The Viscount – Chapter Twenty-One

THE VISCOUNT OF MAISONS LAFFITTE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“She’s here,” Chastity said, jumping up from the couch and running over to the Intercom. “This should be fun,” her mother said, patting Tommy’s back gently. She was still wary of any movement that might jostle him or cause one of the tension headaches he was now prone to. Her grandson didn’t answer, but continued to push a small car over the tiny hills in his blanket.

Chastity opened the door, and turned the lights on in the hallway just before the elevator pinged open. The slim, sturdy form of a woman of uncertain age exited the elevator, hidden under coats, scarves and hats. Her teeth was very bright against her dark skin.

“Bonjour Madel,” Chastity shook her hand, smiling back at her. “Thank you for coming a little early for my first day back.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the woman responded pleasantly. “We can make sure Thomas has everything he needs before you leave.”

“My mother is still here, but I think if there is anything you two need to communicate to each other, Thomas should be able to translate it.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Madel reassured her. “Bonjour Madame.” She nodded her head towards the older woman as she unwound her scarf and removed her coat. “Bonjour Thomas,” she directed towards her unresponsive protégé.

“Would you like some of that fruit tea with honey?” Chastity had gone into the kitchen and returned with the box in hand. But when Madel nodded, it was her mother who took it from her and headed towards the electric water kettle. “You take care of seeing that Tommy has everything he needs, my dear.”

Chastity sat down on the large square footrest that extended, but was separated, from the couch where Thomas was sitting. Madel had pulled up a chair from the dining room table and was sitting next to him with a notepad, marking some elementary observations. Chastity waited for her to finish writing.

“Well, Thomas. How are you feeling today?” He just shrugged. After waiting a minute without receiving further clarification, she asked him, “Where does it hurt today?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” was the sulky reply. “But I feel irritated.”

“Well that’s nothing new, is it then? We’re going to do our usual routine today, but change some of the memory games and stretches. You’ll get plenty of chance to rest in between. Do you feel up for it?” Thomas shrugged again, but nodded his head.

“Great!” Madel clapped her hands on her lap with one of her sunny smiles, adding with a wink,”I also brought you a new movie that I think you will like.” And turning to Chastity, asked, “Has he been to the osteopath this week?”

“Yes, twice,” she answered. “He feels like he’s making some progress, and I do think Tommy is sleeping better.”

“That is just what I had hoped to hear. Osteopaths work wonders, and I’m glad you’re getting coverage for his. Well Thomas, shall we let your mom get to work?” Chastity’s mother had come to stand in the doorway at this point, and though she didn’t understand the conversation, she could see that Chastity was standing with her coat and purse in her arms. Thomas didn’t answer, so she went over to take her daughter’s place at his side.

Chastity tried to keep her voice steady as she addressed her son in English. “Well sweetie. Grandma’s here and so is Madel. Is there anything you want for when I get back from school?”

“I want to visit the stables like that guy promised.”

 “What guy?” Her mind flashed back to Deauville. Could he be remembering that incident? His mind didn’t often stretch to things beyond what was currently happening – at least not in any way that he communicated. That would be a good sign.

“When we saw Mickey.”

So it was the encounter in Deauville he was remembering. She couldn’t forget such a name, or such a large animal. “It won’t be today, honey,” was the only thing she could think of to say. She was almost starting to feel comfortable enough to ask the Viscount if they could visit his stables, but she was not quite there yet. And it was too cold anyway, and he was still too unwell to venture such a visit. Her son didn’t say anything else in response, so she kissed him gently on the forehead, and then went over to hug her mom.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered, as her mom squeezed her tight.

“But you’re doing the right thing,” her mom said in answer. “I’ll still be here for another week, and by then it will be routine for everyone. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

* * *

Camille stomped along the muddy path next to the houses that had no sidewalks, and without warning, he slipped and landed right in the mud. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he felt fury take hold of him as he reached over to grab his bag and get himself into an upright position. The fact that no one was there to see his humiliation, apart from an old lady in a housedress who was in the process of opening her shutters, did nothing to calm his rage.

