Victoria Holt (3 page)

“And then you return to France?”

“Yes.”

“You are all so young…so merry,” he said. “It was very pleasant to hear your laughter. I was drawn toward it. I felt for a moment that I must join you. I must share your spontaneity.”

“We didn’t realize that we were so alluring,” I said, and everybody laughed.

He looked about him. “What a pleasant afternoon! There is a stillness in the air, do you feel it?”

“Yes, I think I do,” said Lydia.

He looked up at the sky. “Indian summer,” he said quietly. “You will all go to your various homes for Christmas, will you not?”

“It is one of the holidays we all go home for. That and the summer. Easter, Whitsun and the rest, well…”

“The journey is too far,” he finished for me. “And your families will welcome you,” he went on. “They will have balls and banquets for you and you will all marry and live happy ever after, which is the fate which should await all beautiful young ladies.”

“And doesn’t always…or often,” said Monique.

“We have a cynic here. Tell me”—his eyes were on me—“do you believe that?”

“I think life is what you make it.” I was quoting Aunt Patty. “What is intolerable to some is comfort to others. It is the way in which one looks upon it.”

“They certainly teach you something at that school.”

“That’s what my aunt always says.”

“You have no parents.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“No, they died in Africa. My aunt has always looked after me.”

“She’s a marvelous person,” said Monique. “She runs a school. She’s just about as different from Madame de Guérin as anyone could be. Cordelia is the lucky one. She’s going to work with her aunt and share the school, which will be hers one day. Can you imagine Cordelia as a headmistress!”

He was smiling directly at me. “I can imagine Cordelia’s being anything she wishes to be. So she is a lady of substance, is she?”

“If you ask me she is the luckiest of the lot of us,” said Monique.

He continued to look at me steadily. “Yes,” he said, “I think Cordelia can be very lucky indeed.”

“Why do you say ‘can be’?” asked Frieda.

“Because it will depend on her herself. Is she cautious? Does she hesitate or does she grasp opportunities when they are presented to her?”

The girls looked at each other and at me.

“I’d say she would,” said Monique.

“Time will tell,” he replied.

He had a strange delivery, which was a little archaic. Perhaps that was because he was speaking English, which might not have been his native tongue, although he was very fluent. I fancied I caught a trace of a German accent.

“We always have to wait for time to tell us,” said Frieda rather pettishly.

“What do you wish then, young lady? To take a glimpse into the future?”

“That would be fun,” said Monique. “There was a fortune-teller in the town. Madame de Guérin put that out of bounds…but I believe some of them went.”

“It can be very absorbing,” he said.

“You mean…to look into the future?” That was Monique and he leaned forward and took her hand. She gave a little squeal. “Oh…can you tell the future then?”

“Tell the future? Who can tell the future? Though sometimes there are visions…”

We were all subdued now. I felt my heart beating wildly. There was something very extraordinary about this encounter.

“You, Mademoiselle,” he said, gazing at Monique, “you will laugh through life. You will go back to your family château.” He dropped her hand and closed his eyes. “It is in the heart of the country. There are vineyards surrounding it. The pepper pot towers reach to the sky. Your father is a man who makes arrangements worthy of his family. He is a proud man. Will you marry as he wishes, Mademoiselle?”

Monique looked a little shaken.

“I suppose I shall marry Henri…I quite like him really.”

“And your father would never allow it to be otherwise. And you, Fräulein, are you as docile as your friend?”

“It’s hard to say,” said Frieda in her matter of fact way. “I sometimes think I shall do what I please and then when I’m home…it’s different.”

He smiled at her. “You do not deceive yourself and that is a great asset in life. You will always know which way you are going and why—although it is not always the path which you would choose.”

Then he turned to Lydia. “Ah, Miss,” he said, “what is your fortune?”

“Heaven knows,” said Lydia. “I imagine my father will be more concerned with my brothers. They’re a good bit older than I and they always think boys are more important.”

“You will have a good life,” he said.

