Wrexler did not answer. He still stood gazing up at the stairway. The
wide, marble steps curved upward. Along the sides, the intricate carving
was beautiful in its lacy delicateness.
At that moment, however, I was alarmed for my friend. His attitude was
rigid, and his eyes were glassy. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Wrexler!"
My action galvanized him to life. "Another minute and she would have
reached the last step! Now she is gone."
This was madness! There had been no one there. I said as much.
Wrexler turned and faced me. "But there was," he said eagerly, "the most
beautiful girl I have ever seen, all done up in some old costume: great,
wide skirts, little waist, and a high lace collar. She had bronze curls,
great blue eyes and the loveliest face! I saw her immediately we came
in. She looked at both of us, but she smiled at me!"
I was in a quandary. Until now I had not given the staircase more than a
perfunctory glance. For all I knew, she might have been one of the
servants, peeping to see her new master. To Wrexler, impressionable,
strange creature that he was, the one glance might have so registered on
his mind that he kept on seeing her; for certainly she had not been
there when I looked. It seemed best to make light of the whole matter.
"Anyway, she's gone now. At least I can explain the costume. I take it
you didn't hear Carrier's announcements?"
Wrexler shook his head. I proceeded to enlighten him.
Instead of teasing me about the strange conditions my father's will had
imposed upon me, he was enthusiastic about the idea. "It's the one
period in history that has always interested me! Jim, we're in luck!
Imagine stepping back into Medici France for six months, shutting out
the world! Who knows but that Catherine herself may have stayed here, or
Marguerite de Valois--the Marguerite of Marguerites! Beautiful, but no
more beautiful than that girl on the stairs. I can hardly wait to see
her again."
I heartily hoped that he would see her, and that she was not entirely a
creature of his imagination. If she was real, I too was eager to meet
her.
Wrexler interrupted my thoughts.
"I feel as though I had come home," he said. "I'm crazy to explore.
Let's go shed these ugly things and begin to really live. Why, it's been
this I've been waiting for! It's lucky we're the same size."
* * * * *
Out of his irrelevance, I gathered the trend of his thought. "I wonder
where we go," I began.
Almost as though he had heard my words, a tall, commanding figure
stepped into the hall. He was attired richly in damask of a lovely, soft
blue with the same slashes of crimson that the servant livery had shown,
but in this case of finer material. He was a handsome man of about
thirty-four. His beard was pointed and he had a small mustache. His long
legs were encased in silken hose and he wore a dagger thrust through his
belt.
"De Lacy, at your service, my lord," he announced as he made a deep bow.
I extended my hand, somewhat at a loss to know how to greet my father's
steward, who was clearly a man of some importance and who, but for me,
would be owner of Rougemont.
Instead of shaking hands, he dropped on one knee and kissed my hand--a
proceeding which embarrassed me very much.
On my motioning him to rise, he did so with a lithe grace: "I suppose
you want to change your strange clothes, my lord, and see your
quarters?"
I nodded and introduced Wrexler. De Lacy bowed. "Monsieur Wrexler would
like to be near you?" Then he added, "We have some twenty or thirty
suites, my lord."
Wrexler said he would prefer to be close at hand, and together we
followed de Lacy up the marble stairway into a new world.
Wrexler was at ease immediately in his doublet and hose. The rich,
embroidered garments seemed to suit him as modern clothes never did. He
looked handsomer than ever. He also told me that the costume of the
Medici was becoming to me, and truly when I caught a glimpse of myself
mirrored in the pond--for the chateau did not possess a large mirror--I
was not ill pleased with the result. But, by the end of the week, I
still felt strange in my new attire, whereas Wrexler from the beginning
wore his as if to the manor born.
But I anticipate. That first night we donned two of the outfits which
the valet whom de Lacy introduced to me had put out. Our own clothes
disappeared, and much to my annoyance, with them my cigarettes.
* * * * *
We ate dinner in state, upon a raised dais at one end of a great hall.
At either side below us were long, narrow tables filled with people.
Dressed also in keeping with the period, they made a wonderful picture
and comprised, I supposed, my court or retinue. De Lacy presented me to
them with a flourish, and they all filed by and kissed my hand, then
went to their places.
When Wrexler and I were seated, they too sat down. When I began to talk,
they filled the hall with gay chattering. From a minstrel gallery at the
other end of the room came soft strains of music.
De Lacy stood behind me pouring my wine. One thing I noticed was that in
the whole room--and there must have been two hundred people at
least--there were no older men or women. In fact, de Lacy was the oldest
of the lot; the others ranged from about sixteen to thirty.
"How did my father get all these people together?" I asked de Lacy.
"Most of them, my lord, were born at Rougemont. Still others were
adopted and brought here almost as soon as they were born. None of us
has ever been outside Rougemont gates." De Lacy was quite matter-of-fact
as he made his statement.
Wrexler was searching the hall with his eyes, as he listened to my
steward.
"And you?" I looked at de Lacy.
"I, too, my lord, know nothing of your outside world, nor do I want to.
Why should I, who am happy here? My family live down at the farm, but
his Highness, your father, became interested in me. He brought me into
the chateau, had me educated, and looked after me, himself. Eventually
he made me steward of Rougemont. It is a great honor he conferred upon
me and I shall do my best to help you, my lord."
Of a sudden I saw what my father's life-work had been: to rear a court
to people Rougemont. My father had been twenty-five at my mother's
death. He had died at fifty-eight. He had had thirty-three years to make
his dream come true.
