The Wild Cry of Love Read online

  “You can trust me.”

  The groom was a young man who had been employed at The Château ever since he was a child.

  He was excellent with the horses and Valda knew he was devoted to her because she rode so well.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  They arrived back at The Château and she entered the house by the back door, as she had left it.

  When she appeared at breakfast, changed and wearing a pretty morning gown, her stepfather made no comment and Valda was aware he did not know that she had been riding.

  She therefore did not enlighten him, but merely talked about the plans for the day, finding with a sense of relief that he had an appointment in Arles and did not wish to go riding as was usual.

  “Unfortunately I shall not be back until after luncheon,” he said.

  “Must you go to the town on such a hot day?” Valda’s mother enquired. “I thought we were to be on holiday while we were here and you would not have so many meetings and official engagements as you have in Paris.”

  “This is the exception,” the Comte replied. “I have to see the Mayor about the disgraceful way in which the important buildings of the City are being allowed to fall into disrepair.”

  “I have been told they are a disgrace!” the Comtesse said in her soft voice.

  “That is a mild word for what is happening,” the Comte said. “There is a very early Romanesque Church falling into complete ruin since it was given to the Society for the Promotion of Athletic Sports.”

  “What a strange fate for a Church!” Valda exclaimed.

  “Another still earlier,” the Comte went on, “is used as a cabaret, and a lovely fourteenth century building where the Dominicans once worshipped is now a stable for the horses of the omnibuses that ply their trade between the railway station and the town.”

  “It really is disgraceful!” the Comtesse exclaimed.

  “That is what I think,” the Comte agreed. “And that is why I have told the Mayor that something must be done. It will mean spending money, but the generations who come after us will want to visit Arles and not find it just a heap of ruins!”

  “I am sure you are right, Beau-père!” Valda exclaimed. “There is so much history all around us in Provence and it would be a tragedy if it was all lost and forgotten.”

  She was thinking as she spoke how fine Arles must have been in the days of the Troubadours and earlier still in Roman times.

  Already there was nothing left of the Courts of Love, which had been situated at Les Baux and, if something was not done, Arles would soon become just another modern French town and its glorious history would be forgotten.

  When the Comte had left, driving in his smart cabriolet with a coachman and footman wearing the Merlimont livery, their buttons embellished with the family crest, Valda smiled at her mother and said,

  “What are you going to do today, Mama?”

  They had both stood on the steps of The Château to wave goodbye to the Comte and now they returned to the cool hall with its marble floor and fine statues set in alcoves round the walls.

  “I have rather a lot to do, darling,” the Comtesse replied. “Can you amuse yourself until luncheon time?”

  “Indeed I can, Mama,” Valda answered.

  She knew as she went upstairs to her bedroom that she had hoped to be free, so her mother’s occupation with household matters could not have been more opportune.

  She had taken the first step in her plan and now she had to take the next.

  *

  In the attics of The Château was stored a large number of objects that could not be accommodated in the rooms they used.

  The attics were large and lit from narrow windows beneath the dome crowning the main part of the centre building.

  Built over two hundred years ago, The Château was not only very beautiful to look at, but also contained treasures accumulated by the Comtes de Merlimont all down the centuries.

  Valda had learnt a great deal about French furniture besides French paintings and she knew that many of the things in The Château were not only beautiful but also priceless.

  The Comte was justifiably proud of them and, as each piece had a history, he had told Valda the stories of how they had come into the family, so that each one had a special place in her affections.

  In the attics were a large number of chairs and tables that needed repairing.

  These were kept there Valda knew, until the craftsmen who toured France visiting all the great châteaux to do repairs and renovations came as far South as Provence.

  ‘When they do arrive,’ she thought to herself, ‘they will have to stay for months to finish all there is to be done!’

  There were chairs with broken legs, carved and gilded angels who had lost a wing or an arm, inlaid chests that required new hinges, frames that had lost a corner or some other part of their elaborate decoration.

  But for the moment Valda was not concerned with any of these. What she was seeking was a huge wardrobe that had been set at the far end of one attic, occupying an entire wall.

  It had been built by local carpenters and was not a particularly beautiful piece of craftsmanship, but it was very useful.

  In it, she knew, were stored the costumes that were used for the plays in which they all took part at Christmas.

  It was traditional that Christmas at the Château de Merlimont was very much a family affair.

  As was usual with French families, the Comte housed at Christmas quite a number of relatives – aunts, cousins, nephews, besides his own son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren, who lived in one of his châteaux in another part of France.

  The Comte had been married when he was a very young man and his wife had died when his son was born. His son, Phillippe, now thirty-two, had very little in common with Valda.

  He too had married young and had five children with his rather insignificant wife who had, however, produced a large dowry in return for being allied with the distinguished de Merlimonts.

  At Christmas Phillippe and his family, together with all the other relatives well enough to travel, converged on the Château de Merlimont in Provence.

