Temptation of a Teacher Read online

  Arletta found herself thinking of dark dungeons where prisoners were incarcerated in damp darkness until they died and, as they drew nearer, she had the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were watching her from the narrow windows.

  Then, as the carriage that had met her at the Station crossed a bridge and passed the Château, she realised that they were approaching it from the East side and were now moving up a narrow roadway with cottages on either side of it.

  Almost at the top was a very ancient Church, which Arletta felt certain was twelfth century like the Château.

  Then there was a double gate in the centre of the great wall that led into the Château itself.

  She drew in her breath as they drove into a great courtyard at the far end of which there was the impressive entrance to the Château up a large number of steps with an arched doorway, romantically carved and yet rather severe and again somewhat foreboding.

  The carriage, which was drawn by four horses, came to a standstill and a footman wearing an elaborate claret-coloured livery trimmed with gold braid ran down the steps to open the door.

  Arletta stepped out and she thought that he looked at her in surprise.

  Then at the top of the stairs there was an even more imposing figure, who she guessed was the Major Domo.

  “You are Mademoiselle Turner?” he asked her in French.

  “Yes, that is right.”

  “Please come this way, m’mselle.”

  He led her through what she felt was an extremely impressive Medieval hall with a huge open fireplace that could easily burn a whole tree in the winter.

  There were ancient flags hanging on either side of it, but she had only a quick glimpse before the Major Domo escorted her down a long passage.

  She wondered where she was being taken until he opened the door of what she guessed immediately was the office of the secretary, saying as he did so,

  “Mademoiselle Turner has arrived, monsieur.”

  A middle-aged man with greying hair rose slowly from behind a desk and Arletta knew that this would be Monsieur Byien, who had written to Jane and given her all the necessary instructions for the journey.

  He held out his hand and then, as he looked at Arletta, the smile on his lips seemed suddenly frozen and he stared at her in astonishment.

  “You are Mademoiselle Turner?”

  It was a question.

  “I must thank you, monsieur,” Arletta replied to him in her perfect French, “for the excellent directions you gave me for my journey. The ferry was a little late arriving at Bordeaux and I was afraid that I might miss the connecting train, but, as you see, I am here!”

  “Will you sit down, mademoiselle?”

  Monsieur Byien indicated a chair in front of the desk and Arletta sat down, wondering if perhaps she should have worn spectacles to make herself look older and academic.

  She had actually considered it and then thought that it seemed a theatrical gesture that she might regret.

  Also she was quite certain that sooner or later she would forget the spectacles and everybody would be aware that she could see without them.

  Instead she had arranged her hair in a very plain and what she hoped was an unattractive way and wore a bonnet that had belonged to her mother and was far too old for her.

  Her efforts had obviously not been very effective as Monsieur Byien then remarked,

  “I understood from Lady Langley, mademoiselle, that you are very much older than you look.”

  “I have always been told, monsieur, that it is rude for a gentleman to discuss a lady’s age and, if I look young, which I take as a compliment, it is something that I assure you will be remedied by time.”

  Monsieur Byien smiled and it swept what Arletta realised now was a look of anxiety from his lined face.

  “That is indisputable, mademoiselle,” he said. “But you must forgive me when I say that I was not expecting an English Governess to look like you.”

  “Let me reassure you, monsieur,” Arletta responded, “that I am a very good Teacher of English, which I understand is why I am wanted here. I cannot believe that my looks, one way or another, will affect my proficiency in my own language.”

  “English may be your own language, mademoiselle,” Monsieur Byien remarked, “but I must compliment you on your French.”

  “Thank you,” Arletta nodded, “and, if you think my French is good, I assure you that my English is very much better!”

  “Then, as you say, that is all that matters,” Monsieur Byien smiled.

  But again he looked worried and Arletta was aware that there was something about her appearance that he did not mention, but was certainly, from his point of view, a distinct disadvantage.

  He rose to his feet.

  “I am sure, mademoiselle, that you would like to see your rooms and meet your charges and I feel sure that they are looking forward to meeting you.”

  He led Arletta from his office for what seemed a long walk along the ground floor of the Château.

  It certainly was palatial, the furniture naturally being of a much later date than the Château itself.

  There was, because the windows were so small, little light and Arletta had the idea that in the winter and when it was dark the shadows would be oppressive and rather frightening.

  They climbed a staircase, which was obviously not the main one of the Château, to the next floor and, as they entered the room at the top of it, Arletta realised that they were in one of the round towers.

  The room was a sitting room or rather, she guessed, the schoolroom and there were two children in it.

  On a table the boy was arranging a number of toy soldiers that were skilfully made of wood and painted,

  The small girl was watching him, holding a doll in her arms as she did so.

  They both looked up as Monsieur Byien entered and their eyes went from him straight to Arletta.

  “Mademoiselle Turner has arrived,” he told them in French, “and I know you have been looking forward to meeting her.”

