Barbara Cleverly - Strange Images of Death

Uncertain as to how he was expected to respond, Joe murmured something that sounded like condolences.

‘Oh, one ought not to set much store by a great name in these modern times. When I tell you that the aristocracy in France have flourished to such an extent since the Revolution that they number over two hundred thousand, you will hardly believe me! I know that you English assume we were all but extinguished … losing our heads to Madame Guillotine. It may surprise you to hear that a tiny percentage of the whole class-just over one thousand aristos-lost their heads. The huge majority kept theirs and either emigrated or lay low on their remote estates until better times arrived. All praise to Louis XVIII! Yes, Sandilands, we have a thousand times the number of gentlemen you have in England! Which might lead a sceptic-and I class myself as such-to say that the Silmont title is of little consequence. I shall leave it and my lands to my cousin Guy. Alas-he also is childless. And therefore, unless he pulls his socks up and remembers his familial obligations while he is yet young enough, the estate is destined, I’m afraid, to be bought up by aspiring neighbours. It will be absorbed by some marquisate or duchy. Or some rich nobody eager to avail himself of the noble particule. Monsieur de Silmont! Two letters, Sandilands! What extraordinary lengths people are prepared to go to in order to acquire them. Now, if you’d care to come this way …’

The cry went up at the most inconvenient moment. Somewhere deep in the castle a gong had announced it was time to think about assembling for drinks before dinner. Joe checked his watch and waited by the door of his room. Dorcas was late. Or Estelle was late. He found he could no longer remember who exactly was on herding duty this evening.

He heard the cry a second time and recognized Dorcas’s voice. A moment later she shot up the stairs and into the children’s dormitory. More shouts and yells and she came dashing out again. Joe saw her take a deep breath and try to control her voice as she caught sight of him but she could not deceive him. The terror behind the calm words was very evident.

‘I’m afraid there’s one of us missing, Joe.’

Joe listened on, hoping he’d misunderstood.

‘It should be Estelle on duty tonight but nobody’s seen her since teatime so I thought I’d better get on and do the rounding-up myself. I’ve counted six. There’s me, Peter, Dicky, Rosie, Clothilde, René …’ she recited, in her concern using her fingers to demonstrate. ‘We’re all here. It’s the littlest boy who isn’t. Le petit Marius. The cook’s youngest. I sent everybody out again to hunt for him … they’ve not done their teeth yet … to look in all the usual places. Nothing. We’ve yelled his name all about the castle. We’ve looked in every oven and every cupboard he likes to hide in. He’s just disappeared. I don’t know what to do. And it’ll be getting dark soon.’

‘I’m sure it’s all right, Dorcas. Look-if you like, I’ll come in and have a word with the others. Perhaps they’re playing a joke on you ? Had you thought of that?’

‘Of course. First thing I thought of! And I’ve told them what I’ll do to them if they are. They aren’t having me on. Besides, René, his older brother, is crying. He thinks he’ll be blamed and he’s upset. I can’t make any sense of what he’s saying.’

Joe went into the dormitory to find a huddle of murmuring children gathered together on one bed for consolation. Trying to keep his voice brisk and reassuring, he began to question them. Peter answered first as the oldest boy and confirmed that the last sighting of le petit Marius, who didn’t know how old he was, had been just after tea, before they’d started play again. Awkwardly Peter told Joe he might like at this point to question René.

Joe took the hint and turned to René. He knelt down and looked him in the eye. ‘Tell me if he was sad or happy, your little brother, when you last spoke to him.’

‘Sir, he was sad,’ whispered René.

‘Why-sad?’

‘We’d had an argument. I’d just told him that he couldn’t play with us in the game we were planning for after tea. He’s too little for some things-’

‘Don’t be angry with René,’ Dorcas interrupted. ‘Marius can be a pain in the bum. He thinks he can do everything the others do but sometimes he just can’t. And he always shouts the same thing: “I’m Marius! I’m a soldier!” I blame his mother for calling him after a Roman infantryman. Gives him ideas beyond his size.’

Joe smiled. ‘What was the last thing he said to you, René? Can you remember?’

‘Yes.’ He hesitated then asked: ‘You want me to say the exact words? They were rather rude. Well, he said, “Damn you, crétin ! I don’t want to play your stupid game anyway. I’m going down to Granny’s!”’

Joe breathed deeply, the relief washing through him. ‘Did that surprise you?’

‘Well, no. He’s done it before, stomping off in a rage. And telling tales. Granny always …’ René’s lips began to quiver and tears began to drip down his nose. Joe silently handed him a handkerchief and patted his head. ‘Granny always takes his side. She always believes him and I get a smack for not looking after him properly. If he’s gone home I’ll be in trouble again after last time. He knows that. He wouldn’t have landed me in it again, would he? He’s a pest but he’s not really bad. He’s my brother … I was sure he’d be about the place just hiding to … to …’

‘To pay you back? To make you feel guilty.’

René nodded.

‘Look, all of you. Calm down. I’m sure this is going to be all right. I want to see you with clean teeth when Dorcas and I get back up here. We’re just going down to the kitchen to have a word with René’s mother and see what she has to say. I think it’s most probable that young Marius is, even as we speak, being tucked in and spoiled rotten by his grandma. But I like to be certain.’

‘It’s dinner time, sir,’ René pointed out, his face creasing with anxiety. ‘Maman doesn’t let anyone into the kitchen at dinner time and guests never at all. She’ll be cross!’

‘Don’t worry! She’ll let me in. I shall know exactly what to say to her. And I tell no tales!’

Reassured by his calm and friendly voice, the children began to nod and smile and hunt about for their sponge bags. Normality returned.

‘Sorry I bothered you, Joe,’ said Dorcas as they made their way downstairs. ‘There are things I don’t understand yet about this set-up. I should have pressed him a bit harder and got the truth out of him. Do we have to disturb Madame Dalbert? She’s a bit of a dragon, according to René.’

‘And the steward! And me!’ said Joe lightly. ‘But come and take a look.’

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Dorcas reluctantly. ‘But-tell you what-let’s not make an entrance through the great hall. There’s a side door into the kitchen that they use for supplies. It leads in from the courtyard. The boys use it when they want to see their mother.’

Amongst dashing servers and hurrying kitchen hands they had difficulty in picking out the small figure of Madame Dalbert. Dorcas crept in behind on Joe’s heels, apparently wishing herself a million miles away from this bustling scene. The cook stood rigidly watching him approach, confounded by his presence in this place at this time.

Joe plunged straight in: ‘Madame, my apologies. I’m here to ask if you know where your son is at this moment.’ He reached behind and pulled Dorcas forward. ‘This here’s Monsieur Joliffe’s daughter and she’s just turned the castle upside down searching for him. Unsuccessfully. He’s disappeared. We can’t find him.’