Lydia laughed. “It’s almost as though you are telling our fortunes.”

“Your fortunes are for you to make,” he replied. “I only have certain…what shall I say…sensitivities.”

“It’s Cordelia’s turn,” said Monique.

“Cordelia’s turn?” he said.

“You haven’t told her anything yet…about what’s going to happen.”

“I have said,” he replied mildly, “that that will depend on Cordelia.”

“But haven’t you anything to tell her?”

“No,” he said. “Cordelia will know…when the time comes.”

There was a deep silence. I was very much aware of the quietness of the forest and looming over us the grotesque formation of rock, which one’s imagination could easily twist into menacing shapes.

It was Monique who spoke. “It’s rather uncanny here,” she said and shivered.

Suddenly a sound broke the silence. It was the rather melodious call of the wagoner. His voice seemed to hit the mountain and echo through the forest.

“We should have started back ten minutes ago,” said Frieda. “We’ll have to hurry.”

We all jumped to our feet.

“Goodbye,” we said to the stranger.

Then we started down the path. After a few seconds I looked back. He had disappeared.

***

We were late back but nothing was said and no one asked to see the gloves which we were supposed to have bought in the town.

Elsa came to our room after supper. It was that half hour before prayers which was followed by our retiring for the night.

“Well,” she said, “did you see anything?” Her eyes glistened with curiosity.

“There was…something,” admitted Frieda.

“Some
thing
…”

“Well, a man,” added Monique.

“The more I think of him,” added Lydia, “the more strange he seemed.”

“Do tell,” cried Elsa. “Do tell.”

“Well, we were sitting there…”

“Lying there,” said Frieda who liked details to be exact.

“Stretched out under the tree,” went on Lydia impatiently, “when he was suddenly there.”

“You mean he appeared?”

“You could call it that.”

“What was he like?”

“Handsome. Different…”

“Go on. Go on…”

We were all silent trying to remember exactly what he had looked like.

“What’s the matter with you all?” demanded Elsa.

“Well, it was rather strange when you come to think about it,” said Monique. “Did it strike you that he seemed to know something about us all? He described the château with the vines and towers.”

Frieda said: “Many châteaux in France have their vineyards and almost all have pepper pot towers.”

“Yes,” said Monique. “And yet…”

“I think he was most interested in Cordelia,” announced Lydia.

“Why should you think that?” I demanded. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“It was the way he looked at you.”

“You’re not telling
me
anything,” complained Elsa. “I sent you there, don’t forget. I’ve a right to know.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” said Frieda. “We were silly enough to go to the forest when we might have gone into the town and had some of those delicious cream cakes…and because we’d been so silly we tried to make something happen. All that did was that a man came up, said he liked to hear us laugh and talk for a while.”

“Trust Frieda to get it all neatly tied up,” said Lydia. “But I can’t help thinking that there was more to it than that.”

“I reckon he’s a future husband for one of you,” said Elsa. “That’s how the story goes.”

“If you believe that why didn’t you go and meet yours?” I asked.

“How could I get away? I’m watched. They’d suspect me of shirking my duties.”

“Rest assured,” said Frieda, “that those suspicions will soon be confirmed.”

Elsa laughed with us.

She at least was delighted with the excursion.

***

All through November we were making plans to go home. For me it was a time tinged with sadness. I was going to hate saying goodbye to them all; but on the other hand I was looking forward to going home. Monique, Frieda and Lydia all said we must keep in touch. Lydia lived in London but her family had a country house in Essex where she spent most of her holidays, so we should not be so very far away from each other.

For a few days after that encounter in the forest we talked a great deal about what we called our Pilcher’s Peak adventure. We had very quickly transformed it into an uncanny experience and we endowed the stranger with all sorts of peculiarities. He had had piercing eyes which shone with an unearthly light, according to Monique. She exaggerated what he had told her and was beginning to believe he had given her an accurate and minute description of her father’s château. Lydia said he had sent shivers down her spine and she was sure he had not been human.