  He walked to the table saying,

  “This, mademoiselle, is David, who as you see has a fine collection of soldiers, and this is Pauline.”

  Arletta held out her hand.

  “I am delighted to meet you, David,” she began, “and I hope you will show me all your soldiers. My father had a collection of them that he was very proud of.”

  She was just about to say that, when they were set out, they depicted the Battle of Waterloo, but then she thought that it would be somewhat tactless in a French household and turned instead towards Pauline.

  The little girl had curly chestnut hair falling on either side of a very sweet pretty face that seemed filled with two large eyes.

  “Do we have to do lots and lots of lessons, mademoiselle?” she asked.

  “I hope not,” Arletta replied to her, “but I certainly want you to tell me all about this magnificent Château and, since I want to learn all about it, that will be a lesson for me.”

  The two children looked at her in surprise and then Monsieur Byien said,

  “Your rooms, mademoiselle, like the children’s, are on the floor above and when you are ready I am sure that Pauline will show you the way upstairs.”

  “Thank you,” Arletta smiled.

  He looked at her again, she thought, with a worried expression on his face before he went from the schoolroom closing the door behind him.

  Arletta slipped off her travelling cape, which had made her feel rather hot for the last part of the journey, untied the ribbons on her bonnet and put them down on a chair by the door.

  Then she turned to the children,

  “I expect you know that I have come here to teach you English, but you must tell me how it would be best for me to do so, because you, David, have to learn the language very quickly.”

  David looked down at the soldiers that he was holding in his hand and said,

  “I want to learn English and then I can go to England and never come back here again!�
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  He spoke violently and then looked over his shoulder towards the door as if afraid that he had been overheard.

  Arletta was surprised.

  And then she enquired,

  “Are you saying that you do not like living here at the Château?”

  David was silent for a moment and then, as if he saw no reason why he should tell the truth, he exclaimed,

  “I hate it! I am English, I am not French! They are our enemies!”

  As he spoke, he gave another quick look over his shoulder and Arletta said,

  “They are not our enemies now. England is friendly with France, but, of course, you are English. Have you ever been to England?”

  David shook his head.

  “No, but mon père used to talk about England and he told me that one day I would live there, but Uncle Etienne wants me to stay here.”

  He lowered his voice before he went on,

  “He is hoping that I shall be sent away from Eton as soon as I get there. But, if I cannot stay there, I shall run away and hide somewhere in England so that I shall not have to come back to France.”

  The way he spoke told Arletta that there was a distinct problem here that she had not expected.

  Then, when she was wondering what she should say next, the door opened and a servant appeared carrying a tray.

  “The chef’s compliments, m’mselle and he has ordered you English tea. We don’t have such a thing in the Château, but he said bein’ English you would expect it. But we do have a little China tea.”

  “Thank you very much,” Arletta replied. “After a long journey a cup of tea is what I would really enjoy.”

  The servant put the tray down on a table and she saw that it contained a pot of tea, a cup and two plates, one full of sandwiches, the other with little patisseries filled with cream that only the French could make so skilfully.

  As soon as the servant had left the room, both the children ran towards the table to stare at the tea with curiosity.

  “I remember my father having tea like this,” David said, “but we are not allowed tea here. We have to be French and drink coffee or wine.”

  “I expect you would like to share my tea with me,” Arletta suggested. “Suppose you both start with a sandwich?”

  The children ate most of the sandwiches and enjoyed the patisseries as well.

  Pauline said very little until, licking the cream from her fingers, she asked Arletta,

  “When David goes to school in England, may I come and live with you?”

  “When David comes to England, you will live with your aunt,” Arletta answered. “I feel sure that she would like to have you.”

  “Uncle Etienne hates her!” Pauline replied. “So if I am to live in England, I will have to hide somewhere where he will never find me!”

  Arletta could not say that this was untrue and she therefore said after a long pause,

  “You will have to tell me why your uncle hates England so much.”

  “He hates everybody and everything,” David piped up, “but we are too frightened of him to say so.”

  “It would be very rude if you did, as you are living in his house,” Arletta remarked.

  “He hates us too!” David said in a low conspiratorial voice. “But rather than let us go, Uncle Etienne will shut us up in the dungeons!”

  The way he spoke made Arletta laugh.

  “I am sure that is not right. Nobody is shut up in dungeons these days.”

  “Uncle Etienne would use them if he could,” David insisted. “I will show them to you and you will see the bones of the prisoners who died there.”

  Arletta shuddered.

  “I have no wish to do that. Now suppose you both show me my bedroom and where you sleep?”

  There was a twisting stone staircase on one side of the tower only just wide enough, Arletta thought, for the servants to carry her trunks up to her room.

  As she reached it, she felt very high up in the air and isolated almost from the world.

  The children had two rooms, each occupying half of the floor above the schoolroom and she was on the floor above them.

