Temptation of a Teacher Read online

  “I am aware of that,” the Duc responded, “but you certainly last night seemed to have made yourself very much at home in my Château!”

  There was a note of accusation in his voice that Arletta could not ignore.

  “I don’t think that is quite the right term, monsieur,” she answered. “I was not ‘making myself at home’ in your beautiful ballroom, but stepping back into the past and imagining the room in the Château – as it must have been in the reign of Louis XIV.”

  She tried to sound brave, but there was a tremor in her voice and, although she was not aware of it, her eyes were apprehensive.

  The Duc walked a few paces to stand in front of the impressive marble mantelpiece.

  As he turned round, he said abruptly,

  “You can sit down, Miss Turner.”

  “Thank you.”

  Arletta seated herself on the nearest chair, realising as she did so that its upholstery was a beautiful example of eighteenth century petit point.

  She felt weak at the knees, but she had no intention of letting the Duc know that he was intimidating her, as she was certain that any other young woman in her position would have felt at this moment.

  There was silence until he asked,

  “Now, Miss Turner, I am waiting for an explanation as to why the history of the Château and my ancestors should carry you away into realms of fantasy that are unusual for a prosaic Englishwoman.”

  Arletta heard the note of sarcasm in his voice that seemed to cut like the sharp edge of a knife or as if he was mentally whipping her for her behaviour.

  “Even the English, monsieur,” she replied, “can use their imaginations. I find your Château incredibly beautiful and at the same time very exciting.”

  “You are not frightened by it or by its inhabitants?” the Duc then enquired.

  “To the first part of your question, monsieur, the answer is ‘no’. To the second I am not yet sure.”

  Arletta had the idea that at her reply the corners of the Duc’s hard mouth twitched a little, as if he was faintly amused.

  Then he said,

  “Lady Langley, mademoiselle, gave you a most fulsome reference as regards both your character and your behaviour. Do you think that is consistent with the way I found you behaving last night?”

  “I have already apologised, monsieur,” Arletta insisted coldly, “for I had no idea since it was so late that in that deserted part of the Château I would be seen by anybody.”

  The Duc did not speak and after a moment she added,

  “I came down from the tower to collect a book from the library. I only intended to savour the – atmosphere of the ballroom and play the piano. My dance was entirely unpremeditated – it just happened!”

  “Are you given to having strange things just happen to you, Miss Turner,” the Duc asked, “so that, as you have admitted yourself, you are swept away by your imagination? Surely a somewhat precarious pastime for a Governess.”

  The way he spoke the last words made Arletta certain that he was sneering at her and she replied,

  “I cannot believe, monsieur, that it is not in many ways a good attribute for a Governess – to have imagination. After all she needs it in order to create by her words a mental picture for her pupils.”

  “And that is what you do?”

  “I try,” Arletta replied, “and children respond because they themselves, if they are normal, always have – vivid imaginations that far too often atrophy or are bullied out of them as they grow older.”

  She spoke positively, thinking that the Duc was using imagination as a weapon to make David and Pauline frightened of what they would find in England or might suffer from the English.

  “I understand what you are saying, mademoiselle,” he remarked, “and I have a feeling that you are at the same time criticising me.”

  He was more perceptive than Arletta had anticipated and she answered,

  “I would not presume, monsieur, to do anything of the sort. But I am sure that you are already aware that David is a very imaginative little boy and very perceptive. Perhaps it comes from living here in this Château or perhaps it is merely because being an orphan he has no one he can turn to – and has already learnt to rely on himself.”

  As she spoke, she knew that she had succeeded in surprising the Duc and so she went on,

  “Imagination for all of us can be very wonderful and something that leads, inspires and guides us. It can also be dangerous, frightening and in many cases restricting.”

  The Duc stared at her.

  And then he said,

  “Again I think, Miss Turner, that you are speaking directly to me and that your words have a double entendre.”

  “If you think that, monsieur, I can only apologise once again. I am concerned only with David and with any reaction he might have to anything I teach him or to – anything he – hears.”

  She wondered as she spoke whether she had gone too far.

  She suddenly had the frightening feeling that the Duc might consider it an impertinence and make it an excuse to be rid of her.

  Instead he said,

  “I find it hard to believe, Miss Turner, seeing how young you look, that you have had a great experience of teaching. And yet you talk as if you have studied psychology for many years and concerned yourself with matters that are certainly not part of the usual teacher’s curriculum.”

  “I am honoured, monsieur, that you should think so.”

  There was silence and she felt that the Duc was waiting for her to say more.

  Then, realising that the conversation had somehow come to an abrupt end, he said,

  “I feel, Miss Turner, having spoken to you, that I can leave David’s education in English in your hands. But may I suggest that, when he goes to school in your country, he will need plenty of practical common sense rather than airy-fairy fantasies that cannot in any way be substantiated.”