“Nonsense,” said Frieda, “he was taking a walk in the woods when he felt like a little conversation with a group of giggling girls.”

I wasn’t sure what I thought, and although I was aware that the encounter was being considerably embellished it had made a deep impression on me.

Term ended at the end of the first week in December. As most of us had to travel long distances Madame de Guérin always liked us to get on our way before the snows came too heavily and made the roads impassable.

There were seven English girls who would be traveling on the same route. Fräulein Mainz saw us all onto the train and when we reached Calais it had been arranged for one of the travel agents to see us onto the boat. At Dover our families would be waiting for us.

I had made the journey several times before, but this was to be the last time, and that made it different.

We had a compartment to ourselves and as we had done the journey before it was only the younger ones who exclaimed at the grandeur of the mountain scenery and remained at the windows while we traveled through the majestic Swiss countryside. The older ones had grown blasé—myself and Lydia among them.

The journey seemed endless; we talked; we read; we played games and we dozed.

Most of them were half asleep and I was gazing idly before me when I saw a man. He was passing along the corridor. He looked in at our compartment as he went. I gasped. He appeared to glance at me but I was not sure that he recognized me. He was gone in a matter of seconds.

I turned to Lydia who was seated next to me, asleep. I jumped up and made my way along the corridor. There was no sign of him.

I went back to my seat and nudged Lydia.

“I…I saw him,” I said.

“Saw what?”

“The man…the man in the forest…”

“You’re dreaming,” said Lydia.

“No. I was sure. He was gone in a flash.”

“Why didn’t you speak to him?”

“He was gone too quickly. I went after him but he had disappeared.”

“You were dreaming,” said Lydia and closed her eyes.

I was very shaken. Could it have been an apparition? It was over so quickly. He had been there…and then he was gone. He must have moved along that corridor very quickly. Had it really been the man himself or had I dreamed it?

Perhaps Lydia was right.

I looked out for him during the rest of the journey to Calais but he was not there.

The train had been delayed because of the snowdrifts and we were eight hours late reaching Calais. It meant that we had to take the night ferry and it must have been about two o’clock in the morning when we embarked.

Lydia was not feeling well; she was cold, she said, and felt a little sick. She had found a spot below where she could wrap herself up and lie down.

I felt the need for fresh air and said I would go on deck. I was given a rug and found a chair. True it was cold but I felt snug beneath my rug and I was sure Lydia would have been wiser to have come up with me rather than stay in the airless part of the ship.

There was a faint crescent moon and myriads of stars were visible in the clear night sky. I could hear the voices of the crew not far off and I enjoyed the rocking of the ship, gentle as yet, but there was no wind and I did not anticipate a rough crossing.

I was thinking of the future. It would always be fun with Aunt Patty. I could imagine long cozy evenings by her sitting room fire while she drank hot chocolate and nibbled macaroons for which she had a special fancy. We would laugh over the day’s events. There would always be something to laugh about. Oh, I was looking forward to it.

I closed my eyes. I was rather sleepy. The journey had been tiring and there had been a great deal of fuss getting into the ship. I must not sleep deeply for I should have to find my way back to Lydia before the ship docked.

I was aware of a faint movement at my side. I opened my eyes. A chair had been moved silently and now, with its occupant, it was beside me.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

My heart started to beat furiously. The same voice. The same air of being not quite of this world. It was the man of the forest.

I was too startled to speak for a moment.

He said: “I will be quiet if you wish to sleep.”

“Oh no…no. It is…isn’t it?”

“We met before,” he said.

“You…you were on the train?”

“Yes, I was on the train.”

“I saw you pass the window.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to England?”

It was a foolish question. Where else could he be going since he was on the Channel steamer?

“Yes,” he said. “I trust I shall see you while I am there.”

“Oh yes. That would be pleasant. You must call on us. It’s Grantley Manor, Canterton, Sussex. Not far from Lewes.
It’s quite easy to find.”