said, “is the Comte de Carsonne. The woods do belong to him … so does most of the place.”

“You mean to say that this man is the Comte himself? He didn’t say … just that he was Gaston de la Tour.”

“I am sorry you encountered him,” said my father.

“It was quite amusing.”

“He would be, of course, if the mood took him.”

“After his first accusation of trespassing he was quite friendly. …”

My father looked anxiously at my flushed face. “Well, you probably won’t see him again. It’s better not. He does not enjoy a very good reputation … with women.”

“Oh, I see.” I laughed. “I can quite believe that.”

I left Marron to the groom and went into the house with my father, thinking of the wicked Comte.

The grapes were all gathered and the process had been completed without mishap. They were now lying on the level floor absorbing the sun. Every day the sky was examined with a tinge of anxiety, but each morning the sun rose and shone benignly on the gathered fruit. All was well.

Katie was growing more and more excited. My father had shown her the great cylinders which he had had installed to crush the grapes. She was a little disappointed because she had been fascinated by the treading. However, he explained that this way was more effective.

Then came the first blow. The itinerant workers who arrived at this time of the year to add to the work force, did not come. My father was furious when he heard the reason.

“They are at the chateau,” he said. “The Comte’s vendange is usually a week or so later than ours; we are a little more exposed to the sun here and that means we start earlier. This year he has decided to begin at the same time—hence, he has ordered the workers who usually come to us, to go to him.”

“Do you mean to say that those who have been coming to you for years, just go when he beckons them?”

“It is the Comte, you see. He expects complete obedience.”

“But what of their loyalty to you?”

“I don’t blame them. They have been commanded and they have to go.”

”How mean of him!”

“He wants us all to realize that he is the master here. Most of this land belongs to him. There is only mine and of course Villers-Mure which is beyond his jurisdiction. But he likes to remind us of his power.”

“Can’t you explain to him that you must have those men?”

”I would not dream of asking favours of him. We will manage without.”

“Can we?”

“I think we shall do what we have to.”

My father set about reorganizing the workers; and then the second blow fell. He used wooden horse-drawn carts to transport the workers from place to place and one of these was involved in an accident. The horse bolted, jumped a hedge, broke a leg and overturned the cart, injuring four of the workers.

The horse had to be shot; the foreman had broken a leg, one of the workers an arm and others suffered from cuts and bruises.

My father was in despair. “It would seem,” he said, “that there is a curse on the vendange.”

Then the unexpected happened. While my father—in the depth of despair—was trying to reorganize everything, a cart arrived with ten men—some of them the itinerant workers who had deserted us at the Comte’s command.

I saw the cart arrive and hurried down to see what had happened now. My father came and joined me.

One of the men stepped down from the cart.

He said: “The compliments of Monsieur le Comte. He has heard of your ill luck and he has sent us to work for you while you need us.”

My father stared incredulously. “But …” he stammered, “I don’t understand. And why did you desert me in the first place?”

“The orders of Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur St. Allengere. We could not disobey them. But now he has sent us. He has heard of the accident and wishes to help you. When we have finished here we are to return to the chateau for his vendange.”

My father’s emotions were mixed. I could see that he was fighting with himself. He wanted to refuse the Comte’s offer, but the sight of those men and what they could do for him was too much, and his common sense prevailed over his pride. Here was a chance to save the wine harvest and it would be folly on his part to refuse it.

He murmured: “It is good of the Comte.”

“We’ll get to work immediately, Monsieur St. Allengere.”

They scrambled down. They did not need instructions. They knew exactly what to do.

I followed my father into the house. I laid my hand on his arm. “So all will be well?”

“I cannot understand his motives.”

“He is sorry. He has heard of the accident. He knows all the difficulties. I daresay he is sympathetic.”

“You don’t know the man. We are rivals. I am sure he would be delighted if my harvest was a failure.”

“Perhaps you misjudge him.”

My father shook his head. “He has his reasons, I daresay. He always has his reasons.”

Katie had come up and was listening with that single-mind-edness which was a habit of hers.

“Is he really an ogre?” she asked.

My father nodded grimly.

“I’d love to see him. He lives in that castle. Is he a giant?”

“There aren’t any giants now, Katie,” I reminded her.

Katie looked disappointed. ”Does he eat people?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” replied my father.

“Oh, let’s forget him,” I said. “We have a complete work force now and can go ahead.”

My father agreed with me, but he did not like the fact that salvation had come through the Comte.

That was a memorable night. All was safe and there was an air of jubilation everywhere. After what had been a calamitous beginning we had come through to a satisfactory end. The whole of the neighbourhood seemed to have gathered there. Lights from lanterns and torches flickered in the warm evening air. On the grass before the house the fiddlers were playing folksongs: people were singing as they danced. Katie was beside me, silent with wonder.

There was last year’s wine for all, and cakes made of nuts and fruit. The singing grew louder as the evening progressed and the dancing more vigorous. I sat down on a bench and watched them and I was moved to hear some of the songs Grand’mere had sung to me when I was little.

En passant par la Lorraine Avec mes sabots …

Someone was beside me. He sat down. I turned and my heart gave a leap of surprise, consternation and I admit, a certain excitement.

I heard myself stammer: “The Comte de Carsonne.”

“In person,” he replied, putting his face near mine. “Please say you are glad to see me.” He took my hand and kissed it. He looked at Katie. “Don’t tell me. I know. This is the delectable Mademoiselle Katie. I am enchanted to meet you, Mademoiselle.” He then took her hand and kissed it.

I could see the excitement bubbling up in Katie’s eyes. Her hand had never been kissed in that manner before—and by such an obviously important gentleman.