  “There I agree with you, monsieur, and may I say that I feel it important for David and Pauline for that matter to have the companionship of children of their own age.”

  “Why?”

  The question was sharp.

  “Because, monsieur, it is unnatural for children to be brought up only with grown-ups to talk to. It makes them old beyond their years and it certainly gives rise to those fantasies – that you speak about so scathingly.”

  She thought that the Duc’s eyes flashed at the way that she had answered him, but he replied, drawling the words a little as if to make them more impressive,

  “French children are content to be with their families.”

  “Of course, I am aware of that, monsieur, but their families are usually larger than just David and Pauline in the Château.”

  As she finished speaking, she wondered what the Duc would say and she added,

  “If you had children, David would have had a number of cousins to play with and the same might apply to Comte Jacques.”

  As if the Duc had nothing more to say, he commented abruptly,

  “I must not keep you any longer from David and his lessons, Miss Turner. I am only hoping that he will profit by them.”

  Arletta rose to her feet.

  “That is what I am hoping too, monsieur. I am very eager that he should look forward to going to Eton and that he will be happy there as his father was.”

  She thought that she saw an expression of scorn on the Duc’s face and went on,

  “For most boys, Eton with its games, its excellent education and its comradeship is a great experience that lays a foundation for them in later life that they never forget.”

  She paused and then said positively,

  “I am convinced that David will not only find Eton very enjoyable but he will find there the companionship he needs urgently – even though he is not yet aware of it.”

  She did not wait for the Duc to reply but merely curtseyed and walked towards the door.

  As she reached it, he called out,

  “Inform David that h
e can ride with me after luncheon.”

  “I will tell him, monsieur.”

  Arletta went from the room and, when she was outside and the door was closed behind her, she drew a deep breath.

  After duelling with the Duc in words, knowing that in a way it was a confrontation between them, she felt as if it was hard to breathe.

  She had expected that it would be difficult to talk to him, but the words had seemed to come to her lips as if somebody else had put them there.

  Now she had the feeling that she had surprised the Duc and had a great deal to think about.

  ‘Why was I not brave enough to ask him to stop poisoning a small boy’s mind not only against Eton but against his own country?’ she asked herself.

  Then she comforted herself that she had not done badly for a first encounter and, what was more, as the Duc had not sacked her, there was likely to be another opportunity.

  As she reached the schoolroom, David gave a cry of delight and jumped up from the table of soldiers where he had been sitting.

  “You are all right?” he asked. “Uncle Etienne was not disagreeable to you?”

  “No, I am all right,” Arletta replied. “And now let’s continue with your lesson. You should have written the essay I set you yesterday instead of playing with your soldiers.”

  “I was too worried in case Uncle Etienne sent you away.”

  “Why should you think – he would do so?”

  “Because you are English and because, when he came back last night, you were playing the piano in the ballroom.”

  “How do you know that?” Arletta gasped.

  “I heard Uncle Etienne’s valet, who came back with him, telling one of the servants that, as they walked up to his bedroom, they heard music and Uncle Etienne went to see where it came from. Were you not frightened being in that part of the Château in the middle of the night?”

  “It was not quite the middle of the night for you had only just gone to bed,” Arletta pointed out. “As I told you before, David, I am not frightened of ghosts, which I think are just tales to frighten the foolish and, as I did not know that your uncle was returning, I did not expect anybody to hear me – playing the piano.”

  “If you had asked me, I would have come with you,” he said boastfully.

  “That is very sweet of you, David, but I was just thinking how beautiful the ballroom was and I wanted to hear the music of a Strauss waltz being played in it.”

  She tried to make light of what had happened, being certain that as soon as she had been discovered, the story had run through the Château like wildfire.

  “I think you are very brave,” David smiled, “and I am quite certain that none of the servants would have dared to go to the ballroom alone.”

  He paused and then he added eagerly,

  “How did you light the candles on the chandelier?”

  “I will tell you all about it later,” she stipulated firmly.

  Arletta told herself that she was right. The story of her behaviour was being gossiped about from the Duchesse down to the lowest scullier.

  “Now we have to do our lessons.”

  “Uncle Etienne did not tell you that we were to stop them?”

  “No, of course not,” Arletta answered. “He knew that I was coming here to teach you and I think, David, you are making your uncle into a monster, a dragon or an ogre, whichever you like, just because you have nothing else to talk about.”

  “People talk about him because they are frightened of him and everybody says that he killed his wife!”

  “If that is true, he would have – been guillotined!” Arletta answered sharply.

  “Somebody pushed her over the battlements,” David said in a low voice, “and there was no one else there except for Uncle Etienne. Everybody says that they hated each other and quarrelled all the time.”

  Arletta slapped her hand down on the table.

  “I am not going to listen to all this gossip. It is horrid, it is wrong for you and quite frankly I don’t believe a word of it!”

  David shrugged his shoulders.

