Kitabı oku: «Black Duchess», sayfa 2
The count looked aside again.
“Well, let’s move on. Through the second floor you can get to a medieval chapel. The owners prayed here during the siege of the castle and also baptized children, carried on weddings, and more.”
We followed the count through the kitchen to the stairs that led to our rooms. There were pictures of the family members on the walls. Indeed, they had a lot of relatives. We walked to the end of a corridor. The count opened a heavy, old door; and we found ourselves in the oldest part of the castle. According to him, it had been preserved since the 15th century, along with the walled-up towers. The rooms, which were located on three floors and connected to the four towers, were mostly rebuilt in the 18th and 19th centuries.
We found ourselves in a big room, a sort of veranda. It was made of white stone in the Catholic style. The windows faced the courtyard and were decorated with frescoes of the 15th century. On the left was a carved, wooden partition with an ancient chapel behind it, a picturesque sight. In the chapel itself there were narrow windows on the sides also decorated with frescoes of images of saints. In the middle there was an altar with a medieval tabernacle and a large portrait of Christ with a heart at the base of it. It appeared authentic.
Nora was over the moon with happiness. I was no less happy about it; it seemed that the new emotions prevented her from sleepwalking. The smile never left her face. She touched all the objects with such love and enthusiasm as if she had really returned to her long-abandoned house.
To the right and left of the chapel were separate, small prayer rooms, each of which was large enough for only one person. The ceiling was sculpted with the grimacing faces of demons. As the count explained, this was done so that the worshipper didn’t get distracted from their conversation with the Lord. Tricky!
Nora was fascinated. She came to the same heavy doors that were located opposite those through which we entered. In theory, they should serve as the entrance to the third tower. She tried to open them, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Oh, no!” the count exclaimed. “You won’t get in there. The doors are tightly closed. Even we don’t go there anymore. The tower is completely in disrepair, as I said.” The count reacted briskly as if they were hiding millions of dollars behind those doors.
“Completely?” Nora asked in surprise.
“Yes, absolutely! It’s dangerous!” The count appeared tense.
“And what was there before?” Nora did not let up.
“The rooms of the duchess’ children,” the count answered quickly.
“Duchess?” Nora’s journalistic curiosity came out.
“Ah, yes! I haven’t told you everything from the beginning. This castle was the dowry of our ancestor, my 11th great-grandmother, Duchess Louise. She was of royal blood because she came from the family of Eleanor of Aquitaine, your namesake. She married the Duc de L*, and they had four children! Actually, almost everyone in our family had many children. Except during the Middle Ages, this was a regular thing. All the rich aristocrats tried to give birth to the maximum number of children since the mortality rate was high, and the heir to the fortune and castles should be a boy.
Unfortunately, we know little about the 15th century in the history of the family. They say something happened to her children… but it is just rumors, and there is just nothing interesting in the old towers anymore!”
The count shouldn’t have said that to Nora. Now she was sure that the most interesting thing about the castle she would find in the old towers. Moreover, we had already been in one of the towers and had seen a lot of antiquities there.
Nora’s diary
11.09.2016
God, I’m in love with this castle! I have a feeling that everything here is sort of mine. How can one love castles so much? I don’t understand myself.
As for the castle, it is square with four towers. Between the two front towers is the main entrance to the castle. Next comes the courtyard. The tower on the left is allegedly closed; the tower on the right is rebuilt. Here, it seems, the count was not lying because the staircase did not go into the tower but went up and led to the floors on the left. The tower to the left and furthest from the entrance, the third tower, was the oldest according to the owners. There was a room of a mysterious priest which was the first room we examined. The far tower on the right was walled up; there was not even a hint of an entrance.
However, this is a magical place. When I found myself here, I began to breathe deeply! I felt so energetically strong, as if I had been plugged into an outlet. My fears have vanished. I wasn’t a sleepwalker that night. I’m something stronger than I was before… but what am I?
Anton’s diary
11.09.2016
The count led us through the courtyard to tower number two, which was already, in fact, almost not a tower. On the ground floor there was a 19th-century living room with a grand piano and family portraits of that era. The count said that their not-so-distant 11th great-grandmother played music here. Everything was wood; the windows were large and let in a lot of light. There was not a hint of Gothic style, except for the old sideboards which had been preserved since the 15th century. They were an example of early Gothic: black with carved figures of people and animals. They were also locked.
