she’d just been a part couldn’t possibly have taken place; it was too bizarre? Obviously, it had been nothing more than a figment of her exhausted mind and body.
Yet, she wasn’t asleep. She was sure Charles had been there on the bed but moments before.
She threw back her covers and came out from underneath them. She found her slippers and worked her feet into them before coming to a standing position. She reached for her robe which as thrown over the back of a nearby chair.
She followed Charles’ route, opening the door to the sitting room.
The old woman was waiting for her in the darkness, blocking the path that would have allowed Marie access to the hallway. The sight of the gnome-like shadow within deeper shadows brought Marie to a sudden startled stop, a small gasp of shocked surprise escaping her lips.
“What are you doing here?” Marie asked, using her right hand to pull her robe tightly shut across her neck. “What do you want?”
“Why did you bring him back, you little fool!” the old woman asked, disgust evident in her voice. “You’ve brought disaster on us all!”
“I want to see my husband,” Marie said, indignant that her voice should come out sounding like that of a chastised child asking for her father.
“He doesn’t want to see you,” the old woman said, not moving from her position. “Go back to bed!”
Marie tuned, went back into the bedroom, and drew the door sharply closed behind her. She was breathing hard. She could hear herself panting, the rhythmic expansions contracting her chest. She could hear the throbbing beat of blood in her ears.
What right did that old woman have to be in Marie’s rooms, bossing Marie around? Marie was mistress of Château Camaux! She didn’t know by what authority the old crow got off telling her what to do.
In a sudden flush of anger, at having been cowed by someone half her size, she once again opened the door to the sitting room. If she wanted to see her husband, then she would see him! If anyone tried to stand in her way, then that person could very well be expected to get shoved to one side.
The sitting room was empty. The spot once occupied by the old woman now held only a patch of moonlight which had managed to enter through a small breach in the drawn curtains.
Marie quickly crossed to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall.
The corridor was empty and silent. The whole house seemed mysteriously empty and silent.
Marie got a blood-chilling shiver that left her feeling icy. She stepped back into the sitting room and shut the door behind her. She quickly surveyed her surroundings, thinking, perhaps, the old woman was still there. There was only furniture, moonlight, and shadows.
Imagination? Was that what it had been? Was that all it had been? Had Charles really been at her bedside? Had she really followed him to be confronted by the old woman standing in this very room?
Another chill shivered its way along her spine. She went back to the bedroom and climbed into her bed, finding the sheets completely absent of any consoling warmth she might have left there.
It was a long time before she could find the peace of mind to surrender the strangeness of the night to slumber.
CHAPTER THREE
INEXPLICABLE...“THINGS”
Morning was something Marie felt rather than saw. After all, the room was still dark behind drawn curtains; the house was as silent as a tomb.
She didn’t feel rested. So, maybe it wasn’t morning after all. Maybe her senses played tricks on her.
Her eyes were sticky with sleep that came free on the backs of her rubbing hands. Her mouth was dry. She had a headache.
Her sleep had been fitful and spread through with dreams mainly unremembered...except for her husband, sitting on the edge of her bed...except for the old lady standing guard in the sitting room like Cerberus at the gates of Hades.
It took Marie several minutes to get oriented. She kept wondering where she was. This definitely wasn’t England, or the plane, or the ship.
She threw back the blankets and came to a sitting position, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed. Without looking, she worked her toes into her slippers.
She picked up her robe en route to the French doors, fastening its cord before pulling back the curtains. The sudden entrance of light temporarily blinded her. Her right hand came to her forehead to offer shadow.
It was morning, but only barely. The sun, low on the horizon, only managed to reach the glass through a unique breach among the distant trees.
Marie was about to exit onto the small balcony, beyond, when the figure appeared beneath her and headed off across the lawn.
It was Charles, walking slowly, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, apparently completely unaware he was being watched. Reflexively, Marie, somehow feeling guilty in spying, stepped to one side so she’d be less likely seen by him should he chance to glance her way.
She wondered why she didn’t just proceed with unlatching the glass doors in order to call out to him, in that that seemed the more logical thing for her to do. Surely, he would much rather greet his wife than proceed on any early morning stroll?
Still, she intuitively sensed he would be less than pleased were he suddenly to be made aware of his wife’s Peeping-Tom status directly above him.
Marie couldn’t help feeling like a spy. That was silly, wasn’t it? What could possibly be suspect about her husband out on the lawn? Heading from where? Heading to where? For whom were the flowers?
She pulled back farther, unconsciously taking hold of the curtain to edge it more closely back into the position it had maintained throughout the night.
Charles continued across the grass, veering right toward the trees that bordered the long rectangular lawn on that side.
Movement in the shadows formed by the trees! There was someone there. Someone was waiting just within the border of darkness dividing the lawn from the thicker underbrush.
Charles stopped, obviously seeing the figure, too. Were the two talking? If so, no voices traveled to Marie, if just because the shut French doors kept out all such sounds.
The figure moved imperceptivity; just enough so Marie could identify the old hag from Marie’s bad dream (not a dream?) from the night before.
Charles continued forward, stopped on the very edge of the forest, looked down on the old woman who was pathetically dwarfed by his powerfully impressive physique.
What was he saying? What was the old woman saying? What mysteries had driven those two to that specific spot, on that particular early morning, while the rest of the household was possibly assumed asleep?
“Oh!” Marie exclaimed, turning toward the unexpected sound behind her, her heart leaping into her throat. She felt a combination of guilt and embarrassment as she saw that her cry of alarm had so scared the entering Madeleine that the girl had dropped a vase of flowers. Several habernia fimbriata had ended up scattered across a water-spotted rug, one orchid stem awkwardly
