| General Fiction posted August 22, 2018 | Chapters: |
...6 7 -8- 9... 
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Chapter 8. A picnic and a meeting
A chapter in the book The French Letter
At Versailles - The Search Continues
by tfawcus
| Background Helen and Charles join forces to discover the secret of Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin. |
We arrived to find the Palace of Versailles under siege, as is always the case in the summer season. A steady stream of coaches poured foreign tourists out, to swell the restless mob demanding entry. They may have been less belligerent and better fed than in revolutionary times, but it was still a formidable invasion; enough to make the blood of any aristocrat run cold.
However, perhaps because the weather had been unsettled earlier in the day, entry to the Versailles Gardens by way of the Queen's Gate was relatively easy, and we were lucky enough to find parking under the shade of a tree not far from the Grand Canal.
"Fifi should be nice and cool there," Helen said.
"Fifi? Who is Fifi?"
"Who do you think, Charles? You've been driving around in her all day."
I sighed. Whatever possesses women to name their cars?
"Of course! But why Fifi? That's a dog's name, isn't it?"
"Because she's faithful, and obedient, and she's my darling little Fiat."
"Good grief! I'm surprised you haven't spray-painted her pink."
"Don't be so silly."
Was I imagining it, or had a small cloud just passed over the sun? I could certainly feel a distinct chill in the air.
"I've got a good idea! Why don't we hire a boat, and picnic on the water, away from the crowds?"
Helen immediately brightened at the suggestion. "You can row," she said, "and I'll sit in the back like a lady of leisure, under the shade of a parasol."
"But you haven't got a parasol."
"Yes, I have." She withdrew a small, collapsible umbrella from her bag with a flourish. "Ta! Ra!"
And so it was. I plied the oars manfully, and the boat responded with a stately surge, pushing a silver bow wave out along the Grand Canal. Helen sat, prettily poised under her parasol, with the westering sun glinting against the grand façade of the Palace, resplendent in the background behind her.
"Does life get any better than this?" I said. My question was not really addressed to Helen. It was more of a thought, expressed out loud.
She trailed her fingers listlessly through the water with a faraway look in her eyes, and did not reply. I was about to make another of my facetious comments, when I noticed a deep sadness in her expression. She was no longer with me, but reaching back into the past, lost in reverie. What demons had crossed her mind to cast such a pale shadow? I rowed on in silence until we reached the transept of the watery cross laid out for Louis XIV three and a half centuries ago, then I shipped oars, letting the boat drift, as idly as the thoughts of its occupants.
Before long, a warning shout startled me. "Watch out, you fool! Why can't you look where you're going?"
The two boats collided with a jolt, nearly tipping Helen into the water.
"Crazy fool, yourself! Surely you could have steered round us?" I snarled angrily.
Helen quickly recovered her poise and smiled graciously at our assailant. "No harm done," she said. "Come on, Charles, let's get under way."
The other rower looked somewhat abashed, and muttered an apology in her direction, then turned to scowl in mine. I was tempted to tip him into the water with my oar.
As we continued up the canal, Helen started to unpack the picnic things. "Look! There's a quiet spot. Over there."
I spotted a bollard, and steadied the boat against the embankment whilst I made fast. Helen passed me two glasses and a bottle of lukewarm Anjou Rosé. "Here, why don't you pour us both a drink, while I get the food sorted out?"
Though not the finest drop I'd ever tasted, it was enough to restore my equilibrium, and we were soon chatting away happily about nothing in particular, while enjoying the delicacies we had bought in the market that morning. I wanted to ask Helen what had been troubling her, but thought the better of it. No doubt she would tell me in her own good time if she wanted to.
When almost everything else had been finished, she brought out two chocolate eclairs that definitely hadn't been improved by their hours in the sun. "Oh, dear," she said, "I'm not sure that even the swans will appreciate these. I think we'd better stick with the cakes."
"Not for me, thanks. As my dear grandfather used to say, 'I have had an ample sufficiency and any more would be a redundancy.'"