In the middle there was a sofa and several armchairs around a beautiful, large tea table of the 19th century. Apparently, they gathered here in the evenings in a family circle, drank tea, played the piano, and discussed the latest news.
According to the count, there was nothing else interesting in the house, no expositions. He repeated this lie over and over again with sparkling eyes. He also rubbed his hands as if he was washing them.
Then we went with the count to the living room and the dining room where breakfast was served to tourists. As the count explained, these rooms were decorated in an authentic style, but were not antique.
After the tour, we went to see the surroundings and visited the Breze Castle, a magnificent monument of antiquity also built in the form of a square. As in Dupré, there were some ancient parts and parts that were completely rebuilt by descendants. Yet there was something mystically ancient in these places. We didn’t have time to go anywhere else. We decided to go back and have a rest… which, translated from my wife’s language, meant “poking one’s nose into other people’s business” and “continuing to examine someone else’s property.”
The weather is great. It is much warmer in France than in Russia in September. I sincerely admired the weather. We wore thin windbreakers and jeans, and we were hot.
“Let’s go back to the castle. We won’t have time to see anything else anyway; all the castles are closed,” my wife said slyly.
“I think I know why you want to go back,” I laughed.
“Stop it!” Nora laughed back. “Well, yes, I want to wander a bit around the castle without the count’s annoying gaze. It’s so interesting. My God, is there a walled-up room there?”
Moreover, from my wife’s point of view – childishly naïve – it was clear that she had already come up with what might be there.
“Yes,” I responded. I couldn’t help laughing. “The count shouldn’t have said that to you. By the way, did you notice how the countess looked at you when we arrived the first time?
“Well, she’s a little skewed. Do you think it’s weird?”
Nora clearly hadn’t paid attention to it, but she was a dreamer by nature and as such didn’t pay attention to such things.
“Yes. Why such a reaction all of a sudden?” I began to think out loud.
“Maybe because we are Russian?” Nora laughed.
I didn’t tell her what I’d heard. In the end, it really might mean nothing.
“Another thing seemed strange to me,” Nora began again. “Why were so many rooms closed?”
“Either tons of gold or slaves from China… maybe a pet cemetery?” I offered.
I liked to tease her.
“You idiot!” Nora laughed out loud. Don’t talk nonsense. I feel there is something there.”
Returning to the castle, we saw that the owners sat in the new kitchen in the left wing of the castle, located next to the first tower. One of the wonderful things about such large structures is that we could walk around the whole castle, and the owners would not see us.
We left our things in our room and took a flashlight. After all, there was no electricity in the towers. I must say it was quite light outside! It was only 6:20 p.m,, but there was enough time before it got dark. However, we knew the towers might be blocked, given the count’s story.
“Where do we start?” I asked my wife.
I thought to myself that her haircut was not so bad and that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I won’t get tired repeating it.
“We’ll start our journey from tower number four, a good number… and the owners will be far away.” “Yes, but it’s walled up,” I pointed out.
“I don’t think so. If so, why did they leave a door? It would have been blocked, too,” Nora said.
“Come on, Boss!” I decided not to argue.
Through the courtyard we headed toward the 19th-century living room. There we turned left and walked along the corridor. We passed the medieval-style dining room. Then we went into the kitchen. There everything was blocked with a wall.
“I told you so! It’s all nonsense. Everything is closed.”
The plan to reveal the secret of the millennium was falling apart.
“Damn it! There must be some kind of entrance. There just has to be!”
My wife was very upset, and I frankly did not understand why all this bothered her so much.
“Why are you so sure of that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I have a strange feeling. It’s like I’ve been here before. I just know there’s something important in there.” Then in a half-whisper, Nora asked, “Do you think I’m crazy?” “I think you’re a dreamer,” I responded as I smiled back.
“Let’s go around by the street,” ordered my wife and cheerfully headed for the goal.
We went through the courtyard to the open floor under the chapel. The floor was great: it still had ancient castle tile, black and white, like in the movies about medieval knights.