  It would have been a rather boring three weeks, Valda often thought, if it had not been for her cousin, Hugo.

  He always insisted that they should enact a play and that required so much hard work that the time passed quickly.

  The first production, which was performed before all those employed on the estate, was usually not only amusing to the audience but also great fun for the participants.

  The previous year cousin Hugo had insisted they perform Moliere’s Mariage Forcé.

  When it had first been performed in 1664, Louis XIV had appeared on stage dressed as a gypsy woman.

  This was not as odd as it might seem because in those days men always played female roles. However, the gypsy woman last Christmas had been Valda and she remembered that the costume she had worn had been put away with the other clothes in the attic.

  The key was fortunately in the door and, when she opened it, she could see a long array of theatrical costumes of every sort and description.

  There were the long-sleeved robes that the ladies had worn one year when they had enacted a play about the Courts of Love.

  Valda had loved the long thin Medieval pointed hats they had worn with their soft chiffon veils falling from them.

  There was the silver armour, which had graced the men and she remembered how Charles, one of her stepfather’s nephews had knelt at the feet of the famous Queen Joanna and said,

  “Give me your favour, gracious lady and I will be your Knight – I pledge myself to fight the powers of darkness and to destroy evil. Because of my reverence for Your Majesty, there is no mountain too high for me to scale, no river too wide for me to cross. And if God wills it, I am prepared to die to prove my love!”

  Spoken in Charles’ deep voice, it had given Valda a little thrill as she listened to him.

  ‘One day,’
she thought, ‘someone will love me enough to speak to me in such a way.’

  The history of Provence excited her. There were Knights and villains, murder, treason, chivalry and jousting.

  But above all else, love.

  Cardinal Richelieu had ordered the destruction of the great fortress of Les Baux because it was too strong and too powerful. It took a month to destroy even with the use of gunpowder.

  But, when Valda stood among its ruins and looked at the great grey cliffs, the silver ribbon of the Rhône and the distinct blue haze of the Mediterranean, she knew its spirit had not died.

  The splendour, chivalry, the beauty and love still lived in the heart of Provence.

  ‘And in mine!’ she told herself.

  In the wardrobe there were also the doublets and hose in which the actresses had dressed themselves for a play that had had as its heroine the beautiful Diane de Poitiers.

  Her mother had played that part and she had looked so beautiful with her fair hair and blue eyes that the Comte had declared in Valda’s hearing that he had fallen in love with her all over again!

  On the floor of the wardrobe was the little Basque drum that, as the gypsy woman, Valda had carried in Mariage Forcé.

  It was what most people called a tambourine and had little bells that had accompanied her when she had danced on the stage. Her steps were so graceful that the audience had applauded loudly and she had been forced to give an encore.

  She was, however, at the moment not interested in the drum.

  She was looking for the costume she had worn and she found it hung up between the robe of a Cardinal and an elaborate creation that looked as though it might have been intended for Cleopatra.

  It was almost identical to the clothes the gypsy women had been wearing this morning when she had visited the camp.

  There was a red skirt over a large number of petticoats, a pretty embroidered blouse, low-necked and short-sleeved and a black velvet bodice that was laced down the front.

  Valda took them down and put them over her arm, then began searching for the red leather slippers with their silver buckles she had worn with them.

  She found them and beside them neatly folded was the red handkerchief that had covered her hair, together with a pair of large circular golden earrings and a number of gold bracelets.

  She picked them up, shut the wardrobe doors and, coming down from the attics, looked anxiously up and down the corridor in case she should encounter her mother or the housekeeper.

  There was, however, no one about and she gained her own room in safety.

  She put the clothes in the bottom drawer of the painted chest, locked it and took away the key.

  It was not likely that one of the maids would investigate its contents, for as a rule there was little or nothing in it, but she did not wish to take any chances.

  Now she had a dress to wear, which would not make her conspicuous when she joined the gypsies, but she might wish to return home alone, in which case she would require some of her ordinary clothes with her as well.

  The difficulty was how to convey them from The Château to the camp.

  She had no intention of asking anyone to carry them because that would be to reveal immediately, when her stepfather and mother began to look for her, where she had gone.

  It would be quite easy for the Comte driving his fast horses to catch up with the gypsies, who would move slowly.

  Valda was determined that she would not return home until she had proved very conclusively that she was capable of looking after herself and therefore capable of making up her own mind when it came to marriage.

  ‘To be discovered too soon would defeat my whole object in leaving,’ she whispered to herself.

  The trunks, valises and bags were kept in a special room on the second floor, but Valda knew it would be impossible for her to take with her a trunk or even a valise, as they were all made of leather.

  She then remembered that the housemaids had large brown linen bags in which they put the various items of linen before they were sent downstairs to the laundry-maid to be washed.

  One bag contained handkerchiefs, another ladies’ underwear and a third was kept exclusively for gentlemen’s garments.

