Gwendoline Butler - The Red Staircase

So as I stood beside Ariadne, I was really thinking of Patrick.

‘Time to go, Miss Rose,’ whispered Peter. ‘We must move. We are keeping the people behind us waiting.’ He looked at me with interest. ‘You were far, far away. Oh, it was the music, I know, it affects everyone, no one can resist it.’

‘Yes, it was very fine.’

‘Interesting counter-tenor they have in the choir,’ said Edward Lacey.

‘He’s a genuine castrato,’ said Ariadne with enthusiasm.

Peter grinned, and Edward Lacey looked a little disconcerted at Ariadne’s frankness. Possibly he thought that well brought up young girls should not be too familiar with the term ‘castrato’, although anyone who has seriously studied music must know it. ‘I thought he might be,’ he said. ‘Strange noise he makes. Vibrant but odd. One could hardly call it beautiful.’

The crowd was pressing close against us, hemming us in on either side, making it difficult to move. We did slowly edge an inch or so forward. I was struck once again by the variety of people that made up the mass. A richly dressed woman was shoulder to shoulder with an old man in his working clothes, a fragile old creature in tatters and rags stood before a burly man carrying a silk hat. Behind them came a trio of schoolgirls in the charge of a Sister in flowing robes, and behind them the tall figure of a bearded monk. The girls were giggling amongst themselves, and I saw the monk give them a hard stare. I noticed his eyes, for they had a particularly alive and searching glance. He turned his head towards me with a penetrating clear look. I blinked.

Once when I was walking in the woods around Jordansjoy, I came upon a young fox. He appeared on the path above me; the ground sloped, so we met eye to eye, and he stared at me boldly, unafraid. Now, to my surprise, I saw that free, questing animal stare again in this man’s eyes. Strange eyes for a monk, I thought.

‘We can move now, Miss Gowrie,’ prompted Edward Lacey politely.

The crowd was much thinner and it was easy now to make our way to the great door, where groups of people still stood about talking and settling their hats and gloves preparatory to departure. As we went forward, I could see that Ariadne had her eyes on a woman soberly dressed in plain, dark clothes who was drawing on a pair of white kid gloves and opening a parasol.

‘Madame Titov,’ she said. ‘I want you to meet her.’

Peter withdrew from us a little, leaving us apart. Perhaps he did not so much like Madame Titov.

‘Oh yes, I remember you mentioned her.’

‘She is a person it is very good to know,’ Ariadne assured me earnestly. ‘Nice in herself, and important .’

She didn’t look important, rather she looked a shy, quiet woman with a dowdy taste in hats, and yet she had an air of being completely at ease in the world.

‘And she’s very holy ,’ went on Ariadne. ‘That is, devoted to the Church, you know.’

‘Pious,’ I said. ‘And what makes her important?’

‘Hush, she’ll hear. It’s the Empress, of course. They are very close. She looks after the Heir. In the schoolroom and so on.’

Ah, I thought, a governess, even if of a very superior sort. A sister to me beneath the skin. ‘So that’s why you want me to meet her? We are two of a kind.’

‘Not exactly,’ Ariadne smiled. ‘She is not a bit like you. Nor are your duties the same. But she wanted to meet you.’

Inwardly I raised my eyebrows: so now it was she who wished to meet me . That hadn’t been the story the first time round.

‘I think the lady knows you are here,’ murmured Edward Lacey under his breath.

It was true, now I took another glance, Madame Titov was unobtrusively studying me as she fiddled with the buttons on her gloves. Clearly, she was waiting for us to come up to her. Nor did we keep her waiting long. Ariadne piloted me towards her deftly, towing Edward Lacey behind us like a small tug guiding a liner. Except that even out of his uniform there was something of the warrior in Edward’s bearing, so perhaps I should have likened him to a man o’ war.

‘This is Miss Cowrie,’ said Ariadne breathlessly. ‘Madame, may I present Miss Gowrie. Rose, this is Madame Titov.’

‘Delighted,’ murmured Madame, extending a soft hand. Her fingers seemed to melt into mine as I took them, and to give no palpable pressure back. Her expression was friendly enough, although I judged she was not a lady who ever allowed strong emotions to show. Perhaps she felt none. She turned to Ariadne. ‘I believe you are going into the country soon?’

‘Quite soon,’ said Ariadne.

‘We shall meet then,’ said Madame Titov decisively. ‘Because I am going to the country too.’ She held out her hand to meet me. This time I noticed a very faint response to my own pressure. ‘Goodbye till we meet again, Miss Rose Gowrie.’

I felt as though I had been inspected and approved. I was annoyed with myself for being pleased, and yet I was pleased. Quiet-mannered as Madame Titov was, I felt I valued her good opinion.

As Madame Titov walked away, she passed close to where the tall monk was still standing. He must have been watching us all the time we talked. He took a step towards her, a broad smile beginning on his face; I thought he meant to speak to her. If so, she gave him no chance. Not for a second did her progress falter. Instead, she seemed to walk faster, and as she hurried on, her skirt gave an angry jerk, as if she had pulled it aside. Ariadne too was flustered. I could see she wanted to draw me away from what she seemed to regard as this man of God’s dangerous vicinity. But he was already approaching.

‘Good afternoon, Father Gregory.’

He raised his hand. ‘Bless you, child.’ He had a peasant’s voice, but it had rich tones. He held out his hand to her, she took it reluctantly, then dropped it almost at once, but never for a moment did Ariadne take her eyes off his face. Then he turned towards me, holding out his hand again and smiling at me with his pale, bright eyes. He stank. ‘He looks like a fox and he smells like a fox,’ I thought; but I took his hand. I found his touch unpleasant, damp with sweat on this hot day, and withdrew my hand, sorry that I had removed my glove.

‘Bless you, my child,’ he said, staring at me. ‘You have the face of a saint.’ Bright and compelling, his eyes held my own, and it was with an effort that I withdrew my gaze. To my surprise, something had passed between us; I couldn’t put a name to what I had seen, but a communication of some sort had occurred. Then I knew what it was. I had recognized a quality in him and he had responded. It was like two metals striking against each other and each giving out the same note.

He knew too, and his eyes burned fiercely. ‘May I see your hands?’

Reluctantly, almost against my will, but certainly unable not to do so, I held them out, fingers extended. Tenderly, he turned the right one over, putting palm uppermost. ‘Yes, there, at the base of the thumb, there is the mark. The mark of the healer.’

‘I see nothing.’ I stared at my hand.

‘It is enough.’

I wanted to turn my hand over, but for the moment I couldn’t do it.

‘Come along, Miss Gowrie,’ said Edward Lacey in a friendly but formidable fashion. ‘Ariadne is anxious to get home. Goodbye, Father.’ He turned to Peter. ‘Hurry up there.’

Why, he’s jealous, I thought, absolutely jealous of Ariadne. He must be the sort of man who showed possessiveness towards any woman in whom he took an interest, even me. It was sad, because I had begun to like him. ‘The charlatan,’ he muttered.

But we are all charlatans,’ said Peter. Aren’t we?’

The next morning, although I looked expectantly for Laure, she was nowhere to be seen. Apparently her promise – or threat – to talk to me and explain her vague warnings of danger had not been important enough to keep her from her favourite habit of disappearing.