We went inside. If you looked to the left, there was something like a shed where shovels and other gardening supplies were stored. There were also some hunting trophies on the floor. On the right was the beginning of the fourth tower. And there was a heavy, faded tapestry hanging on it.
Nora decided to check for a door behind the tapestry. She pushed it away, but there was a wall there, covered with dust. A minute later she stepped out away from the tapestry, cleaning dust off herself. Suddenly we noticed the owners coming out of the kitchen and heading into the yard.
“Hide! Quickly!” Nora whispered as she grabbed my hand.
We backed up behind the tower so that the owners could not see us. It was fun just like when I was a kid.
While we hid, we saw an open passage to the balcony. It’s not even a balcony; it’s more like a platform or terrace from which in the old days, apparently, there was a view of the moat.
As soon as the Duprés went outside, we slipped onto the terrace. What a picturesque view! It’s a pity the count didn’t bring us here… of course, it wasn’t safe because the balcony was low, and one could easily fall into the moat; but what a lively, historical panorama that opened in front of us! The old walls were partly covered with moss, apparently because it was wet there. We also saw caves in the moat below. It was quite strange as there should have been water in the moat. If you looked at the castle itself, it seemed majestic and huge.
“Look, Anton!” My wife pointed to the right. “An entrance! And a passage around the tower!”
“Indeed, it looks like a passage for gunsmiths. I think they defended the castle from here in case of a siege. Let’s go and see.”
We walked along a narrow corridor that led around the tower. I followed my wife.
“The door! Anton, here it is!” Nora smiled now. “But what is that?” she suddenly said.
A pentagram was carved on the massive door… not a very pleasant start.
“Latin inscriptions… God, why is that?” Nora whispered.
“A spell for tourists?” I tried to joke. Then I added, “My dear, I don’t like it.”
My wife did not pay attention to my warning and pulled the door by the massive handle. The door swayed but didn’t open. Obviously, it was securely locked. The owners did not want anyone to go in there.
“We have to open it,” Nora said firmly.
“You’re crazy! They will definitely find us!”
To be honest, I was not thrilled with the idea of making problems abroad instead of quietly enjoying my vacation. “Please, please, let’s come up with something!” My wife did not give up.
“Okay ….”
Then I remembered about the utility room. I went there to look for some tools. I found a bolt cutter, and five minutes later I was hacking into someone else’s property. After all, marriage is a dangerous thing. I have been warned more than once.
Soon I opened the door to the tower. It was dark from the threshold.
“Where’s the flashlight? Let’s go!”
My wife turned it on and cheerfully stepped inside.
“Maybe you shouldn’t…” I tried for the last time to make a call for common sense.
“This is a real adventure!” Nora exclaimed and smiled brightly again. “Come on!”
There was nothing I could do. A wife’s smile is more important than problems with the law.
Beyond the door was a spiral staircase leading up, just as in the third tower… and there were no catastrophic traces of destruction here. I must pay tribute to my wife: she was right.
The count lied to us… but why?
Chapter 5 Disappeared Children
Fortune rota volvitur; Descendo minoratus;
The Wheel of Fortune is turning I find myself at the bottom.
~Vagants’ poems about fate
Nora’s diary
11.09.2016
The count is definitely lying! It’s all weird, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I feel like I should.
This tower has left an indelible mark on my memory. I’ve never seen anything more heart-wrenching. We started walking up to the first room. There was a massive, carved, wooden door… however, a little worn out. Near it hung rosary beads on the wall. I wonder why.
We opened the heavy door and saw something incredible: the room did not look destroyed at all but rather neglected; and there was a feeling as if its owner had left for a while and would soon return. A huge bed sat against the wall to the right. There was a large fireplace. Everything was the same as in the other tower, but everything here was well preserved! There was a desk next to the window and an old bookcase along the wall to the left. A chest stood on either side of a table. A tapestry depicting hunting scenes hung on the wall near the bed. Everything was very dusty and dirty, but there was no doubt about the authenticity of these things.
I immediately rummaged through the papers lying on the table. The layer of dust was disgusting. I looked for something that would explain the puzzle.
“My God! Why aren’t they taking care of all this? It’s of historical value!” I almost shouted because I was excited by everything I saw and genuinely annoyed at the same time. I strongly love and respect antiquities. Gothic has always been my passion in all its manifestations: interior, clothing, and architecture.