"What a quaint, old-fashioned way of putting it! I couldn't fit another crumb in either. Anyway, we should pack up and head back into town, if we're to meet Monsieur le Curé on time."
"I suppose we can always feed the scraps to Fifi," I said.
She gave me the sort of look that, in Biblical days, would have turned me into a pillar of salt.
"Thank you for meeting us, Father. This is Mademoiselle Culverson, and I am Charles Brandon."
"I understand you are on a quest to unravel a small mystery. Is that correct?"
I nodded, and Helen turned and flashed him a smile, "What a fine building this is."
"Yes," he said, with obvious pride. "It is a neoclassical design, built in the 17th Century for King Louis XIV. The baptisms, marriages and deaths of the French Royal Family are all entered in our registers, but I gather the woman you are seeking information about is from humbler origins."
"Yes, we think so, although we have nothing to go on, except her name and the address where she used to live at the turn of the last century. Suzanne Gaudin. 79, Rue de la Paroisse. That is all we know about her. The house is now a veterinary clinic."
"Ah, yes. I know it. Dr Laurent is a parishioner of mine. Come this way. Let us see what we can find." He led the way, up the nave and into the vestry. "I'm sure you will appreciate the magnificent 19th century stained glass windows, Mme Culverson," he added, as we approached the altar.
Helen bowed her head and made the sign of the cross before replying in hushed tones, "They are outstandingly beautiful, Father."
"We have a blend of ancient beauty and modern convenience here these days. All of our records are now digital. You could, in fact, have searched on-line, but now you are here, you are welcome to spend some time in our microfilm library. I can spare half an hour, while I carry on with other church business, but then I shall have to lock up. Let me know if you have any queries."
"Thank you, Father. We appreciate it."
As he was leaving, he added, "I have been turning things over in my mind. I knew the name Gaudin was familiar. There is a Mademoiselle Françoise Gaudin in the parish still, but unfortunately she suffers from a mental illness caused at birth. Perhaps she is related to the woman you are interested in. You could look up her birth records, too, if you think it might help."
However, perhaps because the weather had been unsettled earlier in the day, entry to the Versailles Gardens by way of the Queen's Gate was relatively easy, and we were lucky enough to find parking under the shade of a tree not far from the Grand Canal.
"Fifi should be nice and cool there," Helen said.
"Fifi? Who is Fifi?"
"Who do you think, Charles? You've been driving around in her all day."
I sighed. Whatever possesses women to name their cars?
"Of course! But why Fifi? That's a dog's name, isn't it?"
"Because she's faithful, and obedient, and she's my darling little Fiat."
"Good grief! I'm surprised you haven't spray-painted her pink."
"Don't be so silly."
Was I imagining it, or had a small cloud just passed over the sun? I could certainly feel a distinct chill in the air.
"I've got a good idea! Why don't we hire a boat, and picnic on the water, away from the crowds?"
Helen immediately brightened at the suggestion. "You can row," she said, "and I'll sit in the back like a lady of leisure, under the shade of a parasol."
"But you haven't got a parasol."
"Yes, I have." She withdrew a small, collapsible umbrella from her bag with a flourish. "Ta! Ra!"
And so it was. I plied the oars manfully, and the boat responded with a stately surge, pushing a silver bow wave out along the Grand Canal. Helen sat, prettily poised under her parasol, with the westering sun glinting against the grand façade of the Palace, resplendent in the background behind her.
"Does life get any better than this?" I said. My question was not really addressed to Helen. It was more of a thought, expressed out loud.
She trailed her fingers listlessly through the water with a faraway look in her eyes, and did not reply. I was about to make another of my facetious comments, when I noticed a deep sadness in her expression. She was no longer with me, but reaching back into the past, lost in reverie. What demons had crossed her mind to cast such a pale shadow? I rowed on in silence until we reached the transept of the watery cross laid out for Louis XIV three and a half centuries ago, then I shipped oars, letting the boat drift, as idly as the thoughts of its occupants.
Before long, a warning shout startled me. "Watch out, you fool! Why can't you look where you're going?"