First it was his dad. He chose today! – the day when Camille had planned on ending things with Jean and Jerôme and the whole drug scene to read him a lecture on the dangers of drugs and getting in over his head. As if he were a child that needed to be told what to do. He wasn’t even done with breakfast when his dad started in on him.

“ … and when I get back from London, we’re going to have more of a regular schedule together to see how you’re doing and start taking a look at some of your homework.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Papa,” he flashed back.

“That’s not what I meant – ” His dad had looked hurt, but he shoved that out of his mind. Served him right. He had no right to meddle now when for years he had been too busy to take more than a passing interest in him. All those years when Camille was on his own and had no one to talk to besides Paltier and Olivier – the gardener before Martin. Olivier had been teaching Camille how to tend some of the vegetables in the hothouse before he announced that he needed to move down South to care for his ageing father.

And then his interview with Jean had not gone at all like he expected. He thought that he could end things cleanly and move on with his life, but he now saw that it was not going to be quite that easy.

“I brought you something,” Jean had said, tossing a bag of weed on his lap by way of greeting. “It’s a freebie. To thank you for your service these last couple of months. And there’s more where that came from if you continue to pull in the same amount of orders.” He seemed more cheerful than he had any right to be.

“Thanks,” Camille mumbled, stuffing the marijuana in his bag. There was no reason to say no to something that was free. “But I need to talk to you about that. I want out.”

Camille was startled by the gaze that Jean turned on him. He had never seen his eyes look so hard. Jean stared at him intently for a moment, and then suddenly turned away, and in a voice that was deceptively casual, “Where’s the money you owe me Camille?”

Camille could feel a sweat break out, though the late February air was chilly. “I’ll get it to you. I just need some time.”

“You shouldn’t need time. It’s a simple process that even an idiot can do. You give the goods, you get the money, you give it to me. Are you stealing from me?”

“No! No!” His voice cracked. “But someone stole from me twice after I made the drop. Both times it happened at the party. I think I was drugged –”

 “Oh please. That’s a likely excuse. You were drugged on the stuff that I gave you – the stuff that you got on heavy discount because I trusted you to bring in more clients.” Jean’s voice got louder. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with kid.”

Camille stood up suddenly from the park bench. He looked around, but the quiet town brought no welcome sight of joggers, or anyone that could lend him a hand. “I promised I’d get it and I will. It’s just that getting robbed twice … the amount is getting too big. I’m not sure how …”  Camille cast about in his mind for something to say that would get this guy off his back. “Didn’t you mention that I could do you a … a favor? Instead of paying you back?”

Jean had stood up by this point as well. “Yeah, well that favor was for the first couple a’ thousands.” He suddenly grabbed Camille’s prep school tie and pulled it tight. He could feel the pressure on his throat. “Do not. Mess. With me,” he growled.

And then, just as suddenly, he stepped back and laughed, patting a shaking Camille on the back. “Alright I’ll call in that favor,” he said loudly, and Camille looked around and saw two middle-aged men jogging by. They were talking about planting spring bulbs, which seemed like such a ridiculous subject at such a moment. He wanted to call out to them, but he had no idea what to say, and he wasn’t sure he could find his voice.

The two of them were silent until the men were out of sight, but Jean seemed to have relaxed. In any case, he made no more threats. “Alright Camille. Here’s what I want you to do. My uncle worked as a gardener years ago at the château where you live. It would have been when your dad was young and you were not yet born. He had a set of gardening tools, wrapped in a leather pouch with a handle and they had been passed down in the family. My uncle disappeared and no one knows what happened to him. But I want the tools, which are still in the château. They belong to my family anyway.”

Jean paused, and Camille waited for more. But when no further communication was forthcoming, he said perplexedly, “But … what makes you think the tools are still there? The shed is a mess, but the gardeners tend to know where everything is. Those tools would have been thrown out or put to use years ago.”

“They’re not in the shed. In fact, they’re not outdoors at all. They’re in the basement.”

Camille thought about the basement in the château, which, to a young boy had rather been a disappointment. It was more barren and open and light-filled than a boy with a good imagination could have liked. There was a most decided dearth of any dungeon-like aspect to it. Ever since he had outgrown such fancies, he had barely set foot down there.

