Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

A chill suddenly passed through my shoulders and down my spine. I decided to run up to my room and get a sweater. I took the central staircase because it came out closer to my room.

As I came back down, Cranwell’s door opened. Something made me hold my breath and shrink into the shadows. I saw Sévérine slip out of his room, clad in a black lacy scrap of nothing, and climb the back stairs to her own.

I felt like I’d been hit in the heart with a sledgehammer. Oh, but I’d been stupid. I stumbled back up the stairs to my room and jumped into the shower. I stayed until I’d stopped shaking.

It didn’t take much debate with myself to decide to tell Sévérine that I was sick. She knew enough about cooking to scrape together the day’s meals. I knocked on her door and shouted the message at her and then sprinted back to my own room before she had a chance to respond. I climbed into bed, wet hair and all, and pulled the duvet over my head. I pretended not to hear when she came and knocked on my door.

I’d known it from the beginning.

Cranwell was exactly the type of man I didn’t trust. Men are weak; that’s what my mother always warned me. She was right.

Je suis bête . I was so stupid.

By the end of the day, I was beginning to imagine that I could be sick for the entire week. I found myself becoming very philosophical. It wasn’t that I minded Sévérine being his lover; I was humiliated at having let myself trust him.

In fact, I was glad they had found each other. It was obvious Sévérine needed a father figure in her life. And Cranwell was perfect for that role. He was old enough. He was forty-five.

That was the end of my crush on Cranwell.

I almost stayed in bed the next morning, but then I remembered what day it was: 25 November. Sainte-Catherine’s day. The day of Sévérine’s Catherinette .

What perfect timing.

A shower did little to rouse my spirits. I threw on my usual chef’s attire and then rooted around in the closet to find the bonnet I’d bought for Sévérine. It was tradition that a Catherinette receive one… and usually they were decorated in the worst Minnie Pearl style. This one was no exception.

After pulling back my hair into a ponytail, I slipped on my shoes and trudged down to the kitchen. Thankfully, Cranwell wasn’t there. I put some brioches in the oven and then made a plan of the dinner’s preparations.

The only thing I’d have to do for the foie gras was toast some of the brioche and make beef-flavored gelée . That was easy.

The lobsters I planned to cook at the last moment, although the tagliatelle I’d serve with them would need a little more preparation.

The croque-em-bouche , the pièce de résistance , would take the most time, so I decided to start it right after lunch.

With no sign of Cranwell, and although I had no desire to see him, I put together his breakfast tray and carried it up to his room.

He looked up with a smile, from buttoning his shirt, as I entered the room. He looked as if he’d just come from the shower. “Freddie, the book is really coming along! Did you know there was a love triangle?”

Not until just yesterday.

Cranwell jabbered on about the count and his cousin and Alix, but I had no interest in poor Alix and her love triangle. Triangles no longer seem so symmetrical.

“You’re feeling better.”

“Much. In fact, I’m making plans to go to Italy.” I set the tray on a chair and turned to leave.

“Can I come?”

I turned back to face him. “No. You’ll have to take yourself off to Paris and visit your friends.”

“What does Sévérine do when you leave?”

“Whatever she pleases.” And I could almost watch the thoughts work through that crafty mind of his. Some Christian he was. I was trapped. I couldn’t stay in my own home because I couldn’t stand to see them together, but if I went, I didn’t know if I could stand to think about them at the chateau… alone, while I was sipping limoncello on some shaded terrace in Sorrento.

I closed my eyes. Some bread dough to knead would have been perfect at that moment.

Cranwell came to stand behind me, and I felt his hands on my shoulders as he began massaging them. His voice, close to my ear, said, “You look tense.”

Is it possible to want to throw yourself at a man and kill him at the same time?

The dinner turned out perfectly. I would have served champagne, but Sévérine had been so moody lately that I didn’t want the evening to end in maudlin tears. And although I had envisioned a casual dinner, both Cranwell and Sévérine showed up dressed to the nines. They must have coordinated at some point. Why else would Cranwell have been wearing a tuxedo and Sévérine a floor-length designer knockoff? I wouldn’t have chosen pale green for Sévérine, but the shimmer of the material set off sparkles in her eyes and made her teeth even more white.

My own outfit was more traditional: I was wearing a very nice pair of faded jeans and a plain-Jane blue oxford button-down shirt. I had the sleeves rolled up for extra panache. I would have taken my hair down for dinner, but considering Sévérine looked like she’d spent hours getting hers just right, I decided to leave mine in its knot.

For several moments, I considered not giving Sévérine the bonnet. But then again, what would I have done with the hideous thing?

“Sévérine, I have a gift for you.”

As soon as she saw the hatbox, she knew what it was. “No, Frédérique. This is not necessary.”

Oh, but it was.

“Cranwell, maybe you can do the honors while I get the foie gras ?”

“Of course.” He took the box from my hands, opened the lid, took the hat from the box, and burst into laughter.

Sévérine could not have made a more ugly face if she’d tried.

“Is this part of the tradition?” Cranwell asked through his laughter.

“It’s part of the tradition.”

Cranwell placed it on Sévérine’s head and ceremoniously tied the hot pink ribbons underneath her chin.

She pouted.

At that point I turned around to cut the foie gras . When I turned back, Sévérine was all giggles and Cranwell was whispering in her ear.

Okay then.

Somehow dinner passed. I don’t remember saying much. I can’t even remember how the food tasted, although I do know that the croque-em-bouche looked magnificent.

When Cranwell decided Sévérine needed twenty-five kisses, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

When I returned, Cranwell was clearing the table, and Sévérine was untying her bonnet. “Thank you, Frédérique. This was very kind.”

“You’re welcome.” I tried to smile. I’m not sure if I succeeded. What I really needed was to be alone in my kitchen. “Cranwell, Lucy looks as if she needs a walk.”

She really did. I wasn’t lying.

“If you don’t need any help-”

“No. I’m fine. You and Sévérine should… let this be. I’ll clean up.”

Sévérine didn’t wait to hear another word; she made a beeline for the stairs. And Cranwell strolled out the back door with Lucy.

It’s the last I saw of either of them that night.

my fifteenth year

year thirty-nine of the reign of Charles VII, King of France

day of Easter

It has been three months since my lord has rendered me a visit. But this night, after he commanded me to bed, instead of drawing the curtains, he demanded of me if he might sit on the bed beside me instead of the hard floor. My cheeks became red because, had I noticed before, I would have made offer.

I must learn to be a better wife. And in fact, I do know how, for I had done the study of the Holy Bible as Agnès had demanded of me. I must begin to practice it.