“I mapped the room,” I said.
Madame moved plates and cups well out of the way, then took the sketch from me, laid it out on the table, and began studying it.
For a few moments, the only sound was the rain beating on the windows. I glanced over at Sebastian, noting the gleam in his eyes.
“I’ve never seen this area, Delphine,” she said. “You’ve drawn something that just isn’t here. I’ve examined every corner of the basement. Architects have charted all the tunnels underneath the structure. There are no spiral stone staircases like this. And the only area of the castle that faces that direction is the drawbridge and tower. And we’ve taken that apart already. I’m afraid this isn’t going to help.”
I turned to my brother. He’d assured me that as soon as the rain ceased and the roads were passable, we could go. I expected him to tell Madame now that we were done. My twin smiled at me.
Then, to Madame, he said, “Delphine will find it, Emma. She’s a perfectionist. We’re stuck here anyway. She’ll stay at it until she does.” He turned back to me. “Won’t you, Delphine?”
I was amazed. He’d promised me I could stop. I shook my head. “No, I’m not sure I can.”
I was disappointed in my brother, whom I’d trusted to help me. He’d betrayed me. He couldn’t give up. I’d told him I’d pawn my jewelry. Didn’t he believe me? Was Madame paying more than I knew? Did Sebastian owe more than he’d let on? My anger built, this time not mitigated by the memory of the watery image of my brother standing in front of the castle, warning me: Unless you are here to save me . . .
What was the truth? What had brought us here? What was keeping us here?
*
After breakfast, I donned a rain slicker and Wellingtons brought by the maid so I could take a walk. I’d spent too long up in my room sleeping the day and night before. I needed some fresh air, even if it was wet. Maybe looking at the castle from the outside would give me a different perspective.
Walking the chateau’s perimeter didn’t reveal anything new. The only thing I noticed was that in the rain, it loomed even larger, grayer, more melancholy. Occasionally, I stopped to peer out at the distant landscape. None of the images I’d drawn matched up.
I had worked my way around three-quarters of the stone fortress when I tripped on a loose cobblestone. I fell and landed ungracefully on my right foot, which I’d hurt slightly in the car accident. When I stood and tested it, I was relieved to find I hadn’t injured it even more. I brushed myself off and walked on, hoping none of the guests had been looking out the window and seen my ignominious fall.
I worked my way around to the castle’s north side. As the daughter of an architect, I understood buildings and how they were constructed. But even with my father talking about his designs all my life, I’d never thought about buildings as living things. I’d never searched in their shadows for the stories they held.
He’d be interested to hear about the chateau, I thought. He loved this region and its history. Maybe I’d bring him some of the sketches I’d done. Or perhaps do a painting for him. What if I did a series of the chateau’s rooms as sections of the human mind? Took thoughts and turned them into different chambers? My father had told me once about an ancient Greek device called a memory palace. Maybe I could explore that concept surrealistically using the castle.
I didn’t see the tree root. Just as I hadn’t seen the loose stone. This time, I went sprawling.
Two falls in less than an hour. And there had been the rug in my bedroom, the broken pencil, and the window that closed too quickly on my hand. Not to mention the disaster with the car.
That was too many accidents in too short a time, wasn’t it? I wondered if the house wanted me to go. If it was determined to keep its secrets buried. I meddled, I knew, with the natural order of things when I put on the blindfold. We were not meant to see inside one another’s souls with such ease. I’d thought a lot about that since coming home from New York. All my commissioned portraits might have fulfilled the sitters’ curiosity at first, but what havoc I’d created. My art was, in fact, a trick. A circus act with an expensive price of admission.
“Are you all right?”
I looked up into Gaspard’s face, his silver hair wet with rain, his eyes full of questions.
“I think so.”
With his help, I stood and tested my foot. It was no worse.
“The castle isn’t always welcoming to guests,” he said, startling me.
“I was just thinking that and then how silly I was to anthropomorphize the chateau. Stone and wood and glass can’t have thoughts.”
“Not the way we do, but they’re from the earth and are living things and have their own form of consciousness.”
When I’d tripped, my sketchbook had fallen and lay on the ground, splayed open. Gaspard bent to pick it up and was about to hand it over to me when he stopped. The page the sketchbook had opened to captured his attention.
I looked to see which one it was and saw my rough version of the stairs and the tunnel leading to the stone room. I’d included some of the key information so I could refer to it without having to carry the large drawing in the rain.
“This drawing is different from the one you showed us all the other day, isn’t it? It’s more recent,” he said.
“Yes. When I tried again yesterday, I found more markers. That’s why I was out here.” I pointed to my drawing. “There aren’t any windows in the chamber, but there are in whatever is above it. And this is the view from that section. If I can find that, I’ll know where the vault is situated.”
“The vault?” His voice was strained. And a vein on his temple throbbed once.
“I don’t see it as a dungeon anymore but as a vault protecting riches. You don’t think it could be cursed, do you?”
“Do you believe in curses?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve read about all the disasters that have befallen the Carter team and other archaeologists in Egypt, haven’t you? It certainly seems as if those tombs are cursed.”
“Well, if there’s even a chance this one is cursed, why keep searching?” he asked.
“Yesterday I would have said because it’s a well-paying job and my brother and I need to make a living. And then there’s Madame. I also have an obligation to her.”
“Now?” His gaze was so intense I felt almost violated and wanted to turn away, but before I could, he apologized. “I’m prying. I’m sorry.”
I waited for an explanation of why he was so curious. I sensed it was coming; when it didn’t, I was a bit surprised.
He handed me the sketchbook.
“Well, thank you for rescuing me a second time,” I said.
“I hope there won’t be a third.”
“So do I.” I laughed.