“You’ve heard yourself that for them this is just a museum in the forest that they want to get rid of,” Anton replied.
“Look! These are letters.” I tried to read at least one of them. “I can hardly make out anything. They are all written in old French. It says here: ‘Summer castle… trip… Father was out hunting ….’ Oh, it’s hard to make out. The signature is Francis de L*, and the date is on it.”
“Awesome! Is the letter 15th century?” Anton shouted.
Letters dated 1426 impressed us. It was also impressive that their owners so carelessly left them to the rats. I concluded that Francis was the son of the same Duchess Louise, the 11th great-grandmother of the count, judging by the dates on the letters.
“Yes! And they didn’t even want to let us in here. It’s crazy!”
I looked up.
“What’s in the closet?” I quizzed.
We easily opened the old closet, which was full of men’s suits, eaten by rats. There were also a lot of men’s medieval doublets hanging there. They were something like a man’s sweater, only made of heavy velvet and sewn from multicolored fabrics, some decorated with stones or beads. I have read a lot about the Middle Ages, and I know that during that time “tear out the eye” outfits were in fashion according to the color scheme. Colorful fabrics were embroidered with beads. It symbolized a love for life.
There was a medieval library, as well. I opened the doors; one door almost fell off, but I managed to grab it. There were medieval books in Latin mostly. There were poems and more poems which were terribly interesting. It would take years to read all of them.
“God, can you imagine their value? And they keep it all in such condition! After all, the fireplace has not been fired up here for 500 years! Although… maybe we don’t know everything.” I took it all to heart. “I don’t understand… why have not the rooms of the 15th century changed for so many years? Did none of the descendants occupy these rooms? It looks as if everything has been left here from that time. And in general, there are a lot of incomprehensible things here. It begins to alarm me.”
Anton was right: there is some kind of mystery.
“I agree there is something incomprehensible here, Anton remarked. “However, the count will refuse to discuss it, I understand. Let’s move on! It’s all incredible! It’s like I’ve been to the Middle Ages.”
I hadn’t thought that my dream would come true. It was wonderful; but at the same time, I felt anxiety and suspicion.
“You are the only woman I know who enjoys digging through dusty, old things,” Anton commented.
My husband does not share my ardent love for the old things.
We went out onto the spiral staircase. I stopped, turned around, and kissed my spouse for I was grateful for such an unforgettable gift. After a long kiss, we moved into the next room. Here it was obvious that the room belonged to a girl… rather, some fabulous, medieval princess. Yes, it was truly a princess’ room.
“This room was probably for one of Duchess Louise’s daughters,” I speculated.
The room had an indescribable atmosphere. It was quiet and peaceful but, at the same time, exuded a subtle, barely perceptible mysticism in it.
Tapestries remained hanging on the walls. They were terribly dusty, but the images remained distinguishable although gnawed by rats. Paintings depicting gardens with cupids gave off a rather Greek theme. There were no images of wars and fights as in the first room.
The bed was high with a wooden roof frame and a large, feather mattress also eaten by rats. The bed was decorated with a canopy of tender white, transparent in color. The bed was once gilded, which made the room even more feminine. Now, there wasn’t much paint left. There was a beautiful plum-colored, corduroy bedspread on top. It was pulled back, revealing a pillow. In general, there was a feeling that someone had recently slept in the bed. I even got goosebumps running down my back. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes that the door was blocked, I would have assumed that someone lived here.
The dressing table by the window was in good condition. It was wooden and had a large, carved mirror. There were boxes and bottles on it. I rushed to the table and grabbed one of the bottles.
“Stop! They may have already turned into poison!” Anton cried out.
“I think it’s just perfume,” I answered.
I opened the bottle, inhaled, and immediately winced. Oh, what a smell… disgusting! Then I opened the boxes, one by one. The largest one contained wooden combs decorated with stones – very authentic.
“You’re not going to do your hair with this, are you?” Anton cautioned.
“I would like to,” I answered.
I looked at all the objects, fascinated.
“God!” I exclaimed. I threw a large, wooden comb from me in surprise.
“What is it?”
My cry startled my husband, and he jumped up to me. “There’s hair here. Look… white.” I was a little shocked.