"Where are the parents of the ones who were born at Rougemont?"
"At their own places, or the farms, my lord. Rougemont has over a
thousand acres and several manors upon it, where people whom his
Highness your father advanced over others, live. They all serve their
ruler in some way, in return for what is given them. Only the people of
the lodge are in touch with the Outside, which we have been taught to
look upon with scorn. Here we have everything, and to be taken to the
chateau itself is the ambition of everyone on the estate."
I saw it all; not, of course, every intricacy of the elaborate system my
father had evolved, but at least a glimmer of the truth. And I marveled
at the character of a man who had taken children out of the world to
make his own world and then had the patience to wait for them to grow
up; to form his court--the court he planned for me. Yes, in my egotism I
thought it was for me! Two weeks were to pass before I learned what his
real reason had been.
Into my reflections, Wrexler broke abruptly, "She is not here. Ask de
Lacy about her; her beauty haunts me. Already I am in love with her."
I was not surprized. Nothing, I felt, could at this point surprize me,
so much had happened in the last few hours. If my father had arisen from
the floor like Hamlet's ghost, I would have greeted him quite casually.
"Is there a young girl here with bronze curls and blue eyes?" I asked
obediently.
A shadow crossed de Lacy's handsome face. For the first time he
hesitated. "There is no one here that answers that description. May I
ask why you----"
"My friend saw her on the stairway."
I caught a murmur from de Lacy's lips, "So soon!" it sounded like, but
before I could question further, he said aloud, "I have leave to depart
and join my lady?" And before I could answer, he bowed himself away to
take a seat at one of the tables below.
Wrexler looked over his wine goblet. "The man lied. I saw recognition of
the description in his eyes."
"We'll get the truth out of him later," I countered. "Isn't it fine to
actually eat chicken with your fingers, and not feel you are committing
a social error!"
* * * * *
We did not get any information out of de Lacy later. To Wrexler's
insistent questionings he was at first non-committal, and after a bit,
downright curt. I poured oil on the troubled waters by suggesting that
as it was late, we would wait until morning to see the library and the
left wing of the chateau.
With a smile of relief, de Lacy ushered us to our chambers. My retiring
was a kind of ceremony. It amused me, but I had a nagging little thought
in the back of my mind that all this etiquette would become boring after
a while.
As the last man bowed himself out of my room, de Lacy bent low. "My
lord, there are guards at your door. You have only to call if you
require anything."
I thanked him once more. Greatly to my embarrassment, he again kissed my
hand. "Your servant to the death!" he cried, and drew the curtains about
my high-canopied bed.
I knew that outside the red damask, two huge candles were burning, but
the curtain shut out their light and I was smothered in darkness. I made
a mental note that I must arrange somehow for air in my room. The French
idea of banishing night air did not coincide with my American habits.
Tonight I was too weary to get up and attend to it. My thoughts were
racing back and forth among the strange events of the day, but before I
could focus them into any kind of order, sleep descended upon me.
I had a strange dream. In it, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen
came and parted the red damask curtains. Framed against the dark oak
panels of my room, she stood looking down upon me. Her hair was red
gold, and her eyes had all the sapphire tints of the world stored in
their depths. Her pale, white face was oval in shape and balanced
perfectly upon a slender neck. Her lips were sweetly curved and her nose
delicately shaped. As she bent over me, I could see the rounded curve of
her bosom. One slim hand reached out and touched my cheek. It was like
the touch of a falling rose petal.
In my dream I lay asleep, yet I was conscious of this lovely creature. I
watched her through closed eyelids, and held my breath, hoping she would
kiss me. It seemed as though I had never desired anything so much.
A half-smile hovered on her lips, but her eyes told me nothing. She
leaned lower. A faint perfume pervaded my senses, and then I felt her
lips upon my forehead. A great cold swept over me at her touch--swept me
down, down into blackness, and I knew no more.
* * * * *
When I awoke, the sun was pouring through the opened curtains. I reached
for a cigarette--my first conscious thought upon awakening--and not
finding my case under the pillow, suddenly realized my new surroundings.
At the same time, I remembered my dream. "Wrexler and his talk of a
red-haired beauty is responsible for that," I thought as I clapped my
hands.
De Lacy came in so quickly I knew he must have been waiting outside the
door. He started when he saw the curtain of my bed had been opened. "Did
you not pull them?" I asked.
He shook his head. I said no more, and the ceremony of my arising began.
When I had bathed in a great sunken tub--fortunately Diana de Poictiers
had had her daily bath in the far-off time--I sought Wrexler.
Together we breakfasted, and then I announced to de Lacy that we wished
to inspect the rest of the chateau. He led us to the left wing, and took
us through suite after suite. Beautifully furnished, the chateau was a
veritable treasure house. An antiquarian would have gone mad with
delight.
I noticed that de Lacy had avoided two heavily built doors opposite the
ballroom. When we had returned from our tour, I stopped before them.
"And here?" I asked.
"The picture gallery, my lord," he responded unwillingly, and swung the
doors open. There was an unhappy expression on his face.
The room was long and narrow, and the walls except for the windows were
lined with portraits. We walked slowly down the length of the room,
looking at the portraits of a dead and gone race.
"The former owners of the chateau?" I asked. De Lacy nodded.
Suddenly I looked at the part of the room facing the door which he had
entered. At first we had been too far away to distinguish anything about
it except that there was only one large painting hanging in the center.
Now that I was nearer, I could see the painting, and I caught my breath
in astonishment; for there was the portrait of the lady of my dream,
smiling down on me.