  Her bedroom had windows on each side, which gave her a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside and the room itself had a very high ceiling with ancient beams that were carved and the space between them was painted red.

  The carpet was the same colour and so were the short curtains over the windows.

  Above her bed there was a strange Heraldic design and David explained it to her,

  “This was the room used by one of Uncle Etienne’s ancestors who fought against the English and killed twenty men before he himself was struck down.”

  There was a little pause before he added almost as if he felt as if he should not do so,

  “The servants say he haunts the whole tower, but actually the Château is full of ghosts!”

  “Is it really?” Arletta asked him. “Have you ever seen one yourself?”

  “I have!” Pauline chimed in. “I have seen lots and lots of ghosts and, although the servants run away and scream, I am very brave. I just say a little prayer, like Mama taught me to do, and they disappear.”

  “I expect that they were only shadows,” David said scornfully. “The real ghosts in the Château are not what you see but what you hear, prisoners groaning, the wounded crying out in pain and the shrieks of those who are being stabbed to death!”

  He spoke so dramatically that Arletta gave a cry.

  “You are not to frighten me. And I am sure if you talk like that you will frighten your sister.”

  David shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that was typically French.

  “We have to put up with it, whatever we feel,” he moaned. “If you want the truth, mademoiselle, I don’t believe we will ever escape and be able to get to England.”

  “That is nonsense,” Arletta responded to this quickly. “In a year’s time you are going to Eton, which as you know, is the best school in England and that is why your uncle has been persuaded by your aunt, Lady Langley, to allow me to come here to teach you English.”

  She paused to add impressively,

  “But you will have to work hard, because you would hate being the only boy in the school unable to speak to all the others. So the sooner we start the better.”

  “I want to learn,” David insisted, “not because I am going to Eton, because I am quite certain that Uncle Etienne will stop me from doing that, but so that I can escape. I have – ”

  He had started to say something and then he stopped as if he thought that it would be indiscreet to tell her his secrets and walked away abruptly to gaze through the window.

  Arletta looked round and saw that the servants had brought up her trunks and opened them for her and, while she was wondering if she should unpack and perhaps ask the children to help her, a maidservant in a mobcap came into the room and bobbed a small curtsey.

  “The housekeeper says I’m to unpack for you, m’mselle.”

  “That would be very kind,” Arletta replied. “I hope there will be room for all my clothes.”

  “I’ll find room,” the maidservant replied confidently.

  Arletta looked at the watch that had belonged to her mother and which was pinned on her blouse.

  “It’s nearly six o’clock,” she said to the children. “You must tell me what you do and at what time you go to bed.”

  “We have dinner downstairs in the dining room at seven o’clock,” David answered.

  “In the dining room?” Arletta repeated in surprise.

  “Uncle Etienne said French families eat together and children eat at the same time as their parents. It is only the English who send their children to bed because they don’t like the sight of them!”

  “That is not true,” Arletta asserted rapidly. “English children are sent to bed early because being young they need more sleep than grown-ups.”

  “Uncle Etienne says only the French behave with affection to all their relations from g
randparents down to the youngest child. But English children are shut away in the nursery or in the schoolroom until they are grown up because their parents and everybody else think they are bores.”

  There was some truth in this Arletta had to admit, but she thought that it was extremely unfair of the Duc to use it as a weapon to try to put his nephew and niece against their father’s people.

  Aloud she said,

  “I have plenty of arguments in defence of the English, but I think, as I am rather tired, that I would like to wash now and change my gown and I will join you later. Then you can show me where we have dinner.”

  “Very well,” David agreed. “We will say au revoir, mademoiselle.”

  He bowed to her in what Arletta knew was a very French fashion and Pauline dropped her a little curtsey.

  Then the two children went from the room and she turned to the housemaid,

  “Will you show me where I can wash? And I would like, if possible, to have a bath.”

  “A bath, m’mselle?” the housemaid exclaimed. ‘That’s very English! But if you want one, I’ll order it to be brought upstairs.”

  Arletta did not protest as she had a feeling that any ordinary Governess might have done.

  Laboriously first a hip bath was brought to her bedroom and then a manservant carried up several cans of hot water which were brought into the room by the maid.

  There was, she discovered, behind a curtain at one side of her room a basin but no bath.

  She thought that the Duc would be extremely annoyed if he knew how often she was going to ask for a bath to be brought upstairs unless he expressly forbade it.

  But she could not believe that in such a huge Château he could really be aware of everything that happened.

  And yet quite obviously from the way the children spoke he overshadowed their lives and, she was quite certain, everybody else’s, including Monsieur Byien’s.

  It was all rather fascinating and while she soaked away what she thought of as ‘travel stains’ in the hip bath, she found herself vastly intrigued by everything that she had seen so far.

  But she was well aware that she was going to have a difficult time erasing from the children’s minds everything that the Duc had deliberately implanted in their thoughts against their father’s country.