  The brown bags, which were the size of a small sack, were just what she needed, Valda thought.

  She took one from the housemaids’ cupboard, hid it on a top shelf where it would not be noticed and decided it would be quite easy after everyone had gone to bed to pack it with the things she required.

  There remained one other important item and that was money.

  She only had a few hundred francs of her own and she was well aware that it would be very stupid to set off on such an expedition without being able to pay her way.

  If things became too difficult, she could either hire a carriage and drive home or take the train to Arles.

  Either way she could not expect to be conveyed on credit and there was also the two hundred francs she had promised the gypsies and the fifty francs to pay for her board and lodging every day she was with them.

  When she reached Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, she might wish to stay in a hotel. Anyway, there would be various expenses – that was inevitable – and she reckoned she would need at least fifteen hundred francs to feel safe and under no pressure to return home until she was ready to do so.

  This was a problem that required a great deal of thought.

  To ask for money when she obviously had nothing in particular to spend it on would be to arouse suspicion.

  As it happened, Valda seldom paid cash for anything.

  In Paris her mother or stepfather had accounts at all the most important shops and if she went anywhere there was always someone to accompany her and pay the expenses.

  She walked through The Château looking at the wealth of treasures in every room and thought with a little smile to herself that it was not a question of, ‘water, water everywhere nor any drop to drink’, but ‘money, money everywhere nor any sou to spend’!

  It was a problem that exercised her mind through most of the day.

  She had luncheon with her mother and, while Valda chatted away as she usually did about things of mutual interest, one small part of her mind was busy with one question only – where could she obtain the money?

  She was quite certain of one thing, that her mother, even if she asked her, would have very little money with her.

  The Comte took care of all the expenses of The Château and, although the Comtesse’s fortune, which she had inherited on her husband’s death, was undoubtedly used in one way or another, her husband had Power of Attorney and she did not even have to sign the cheques.

  It was when she was growing almost desperate that Valda remembered the Estate Office that was situated at one end of The Château and presided over by Monsieur Fèvre who managed the estate for the Comte and was in fact both agent and manager.

  When her mother had gone to rest before dinner, Valda walked quickly through the long passages on the ground floor to reach the Estate Office.

  It was a square room with walls covered in maps, furnished with a very large desk at which sat a middle-aged man, who lived some two miles away in an attractive farmhouse, which had been converted for him and his family.

  He looked up in surprise as Valda appeared.

  “This is a pleasant surprise, Mademoiselle Valda!” he exclaimed. “And you have only just caught me. I was locking up.”

  “I thought you might be,” Valda replied, “but I wanted to see you, and Mama and I have been so busy all the afternoon.”

  “But of course – I am at your disposal,” Monsieur Fèvre said. “Will you not sit down?”

  He indicated a seat on the other side of the desk.

  “I feel rather like a prospective tenant,” Valda said with a smile, “or perhaps one to whom you are giving a ticking off because his roof needs repair or his crops have failed.”

  “I hope I don’t appear to be an ogre,” Monsieur Fèvre smiled. �
�Most of our tenants are, I believe, quite contented people.”

  “And they pay their rents?”

  “They do indeed!”

  He glanced instinctively as he spoke at the safe that stood on the floor behind his desk.

  “Are you not afraid if you keep the money here that someone will steal it?” Valda asked.

  “I think that unlikely,” Monsieur Fèvre replied. “As you know, there are three nightwatchmen in The Château. The one on this floor visits the office several times during the night.”

  He looked at the windows.

  “The shutters are closed when I leave and bolted and I also lock the door of the office.”

  “Do you take the keys home with you?” Valda asked.

  “I used to,” Monsieur Fèvre replied, “but the agent of another Estate was robbed on his way home and the thieves entered the office of Monsieur de Touriet and stole everything they could find.”

  Valda laughed.

  “They must have planned it very carefully and known when he was leaving.”

  “Exactly!” Monsieur Fèvre agreed. “And that is why your stepfather and I decided the keys should be kept here.”

  “I think you are very wise,” Valda said. “Where do you keep them?”

  “When Monsieur le Comte is in residence, I take him both the key of the safe and the key of the office,” Monsieur Fèvre replied. “When you are all in Paris, they are left with the Major Domo. As you know, he has been in the service of the de Merlimonts since he was a boy, like his father and his grandfather before him.”

  “I see you have thought of everything, Monsieur Fèvre,” Valda exclaimed. “But I think it is rather frightening to think there are thieves and robbers only waiting for a chance to carry away our precious possessions!” She gave a little sigh as she added,

  “I was only considering today how many treasures we have in this house.”

  “That is true, Mademoiselle Valda,” Monsieur Fèvre agreed.

  “Not only from a commercial point of view, but from the point of history,” Valda said quickly. “They are all so much a part of the family that to lose them would be an inexpressible tragedy.”