“Are they also from the 15th century? It’s disgusting if that’s the case,” Anton insisted. “Put it down!”
My husband was scared for me, and I put the comb back in the box.
This seemed very strange. How could the hair have been preserved for so many centuries? Of course, I am not a scientist.
We went on exploring the room: to the left along the wall were wardrobes – larger than in the previous room – and massive chests. Women in any era remain women. I went to the cupboards to see what was there.
“Watch out! Rats!” my husband decided to joke, but I didn’t appreciate it. I was already a little scared.
Belts and collars were decorated with stones which, of course, had lost their former chic. Spectacular! The princess probably attended receptions and dinner parties in these dresses. However, two dresses hung unevenly. They fell off the hangers as if someone wanted to try them on. I picked them up to hang them back in place.
“My God, Anton! This is the best trip of my life. Thank you. These are princess dresses… just lovely. I want to take one home.”
I really wanted it because it was a living monument of history and a memento that would remind me I had actually been here.
“Crazy,” Anton said as he smiled.
“That’s it; let’s move on,” I suggested. “God, look! We almost missed it!” I suddenly exclaimed.
I was shocked again as I pointed my finger at the wall behind the closet. There was a painting on the wall. No wonder we didn’t notice it. It was terribly faded, small in size, and displayed in a worn, white marble frame. A young, blonde girl was clearly visible in it. It had been painted by a talented artist.
“Charming! This is the duchess’ daughter… so young… looks like a doll,” I said.
Her portrait reflected the Burgundian fashion of the 14th and 15th centuries. At that time women tried to shave their eyebrows or powder them, raise the forehead line high with all sorts of hairstyles and tricks, and make their faces white. It was believed that this way they became closer to angelic, pure beauty.
In this case, however, the effect was exactly the opposite. The girl’s long and lush hair was blond and curly and fell loose. On top she wore a silver tiara which tightened the hair at the temples. The girl had a pale face. Her eyebrows were powdered so that they were practically invisible, but her cheeks and upper eyelids were highlighted with a scarlet shade. Her lips were covered in a vulgar manner with maroon lipstick. Her white dress looked like a nightgown because of the color.
The girl’s face was very unusual: the eyes were set far apart; the lips were small as if she was a doll; the cheekbones were wide; and, in general, the face looked like a heart pointed downwards.
The most sinister thing about this unearthly picture was that the girl had a very piercing look for such a young person. I even shuddered a little. She looked so straight, firm, and held such a slightly cunning squint. Her eyes were swamp-green.
The portrait produced a strange impression as if she saw you and spoke to you, “Who are you? Get out of my house!”
And that white hair in the comb… God, I must have imagined something. If I were shooting a horror movie, this girl had such an unusual appearance she could play a ghost.
This whole room was weird. The presence of a sweet, young girl could really be felt here, but at the same time there was some kind of a paranormal mystery that Anton and I found very difficult to comprehend. Let’s say a young, innocent – but devilishly tense – atmosphere filled the room. It was a strange combination.
Being here was a little creepy. Why? I can’t answer this question; but because it was creepy, I wanted to explore the room a little more.
There was a chest in the wardrobe. I looked inside and saw scattered, medieval, leather shoes. Thanks to natural materials they still hadn’t been spoiled much.
Then I turned my head to the right: I saw another interesting detail! There was a pair of shoes lying under the bed as if they had recently been taken off and thrown there.
“Look at the armory! Even here you can see that this is a girl’s room! Everything is covered with beautiful tapestries,” my husband shouted.
I decided to take a look. Indeed, the armory had been turned into a cozy room. There were tapestries with fragments of Greek mythology hanging there and a bench in the Gothic style made of dark wood. I sat down on it. The bench was very comfortable. The furniture had been made almost 500 years ago and was still so nice!
I got up and pushed aside a tapestry. Something prompted me to look at what was under it. I started moving along under the carpet.
“Well, what are you doing? Dear, there’s a century-old layer of dust ….”
Anton did not give up trying to call me to common sense. However, I really enjoyed exploring this castle, walking around in it. It produced a special feeling in me; I’ve never felt like this anywhere else. Suddenly I saw inscriptions and numbers carved in stone.
“Anton! Look! Give me a flashlight… or better yet, hold the tapestry,” I insisted.