The two boats collided with a jolt, nearly tipping Helen into the water.
"Crazy fool, yourself! Surely you could have steered round us?" I snarled angrily.
Helen quickly recovered her poise and smiled graciously at our assailant. "No harm done," she said. "Come on, Charles, let's get under way."
The other rower looked somewhat abashed, and muttered an apology in her direction, then turned to scowl in mine. I was tempted to tip him into the water with my oar.
As we continued up the canal, Helen started to unpack the picnic things. "Look! There's a quiet spot. Over there."
I spotted a bollard, and steadied the boat against the embankment whilst I made fast. Helen passed me two glasses and a bottle of lukewarm Anjou Rosé. "Here, why don't you pour us both a drink, while I get the food sorted out?"
Though not the finest drop I'd ever tasted, it was enough to restore my equilibrium, and we were soon chatting away happily about nothing in particular, while enjoying the delicacies we had bought in the market that morning. I wanted to ask Helen what had been troubling her, but thought the better of it. No doubt she would tell me in her own good time if she wanted to.
When almost everything else had been finished, she brought out two chocolate eclairs that definitely hadn't been improved by their hours in the sun. "Oh, dear," she said, "I'm not sure that even the swans will appreciate these. I think we'd better stick with the cakes."
"Not for me, thanks. As my dear grandfather used to say, 'I have had an ample sufficiency and any more would be a redundancy.'"
"What a quaint, old-fashioned way of putting it! I couldn't fit another crumb in either. Anyway, we should pack up and head back into town, if we're to meet Monsieur le Curé on time."
"I suppose we can always feed the scraps to Fifi," I said.
She gave me the sort of look that, in Biblical days, would have turned me into a pillar of salt.
***
Monsieur le Curé stood on the steps waiting for us when we arrived at the Notre Dame de Versailles. He extended a blue-veined hand, and introduced himself: "I'm Father Pierre Lacroix, the parish priest.""Thank you for meeting us, Father. This is Mademoiselle Culverson, and I am Charles Brandon."
"I understand you are on a quest to unravel a small mystery. Is that correct?"
I nodded, and Helen turned and flashed him a smile, "What a fine building this is."
"Yes," he said, with obvious pride. "It is a neoclassical design, built in the 17th Century for King Louis XIV. The baptisms, marriages and deaths of the French Royal Family are all entered in our registers, but I gather the woman you are seeking information about is from humbler origins."
"Yes, we think so, although we have nothing to go on, except her name and the address where she used to live at the turn of the last century. Suzanne Gaudin. 79, Rue de la Paroisse. That is all we know about her. The house is now a veterinary clinic."
"Ah, yes. I know it. Dr Laurent is a parishioner of mine. Come this way. Let us see what we can find." He led the way, up the nave and into the vestry. "I'm sure you will appreciate the magnificent 19th century stained glass windows, Mme Culverson," he added, as we approached the altar.
Helen bowed her head and made the sign of the cross before replying in hushed tones, "They are outstandingly beautiful, Father."
"We have a blend of ancient beauty and modern convenience here these days. All of our records are now digital. You could, in fact, have searched on-line, but now you are here, you are welcome to spend some time in our microfilm library. I can spare half an hour, while I carry on with other church business, but then I shall have to lock up. Let me know if you have any queries."
"Thank you, Father. We appreciate it."
As he was leaving, he added, "I have been turning things over in my mind. I knew the name Gaudin was familiar. There is a Mademoiselle Françoise Gaudin in the parish still, but unfortunately she suffers from a mental illness caused at birth. Perhaps she is related to the woman you are interested in. You could look up her birth records, too, if you think it might help."
 Recognized |
|
To make fast. (Naut.) to make secure; to fasten firmly, as a vessel, a rope
To ship oars. (Naut.) to stop rowing a boat and put the oars inside it.
Bollard. (Naut.) A fastening post on land, used for securing a rope.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. To ship oars. (Naut.) to stop rowing a boat and put the oars inside it.
Bollard. (Naut.) A fastening post on land, used for securing a rope.
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