Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

“I’ve had lots of lessons. And my grandmother was French.”

“You become a different person when you speak it. You hold yourself differently, your tone is different. Even your lips move differently.”

“Different how?”

“More confident. More secure.”

“It was business. And the French use muscles differently when they talk. If you look at older French women, they have a lot of wrinkles between their nose and their lips. American women wrinkle more toward the corners of the mouth.” I had noticed myself doing this a lot lately: contributing my observations to Cranwell’s pool of general knowledge.

We ate in silence for a minute before Cranwell spoke again. “Maybe you should make that stable into a manager’s apartment.”

“Why? I like my room just fine.”

“Not for you. For a professional hotel manager. You could hire someone to run this for you. It would give you freedom. I’m sure it would get you more business.”

“But then what would I do?”

“Whatever you wanted.”

At that point, the chateau was my life. I couldn’t imagine what I would do without cooking, without keeping it for guests, even when I didn’t especially want them. Some people dream of a life of leisure. I was not one of them. The prospect of a calendar filled with long blank days filled me with dread.

They were what I had left Paris to escape.

The beginning of the end came the following Wednesday. The weather was nasty. We had news of an unusually strong wind that would blow a storm in from the sea that night. It was one of Sévérine’s days at the University and as I thought, that afternoon, of her long drive back to the chateau, I began to worry about her. The road from Rennes wound through the countryside, and while not normally dangerous, it could easily become treacherous in a strong wind and driving rain.

The only thing I could do was to call her and tell her to stay in Rennes, but first, I had to find her number.

After having spoken to at least four unhelpful phone operators, I was finally transferred to the University switchboard, at which point I was passed to the Department of Celtic Studies.

When I asked for Sévérine, there was a long silence from the woman on the end of the line.

She transferred me to the head of the department.

“ M. Dubois à l’appareil. Je peux vous aider ?”

“ Bonjour, Monsieur Dubois. Ici Mme Farmer. Je cherche Sévérine Dupont .” M. Dubois and I had met when I had given Alix’s books and journals to the University. He was a scholarly gentleman of about seventy years and had held his place on the faculty for at least half of his life.

“ Ça fait longtemps qu’on n’a pas parlé. Et vous cherchez Mlle Dupont. Pour quel raison ?”

I explained about the coming storm and how I just wanted to tell her to stay put.

“ Mais, elle ne travail plus ici depuis six mois .”

It sounded as if he had said she hadn’t worked there for at least six months. That would have been shortly after she started living with me.

“ Exactement, madame .”

After hanging up the phone, I felt rather unsettled. Sévérine had been working on her PhD, but her behavior had become erratic and she had been asked to leave. About six months previously. If she was not working on research, then why was she still living with me? From the looks of her bedroom, she was obviously still hard at work on something. And according to M. Dubois, it wasn’t on Alix.

There were a thousand questions I would have asked M. Dubois if only I hadn’t hung up the phone.

I sat for a long while, marshalling the facts I knew about Sévérine. They were actually very few in number. I culled my mind for memories of my interactions with her. Generally she was a sincere, honest person. Except for the time when she lied about the butter. Usually she was very dependable. Except when she disappeared in a hurry the week that I hosted the conference. And she seemed lucid except when she’d told me about her father and when she’d been so strange the night of the wedding feast. Those daggers in her eyes still gave me the shivers, though I hadn’t seen any more of them.

And that got me to thinking about sharp pointy objects. Like dinner knives, and whatever had dug into the mortar in my bathroom. And the long object that Sévérine had concealed behind her back the night of the first frost. What had she been doing outside that night? Lucy had barked as if there had been an intruder in the woods.

For that matter, Lucy had never liked Sévérine.

There was a stirring on the staircase and I jumped. My eyes searched the darkness of the stairwell and came to rest on a familiar figure. Lucy. And behind her, Cranwell.

Cranwell, who had been sleeping with Sévérine. Cranwell, who always seemed to be watching me. Cranwell, who had the ability to appear noiselessly at my side. What exactly was Cranwell doing with Sévérine? Were they working together on some… scheme?

“What do you know about Sévérine?”

He shrugged. “Not much more than you do.”

“Why did you come here?”

“To write my book. Freddie, what is this about?”

“What is your relationship with Sévérine? If you don’t tell me, I’m calling the gêndarmes .” I put a hand on the phone.

“Freddie, the first time I met Sévérine was the day I came here. You know that. What’s wrong?”

Outside, thunder cracked and bushes strained to rake the windows. I felt like I was trapped in a B-grade horror movie.

“Cranwell, I’m only going to ask you this one more time. What is your relationship with Sévérine?”

“I don’t have one other than our interest in the journals.”

I knew for a fact that wasn’t true. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Of course I’ve been watching you. I find you incredibly attractive.”

“Then why have I seen Sévérine come out of your room in the morning?”

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so composed. “Sévérine? How did-? I swear to you, Freddie, it was not the way it looked. I swear it. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

At that moment, the lights flickered once and then were gone. The power was out.

“Cranwell, if you move, so help me…”

“I’m not coming anywhere near you. Trust me, Freddie.”

Lucy sighed in the darkness. I felt a sudden pang of guilt, knowing that it was her dinner time.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Cranwell’s face. True to his word, he hadn’t moved any closer. He had found the last step and sat on it. There was nothing of a monster in his face, just an easily read confusion.

So I made a decision.

I decided to tell him everything I knew. “Sévérine was kicked out of the university. About six months ago.” I watched Cranwell’s face as I talked, and I could tell that this information surprised him.

“For what?”

“Her department head called it ‘bizarre behavior.’”

“And you just found out?”

“About three minutes before you came downstairs.”

“Did you ever talk to her about her work at the university? Did she openly lie to you about being a student there?”

That made me think. “On her ‘university days’ like today, I’ve always said, ‘Have a safe trip into town,’ or something like that, but she’s never corrected me. I don’t think she’s ever lied to me either.”

“What was your employment agreement with her?”

“It didn’t hinge on her studies. It was free room and board in exchange for help with the guests. We didn’t even have a contract. Do you think she’s dangerous?”

“I don’t think so. It might be nothing, Freddie. It’s possible she was just embarrassed to tell you.”