“How do you know?” he finally managed.

“My aunt told me. There’s a stretch of stone corridor near the wine cellar where it’s not very well-lit. When you walk towards the cellar, you’ll pass through an archway that has a ledge cut into the stone just above your head – it’s where there used to be an iron gate that rolled up into it. The tools will be there towards the back of the ledge. You’ll probably need a stick to reach it.”

Questions swirled through Camille’s mind, but he settled on one. “Why didn’t your aunt just ask for the tools? I’m sure my grandfather would have given them to her.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t have a way out of your own fix, would you?” was the quick retort. But then Jean lit a cigarette and added, “when my uncle disappeared, the tools were the least of her worries. Now she’s getting old, and I would like to get them back for her.”

“If they’re still there,” Camille said with some belligerence.

“They had better be, or you and I still have a problem,” was Jean’s calm response that left Camille with more disquiet than he had felt at the open menace.

Camille trudged along, now on the street away from the muddy path. His pants were wet and dirty, and so were his hands. He had nothing to wipe them on, and everything about this stupid day was going wrong. He didn’t like it, but he was going to have to take something from his house and give it to Jean. It wasn’t stealing, precisely, but it made him very uneasy. And there were too many questions. Why were these tools worth so much money? Why did the gardener hide them? Because there would be no other reason to stash them there. And did Jean target him? Was that the reason he had approached him in the first place? Despite the unanswered questions and uneasiness, it was the only solution he could see.

The school was in sight, and he saw a group of kids a year older than him walking from the outlying buildings towards the main gate. He stopped on the street corner, the tall bare trees and parked cars giving some feeling of protection. He dropped the book bag from his shoulder, and reached into the pocket for his wallet. There was still some cigarette paper left in there. He looked around before taking the bag of marijuana from his backpack and pinching a large amount into the cigarette paper. He licked the edge and lit the end, inhaling greedily, hungrily, as if he couldn’t fill his lungs with the acrid smoke, his brain with mind-numbing hilarity fast enough.

He breathed in, holding each hit as long as he could. Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay, he repeated to himself. And after several hits, he was starting to believe it. Another group of students came into view from his left, heading for the school across the street. A petite brunette glanced over, and when she saw Camille, she said something to the group in a soft singsong voice and walked over to where he was standing. But her smile faltered as soon as she got close enough.

Camille stood holding the joint slightly behind his right leg and waved at her with his left hand. He knew he looked guilty. “Aw, Camille,” was all she said, but it was not easy to miss the disappointment in those words. Defiantly, he took another hit from the stub and threw it on the ground. “Are you going over?” he asked with false bravado.

She seemed to struggle within herself, but then noticed his pants. “You’re all muddy. Did you fall?”

“Yeah. It was stupid. I was walking on the muddy path and I slipped.”

She just looked at him, her face unreadable. “Alright, let’s go. History starts in 5 minutes.”

Chastity was losing steam by the end of lunch hour. There had been so many emotions – fear of leaving Thomas, guilt over throwing her mother together with Madel when the two of them couldn’t communicate, excitement at being back in school, exhaustion as she tried to act as if everything were normal in front of her students. Only over lunch was she able to pour her feelings into Maude’s sympathetic ear. It had relieved some pressure, but she was still eager to get through the three remaining periods and head home.

She stood against the wall as a flurry of students walked past her, blocking her from entering her classroom. Suddenly she caught sight of Camille’s curly head, and before she had time to think, her heart leapt at the connection with his father. I wonder what he thinks of me. I wonder when I will see his father again. I wonder if his father has mentioned me to him. She blushed, thankful that no one could read her mind.

“Welcome back Ms Whitmore!” a cheerful voice called out to her. It was Eloise Prynne. She smiled at the young lady walking next to Camille. And as soon as they got closer, her heart sank. Camille passed in front of her without even looking at her, but his red eyes and the heavy sour smell of marijuana were impossible to miss.

Chastity groaned inwardly. “Oh Camille,” she thought.

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