My husband pushed aside the tapestry, and we saw inscriptions chiseled in stone: “Adelaida,” “Anna puella.” It revealed dates, 1425 and 1427, marked in Roman numerals.
“Anton, look ….”
I pointed to a date, 1764, followed by 1859.
“I don’t understand. Someone came and added the dates later?” I asked him.
“If the dates are authentic, it could not be the owners.
Maybe a family tradition?”
Anton held the tapestry with his left hand and leaned against the wall with it. Suddenly a wrapped paper fell out from behind it.
“Come on; let’s see! Wow!”
I was excited; our investigation was making sense. Everything was written again in old French… but on modern paper!
“What the hell?”
I was surprised. The paper was ordinary A4, but everything on it was written in ancient handwriting. “I wonder whose jokes are these?” my husband tossed out.
In the notes we managed to read the following: “I’ll be back… no one can kick me out of my house… I’ve always lived here… I will come back from as far as I can… it has been like this for all centuries, and today is 2015.”
“God! Anton, I’m scared. Maybe this is a joke.” I was nervous. “It’s nonsense! The year, 2015? Maybe there is a madman living in this castle who wrote this.”
My husband suggested, since he liked all this even less than I did, “Probably it’s the count; he has such a shifty look.”
“Let’s see; there’s something else behind the tapestry! That’s probably why the girl sat here: she wrote notes and left them in the wall,” I proposed.
We tore off the tapestry and saw a recess with a niche. There was a trunk in it. Fortunately, it opened easily; and, indeed, there were some papers in it… but not much.
There was an ordinary diary with some entries. In one of the strangest was written, “I’m scared and lonely… We can be torn out by force… Mom is practicing witchcraft rituals because of which we are all in danger… The sounds of water resound above me like devilish music… Help me; help me… Love no longer comes into this house. Who will save us from the curses? … My mother is a black duchess; sometimes I’m afraid of her.”
“Very strange writings,” my husband observed.
“To be honest, after all I’ve seen, I have more questions than answers,” I told him.
“So do I,” he answered. “But what happened to the girl? Where did she go? She couldn’t be a little girl forever. Judging by the interior, it is as if she has always been here and then disappeared somewhere… and why was she afraid of her mother, Duchess Louise… the Black Duchess? The girl looks kind of ominous. I shiver in this room. I feel like someone is here, too. Let’s move on.”
Well, the trip was getting more interesting. I had a feeling of anxiety during this whole tour.
We decided to go higher although the steps were thinner and seemed a little dangerous. The third door opened easily, and on the right was also an old rosary hanging on a nail. There was a bed much smaller than the previous one. Apparently, a child who had not reached adolescence lived here, judging by the size of the bed.
Wooden horses and soldiers stood on a wooden table. It was clear from everything that this room belonged to a boy. It was very touching. An empty nursery always brings sadness, especially in such large, abandoned rooms. What happened to these children? The wardrobe also stood along the wall. In the same place as the other room was a huge fireplace. However, the doors were missing; and there was nothing but dust inside.
There were chests on the floor. I opened one of them; there were bad-smelling children’s clothes, nightgowns, small camisoles, and sheets with big holes. The smell was because the clothes were simply suffocating in this chest; they hadn’t been aired for many years. If only for the sake of respect for history, it would be necessary to put everything in order here. Judging by the size of the clothes, the boy was about 10 years old.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It’s so strange, because once these people lived here and were probably happy. My God! Wow! The Duprés have such huge, historical wealth and are so careless about it. I don’t understand them. Why lock up this tower? This is very strange. I sincerely did not understand. Questions spun in my head. After all, just the exposition of this room could bring good income given that the castle needs to be repaired regularly.
“Why was it necessary to close these towers tightly given the values that are here?” Anton questioned.
“Yes, there is something abnormal in this: locks on the tower doors, such unsanitary conditions. And the pentagram on the door… I confess I don’t understand, either. I think there’s some reason we don’t know about.”
“It was enough to lock the doors from tourists… well, of course, not counting you, dear,” Anton tried to joke; but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable.
“Besides, it is obvious that these rooms have not changed since ancient times, and no one lived here except the first owners. How is this possible?” I continued the thought.
