CHAPTER 23
RENNES-LES-BAINS
The horses clattered over a low bridge and slowed to a trot. Ahead, on the bend in the road, Léonie had her first glimpse of Rennes-les-Bains. She could see a white three-storey building with a sign announcing itself to be the Hôtel de la Reine. Beside it was a cluster of rather forbidding, unadorned buildings that she presumed made up the establishment of the thermal spa.
The courrier slowed to walking pace as they swung into the main street. To the right, it was bounded by the great grey wall of the mountain itself. To the left, there was a collection of homes, boarding houses and hotels. Heavy metal-framed gas lamps were set into the walls.
Her first impressions were not as she had expected. The town had an air of elegant and contemporary style and prosperity. Generous, scrubbed stone steps and thresholds abutted the roadway, which, although left as nature intended, was clean and passable. The street was lined with bay and laurel trees in wide wooden planters, which seemed to bring the woods down into the town. She saw a rotund gentleman in a buttoned frockcoat, two ladies with parasols, and three nurses, each pushing a chaise roulante. A gaggle of ribboned girls in white frills and petticoats walked with their governess.
The driver turned off the main road and pulled up the horses.
‘La Place du Pérou. S’il vous plaît. Terminus.’
The small square was bordered by buildings on three sides and shaded by lime trees. The golden sunlight filtered down through the canopy of leaves, casting chequerboard patterns on the ground. There was a water trough for the horses and the respectable town houses were adorned with window boxes filled with the last of the tumbling summer flowers. At a small café with striped awnings, a collection of well-dressed, well-gloved ladies and their escorts were taking refreshment. In the corner was the approach to a modest church.
‘All very picturesque,’ muttered Anatole.
The driver jumped down from his cab and began to unload the luggage.
‘S’il vous plaît, Mesdames et Messieurs. La Place du Pérou. Terminus.’
One by one, the travellers disembarked. There were awkward farewells, common to those who have shared a journey but have little else in common. Maître Fromilhague raised his hat and then disappeared. Gabignaud shook Anatole’s hand and presented his card, saying how much he hoped there would be an opportunity to meet again during their stay, perhaps for a game of cards or at one of the musical soirées that took place in Limoux or Quillan. Then, tipping his hat to Léonie, he hurried away across the square.
Anatole put his arm around Léonie’s shoulders.
‘This does not look as unpromising as I had feared,’ he said.
‘It is charming. Quite charming.’
A young girl in the grey and white uniform of a parlour-maid appeared, out of breath, at the top left-hand corner of the square. She was plump and pretty, with deep black eyes and a suggestive mouth. Strands of thick dark hair were escaping from beneath a white cap.
‘Ah! Perhaps our reception committee?’ said Anatole.
Behind her, also out of breath, arrived a young man with a broad, pleasant face. He wore an open-necked shirt with a red scarf around.
‘Et voilà,’ Anatole added, ‘unless I am much mistaken, the explanation for the girl’s lack of punctuality is explained.’
The maid attempted to tidy her hair, then ran towards them. She bobbed.
‘Sénher Vernier? Madomaisèla. Madama sent me to fetch you to the Domaine de la Cade. She asked me to present her apologies, but there is a difficulty with the gig. It’s being repaired, but Madama suggests that it might be quicker on foot . . .’ The maid glanced doubtfully down at Léonie’s calfskin boots. ‘If you don’t mind . . .’
Anatole looked the girl up and down. ‘And you are?’
‘Marieta, Sénher.’
‘Very good. And how long might we have to wait for the gig to be repaired, Marieta?’
‘I couldn’t say. There is a broken wheel.’
‘Well, how far is it to Domaine de la Cade?’
‘Pas luènh.’ Not far.
Anatole peered over her shoulder at the breathless boy. ‘And the luggage will be brought on later?’
‘Oc, Sénher,’ she said. ‘Pascal will bring it.’
Anatole turned to Léonie. ‘In which case, with the lack of any promising alternative, I vote we do as our aunt suggests – and walk.’
‘What?’ The word burst, indignantly, from Léonie’s lips before she could help herself. ‘But you hate to walk!’ She touched her fingers to her own ribs, to remind him of the injuries he had sustained. ‘Besides, will it be too much for you?’
‘I will be fine.’ He shrugged. ‘I admit, it’s a bore, but what can one do? I would rather press on than kick our heels.’
Taking Anatole’s words as assent, Marieta gave a quick curtsy, then turned and set off.
Léonie stared after her, open-mouthed. ‘Of all the . . .’ she exclaimed.
Anatole threw back his head and laughed. ‘Welcome to Rennes-les-Bains,’ he said, taking Léonie’s hand. ‘Come, petite. Otherwise, we will be left behind!’
Marieta led them down a shadowed passageway between the houses. They emerged into bright sunlight on an old arched stone bridge. Far, far below, the water flowed over flat rocks. Léonie caught her breath, made dizzy by the sensation of light and space and height.
‘Léonie, dépêche-toi,’ called Anatole.
The maid crossed the river, then turned sharply right and made for a narrow unmade path that ran steeply up into the trees of the wooded hillside. Léonie and Anatole followed in silent single file, each saving their breath for the climb.
Higher and steeper they went, along a dappled track of stones and fallen leaves, venturing ever deeper into thick forest. Before long, the path opened out into a wider country track. Léonie could see wheel ruts, cracked and pale through lack of rain, marking the route of countless wheels and hooves. Here, the trees were set further back from the path and the sun cast its long fading shadow between each copse and cluster.
Léonie turned and looked back in the direction they had come. Now she could see, steeply below them but close still, the red and grey sloping roofs of Rennes-les-Bains. She could even identify the hotels and the central square where they had disembarked the carriage. The water shimmered and teased, a ribbon of green and silver, even red with the reflection of autumn leaves, running as smooth as silk.
After a slight dip in the track, they reached a plateau.
Ahead stood the stone pillars and gates of a country estate. Wrought-iron railings disappeared as far as the eye could see, shielded by fir and yew. The property seemed both forbidding and aloof. Léonie shivered. For a moment, her spirit of adventure abandoned her. She recalled her mother’s reluctance to discuss the Domaine and her childhood spent within it. And then the words of Dr Gabignaud at luncheon echoing in her ears.
Such an ill reputation.
‘Cade?’ Anatole queried.
‘It is a local name for juniper, Sénher,’ the maid replied.
Léonie glanced at her brother, then stepped forward with determination and put both hands upon the railings, like a prisoner behind bars. She pressed her flushed cheeks to the cold iron and peered through at the gardens that lay beyond.
Everything was shrouded in a dark, filtered green, chinks of sun reflected through an ancient canopy of leaves. Elderberry trees, shrubs, formal hedges and once-elegant borders were unkempt and lacking colour. The property had an air of beautiful neglect, not yet gone to ruin, but no longer expecting visitors.
A large stone birdbath stood dry and empty in the centre of a wide gravelled path that led straight from the gates into the grounds. To Léonie’s left, there was a round stone ornamental pond, a rusty metal frame stretched over it. It, too, was dry. To the right was a row of juniper bushes, growing wild and untended. A little further back was the remains of an orangery, the glass missing and the frame twisted.
If she had come upon this place by accident, Léonie would have thought it abandoned, such was the air of dereliction. She glanced to her right and saw there was a sign of grey slate hanging upon the fence, the words partly obscured by the deep scratches scored in the stone. Like claw marks.
DOMAINE DE LA CADE.
The house did not look as if it would welcome visitors.