  “You may not believe it yourself, but everybody in the Château does and then, when the Comtesse died just when she was expecting to marry Uncle Etienne, everybody said he killed her because he no longer wanted her to be his wife.”

  Arletta sighed.

  “If you are going to go on talking such nonsense, David, and saying such wicked things, which I am sure are lies, I am just going to talk French to you and refuse to teach you any more English.”

  “That is unfair,” David objected at once.

  “It is you who is being unfair,” Arletta retorted. “In England a man is innocent until he is proven guilty. It may be different in France, but all I can say is that in any civilised country, if your uncle had done the wicked things that you are accusing him of, he would have been brought before a Judge and Jury and hanged or guillotined.”

  “He got away with it because he was so clever!” David persisted.

  “If he did – good luck to him!” Arletta said. “Personally I think the whole thing is a lot of rubbish made up by gossiping women who have nothing better to think about.”

  She spoke angrily because she thought that it was so bad for the small boy to believe such terrible things about one of his relations and to relate them to her almost with glee.

  Then, feeling that she was perhaps taking the wrong tack, she said,

  “Listen to me, David, this must have all happened a long time ago and I think, because you are very intelligent, you ought to refuse to believe what people are saying about your uncle unless they can prove to you positively without any question of doubt that he is a murderer.”

  David was intrigued, as she had expected he would be.

  “How could they do that?”

  “I don’t know, but, as I have said, in England a man is innocent until he is proved guilty. When in future people say things about your uncle like that, I suggest you say, ‘prove it, prove it, then I will believe you’. That is the only just and the right way for a gentleman to behave and it is the sporting way as well.”

  “You are right,” David murmured after a moment. “Perhaps it’s a mistake to believe that it was Uncle Etienne who pushed Aunt Theresa over the battlements. Nobody knows if she cried out for help or if she threw herself over.”

  “Now that is a very sensible attitude,” Arletta approved.

  “The Comtesse,” David went on, “who was very beautiful, died of poison through taking too much laudanum. They say that Uncle Etienne gave it to her in her coffee.”

  “She might have put it in herself,” Arletta suggested. “They say that she did not want to die and they say that she really wanted to marry him. They say! They say! They will say – anything to make a good story. Again, David, you are not to believe such wicked things unless you can really prove them. Find somebody who actually saw your uncle putting the laudanum into the coffee or who can prove that he bought it especially to do something so wrong.”

  “I see what you mean,” David said slowly after a moment. “A man would not buy laudanum, would he?”

  “Laudanum is a drug that some silly women take because they cannot sleep. But I never heard of a man taking it, unless he was wounded and a doctor gave it to him. When my father was in terrible pain, the doctor said that he could have some, but he waved him away and said it was only women who made themselves insensible.”

  As she spoke, Arletta remembered that she had often wished that her father was not so brave and would allow himself to be doped.

  At least it would have given her a little respite from his fault-finding, his swearing and his continual complaining.

  She thought that David was puzzling over what she had said and after a moment she proposed,

  “Now, shall we forget your uncle and things that happened years ago and try to get on with the future? Every minute that we waste talking about your uncle is a minute off your efficiency when you yourself go to Eton.”
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  David sat himself down at the table and pulled a book towards him.

  “Shall I go on translating what we were reading yesterday?” he asked.

  “I am listening,” Arletta smiled.

  When they went to luncheon, she was glad to see that Comte Jacques was there because she thought that he would divert the Duc’s attention from herself and the children.

  She was right in that Comte Jacques immediately began to talk to the Duc about the estate, his horses and later the current political situation in Paris.

  But she was well aware that while he did so he kept looking at her and she felt anxious in case the Duc might notice it.

  She could imagine nothing more uncomfortable than that he should think that she had been encouraging the Comte to pay her compliments.

  She had not forgotten that the Duchesse had said how Comte Jacques wished to be rid of her.

  Rather than annoy the Duc unnecessarily, she spoke to the children in French, at the same time saying as little as possible so as not to appear to be pushing herself forward.

  ‘If I say nothing, I expect he will think I am dull,’ she reflected and decided that a Governess’s position was a very precarious one when it was not possible to please everybody, least of all one’s employer.

  *

  When luncheon, which had been a delicious meal, was ended, the Duc and David went riding together.

  There was a little pang in her heart as Arletta watched them go, wondering if her riding here had come to an end.

  Perhaps the Duc would forbid her to ride or else himself always accompany David, which would mean that there would be no reason for her also to be mounted on one of his magnificent horses.

  At the same time she was acutely conscious of him sitting like a King at the end of the table.

  He was majestic, but he also had such a strong personality do that she felt she had to look at him and listen to him.

  ‘I hate him!’ she told herself, but knew that it was not true.

  She was intrigued and fascinated by the strangest and most amazing man she had ever met.

  Having seen them off, she started to walk rather disconsolately back to the schoolroom and in a way was not surprised when she reached it to find that the Comte waiting for her.