I didn’t recognize the music. I wasn’t an opera fan; not understanding the words was so frustrating that I found I couldn’t concentrate on the art. But for the first time, I realized how with certain arias, words are irrelevant.
I not only heard the song, but I visualized the sound’s aura. Mother-of-pearl, it shimmered, casting me in an opalescent glow. I heard birdsong, harp glissades, waterfalls, and what I imagined were the fluttering of angels’ wings. In the richness was a desultory tone that made it all the more moving and poignant.
I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Without knowing the aria or the opera it came from, I felt the singer’s pathos. And then, as if someone had lifted the needle on a gramophone, it stopped. Could that have been a recording? Until the abrupt end, I’d been certain it had been live singing.
“This way, if you please.” The butler gestured.
Sebastian and I walked up three stone steps to an overly large wooden door with an ancient-looking iron keyhole and a complicated latch system.
The butler opened the door for me and gave a little bow, allowing me to enter first.
In my life, I’d had hundreds of experiences with the unknown. I had put on my blindfold and seen sights I could never have imagined. But nothing prepared me for the emotional reaction I had when I walked over the threshold of the Chateau de Cabrières.
My vision changed. I actually saw the room before me with more clarity than normal. As if I’d put on a pair of spectacles that fine-tuned my ability to see. Having had issues with my eyesight since I was eight, no one was more aware of or sensitive to the nuances of vision than I.
From the doorstep, I took in the grand two-story ancient stone staircase leading up to the next floor. A basil-green, juniper, and powder-blue rug with purple flowers the shade of amethyst—Aubusson, I guessed—covered part of the green marble floor. Ficus trees with trunks twisted like gnarled fingers, sitting in copper pots, stood sentry on both sides of the stairs.
A crème de menthe teardrop crystal chandelier hung overhead, its arms silver tree branches. The light it offered was enough to show the way but not to chase away the shadows in the recesses of the room. And in their depths, I saw faint movements, as if I were wearing my blindfold or looking into a mirror or a pool of water. Was I suddenly scrying without a reflective surface for focus? I’d never been able to do that before. But, emanating from those dimmed alcoves, I heard footsteps and whispers and saw figures made of smoke.
A wave of cold greeted me, which was then replaced by one of warmth. As if I were being welcomed by parts of the house and warned away by others.
I wanted to step further inside and at the same time wondered if I should leave. It felt as if the house had been waiting for me. And that without knowing it, I had been waiting to visit it for a very long time.
Madame Calvé descended the stairs, making an entrance wearing an emerald frock with several gold necklaces that jangled melodically as she walked.
“Welcome to my farmhouse.” She opened her arms expansively.
“Hardly a farmhouse,” Sebastian said. “It’s magnificent.”
“It may have the bones of a castle, but this is the one place that offers me peace and accessibility to nature. Here I’m not a star but a farmer. We employ more than a hundred people, and I often work alongside them, feeding my chickens, raising my donkeys, milking my cows. It’s not what you expected?” She laughed.
“Hardly,” Sebastian said, and I agreed.
“Don’t worry. I promise you won’t have to collect your own eggs for breakfast. And I’m sorry I wasn’t outside to greet you. I was practicing,” Madame said.
So it had been her singing, not a recording.
“We heard you as we got out of the car,” I said. “It was a privilege.”
“Thank you, dear. After dinner sometimes, I perform a bit. Now that I know you’re interested, I’d be happy to do a little entertaining. Come this way, dears, and let’s have some refreshments before I show you to your rooms.”
She took my hand and drew me deeper into the foyer, past shadowy recesses. My vision remained hyper-sharp. Although we were inside, it seemed we’d stepped into a forest. The walls had been painted by a muralist to suggest that we were gazing into an ancient grove of twisting yews.
We followed her into a drawing room, where a fire was lit and tea had been laid out. There were no shadows there. Nothing out of the ordinary except that it was an incredibly beautiful, delicate, and exotic room.
Gilded tree branches formed frames around mirrors and paintings. Ferns sat on glazed majolica jardinieres in the forms of flowers. The furniture was velvet and silk in various shades of green. Arms and legs were carved animal heads. More majolica—garden seats—sat on either side of the fireplace; these were black with a lotus leaf and flower pattern. Large moss balls sat atop copper pots covered with aqua verdigris.
“Let’s all sit. I’m just so delighted you’ve come to visit,” Madame said.
She made it sound as if we were on holiday. Quite the contrary, Madame was paying handsomely for Sebastian and me to spend as long as it took for me to paint shadow portraits of the castle in order to discover the hiding place of Nicolas Flamel’s lost book.
“You have the most beautiful home,” I said.
“Thank you. Yes . . .” She looked around the room. “My home, my castle, my fortress . . . mostly my enigma. I’ve spent a long time here, captive to its mysteries. I hope that your visit may finally answer some of the questions echoing through these halls.”
And, I thought, while I was here searching for them, I hoped I would be vigilant and alert enough to save my brother from whatever darkness followed him.
Chapter 26
After tea, which we drank out of green china cups in the shape of leaves with handles resembling twisted stems, on saucers in the shape of larger leaves, Madame suggested giving us a tour of the downstairs and then showing us to our bedrooms for a rest before evening.
“My decorating is a bit of a hodgepodge, isn’t it?” Madame said, as she led us through a warren of rooms, each one more dramatic than the last. Darks played against lights, mysterious sculptures and framed calligraphy from the Orient mixed with Belle époque posters advertising her performances.