It might be fate working in a mysterious way. “
My eyes were shining. I could scarcely bear to look at him.
“Yes,” I said.
“We are going.”
A mood of wild excitement and exultation took possession of me. I had never felt so jubilant before in all my life. I knew I could paint a miniature to compare with the greatest artists. My senses tingled and my whole being yearned to begin.
Then I was ashamed of my happiness because it came to me through my father’s misfortune.
He understood. I heard him laugh softly, tenderly.
“Don’t deny your art, Kate,” he said.
“You are an artist first of all.
If you weren’t you would not be a great artist. This could be your chance. Strike a blow for Art and Womanhood at the same time. Listen to me. I am going to accept this commission. We are going together to this chateau in Normandy. You are going to paint as you never did before. I can see it all so clearly. “
“There will have to be sittings .. and the sitter will know.”
“That is not insurmountable. You will be there during the sittings.
You will watch. I will paint and you will do your miniature when the sitter is absent. You will have seen him and have mine to work from.
It is only the fine strokes which are beyond me. We’ll work it, Kate.
Oh, this is going to be the most exciting adventure. “
“Show me the letter.”
I held it in my hands. It was like a talisman, a passport to glory. I often wondered afterwards why we do not have premonitions in life. to warn us. to guide us. But no, the important moments in our life slip by with no special seeming significance. If only I had known then that this letter was going to change the whole course of my life, what should I have done?
“Shall you write?” I asked.
“Today,” replied my father.
“Shouldn’t you wait awhile … consider …”
“I have considered. Have you?”
“Yes, I have.”
“It’s going to work, Kate. We’re going to make it work.”
It was a long time since I had seen my father so happy. We were like two children preparing for the treat of our lives. We refused to see the difficulties. We preferred to live in our euphoric dream convincing ourselves that everything would work out as we had planned.
“If I saw you accepted as you should be,” said my father, “I think I could become reconciled.”
We talked to Clare. Did she feel capable of taking on the responsibilities of the household after such a short time?
She replied earnestly that she would do everything within her power to justify our trust in her.
“I feel I have good friends here,” she said.
“They are so kind at the Manor and the vicarage, and I have the Camborne twins. Oh yes, I certainly do feel that I am among friends. I am sure that if there are any difficulties while you are away-which I don’t really anticipate - I shall have plenty of friends to help me out of them.”
“We are not quite sure how long this commission will take to carry out. It depends so much on the subject. Then, when we have finished in Normandy we may have to go on to Paris.”
“You can rest happy that all will be taken care of here,” Clare assured us.
So in less than two weeks after my father had received the invitation he and I were setting out for the Chateau de Centeville in Normandy.
Within the Chateau
The journey would have been tiring but for the fact that I was so excited by everything I saw. I had never been out of the country before and I was eager to miss nothing. The crossing was smooth and after what seemed like an interminable train journey we arrived at Rouen. There we took another train which would carry us to Centeville.
It was late afternoon when we arrived. We had been travelling since the early morning of the previous day and in spite of the interest of the journey I was immensely relieved to have come to the end of it.
As we left the train a man in livery approached us. I detected a look of disbelief in his eyes and I guessed that this was surprise at seeing a man and woman when he had been expecting a man only.
My father was the first to speak. His French was quite good and mine was adequate, so we had few qualms about language difficulties.
“I am Kendal Collison,” he said.
“Might you be looking for me? We were told that we would be met at the station.”
The man bowed. Yes, he said, he had come to meet Monsieur Collison on behalf of Monsieur de Manner, Steward of the Chateau de Centeville.
“Then I am your man,” said my father.
“And this is my daughter, without whom I do not travel nowadays.”
I received the same courteous bow, which I acknowledged by inclining my head, and the man then proceeded to lead us towards a carriage. It was magnificent-dark blue in colour and emblazoned on it was a coat of arms, presumably that of our illustrious patron, We were helped in and told that our baggage would be brought to the chateau. I was relieved because it was certainly not worthy to grace such a vehicle. I looked at my father and almost giggled. It was sheer nervousness, of course. The ceremonial nature of our reception had had this effect, reminding me that we were about to face the consequences of our very rash act.
The horses were whipped up and we bowled along through the most enchanting countryside. It was wooded and hilly and suddenly we saw the castle perched above the town-a Norman, grey stone and impregnable fortress with its massive cylindrical columns, its long narrow slits of windows, its rounded arches and machicolated towers.
It looked forbidding-a fortress indeed rather than a dwelling place, and I felt a shiver of apprehension run through me.
We were climbing the gradual slope and as we grew nearer to the castle, the more menacing it seemed to be. We should have explained, I told myself. We have come here under false pretences. What will they do if they discover? Well, they can only send us back.
I looked at my father. I could not tell from his expression whether he felt the brooding power of the place as I did.
We passed over a moat and under a portcullis and were in a courtyard.
The carriage stopped and our splendid driver jumped down from his seat and opened the door for us to alight.
I felt suddenly small standing beside those immense walls of stone. I turned to look up at the Keep, with the tower on it which must give a view of miles surrounding the castle.
“This way,” said our driver.
We were facing a studded door. He rapped on it sharply and it was opened immediately by a man in livery similar to that worn by the driver.
“Monsieur and Mademoiselle Collison,” said the driver as though announcing us at some function. He then bowed to us and prepared to leave, having delivered us into the hands of our next guide.
The servant bowed in the same ceremonious fashion and signed for us to follow him.
We were taken into a large hall with an arched roof supported by thick round stone columns. There were several windows but they were so narrow that they did not let in a great deal of light; stone benches were cut out of the wall; there was a long, beautifully carved table in the centre of the hall -a concession to a later period, for I presumed the hall itself was pure Norman, and another concession was that there was glass in the windows.
“Excuse me for one moment,” said the servant.
“I will acquaint Monsieur de Marnier of your arrival.”
My father and I looked at each other in suppressed awe when we were alone.
“So far, so good,” he whispered.
I agreed, with the proviso that we had not yet come very far.
In a very short time we were making the acquaintance of Monsieur de Marnier who quickly let us know that he held the very responsible post of Majordomo, house steward of the Chateau de Centeville. He was a very impressive personage in a blue coat with splashes of gold braid on it and large buttons which depicted something. As far as I could see at the time it seemed to be some sort of ship. Monsieur de Marnier was both gracious and disturbed. He had been misled. He had been told one gentleman.