(A/N: This is a translation of the German story Gefangene der Angst by E. M. K. 81, which I am uploading with the author's permission in the hopes that other English-speaking readers will enjoy it as much as I did. Further chapters will appear as and when I finish translating them. For a link to the original, see my profile.)
The chateau
As the year wore on and the autumn started to become cold and rainy, their journey became more and more arduous. In addition, Pierre, who was the most exposed to the weather, acquired a nasty cough. One evening when he came back from his ride to the next inn, Raoul was waiting for him in the stables.
"It's all arranged," Pierre reported, then dismounted and promptly broke into a fit of coughing. The Vicomte caught hold of the reins, and between them they got the horse into his box. Now that he was constantly being ridden hard the stallion had become much quieter, and also consented from time to time to being ridden by the Vicomte, himself a good horseman.
When the horse was in his box, Raoul noticed that Pierre was shaking from head to foot and could barely keep hold of the saddle which he had taken off the horse's back. "My good man, you're ill," observed Raoul in concern.
"Only a cough," answered Pierre.
"That's not something to be taken lightly, man!" Raoul said warmly. "We'll put off tomorrow's stage by a day and see to it that you spend the day in bed and drink hot tea."
"You really want to run an unnecessary risk, just because I've got a bit of a cough?" Pierre was astonished.
"You're in my service: I owe you that much duty of care. You've got a fever, man! See to it that you get some hot soup in the common room at the inn, and then take a rest."
"But the night guard duty..."
"For now I'll do it myself — unless you think your dogs would attack me?"
Pierre said nothing, and was unusually quiet when he greeted his dogs.
After a day's rest he was clearly very much better, and they were able to set out again on their journey. Pierre was as taciturn as ever, but it was after a somewhat different fashion; he seemed less ill-tempered and embittered and more thoughtful. Perhaps the most noticeable outcome was that — probably on account of his cough — he was not smoking.
After these travails they were all the more relieved when they reached the chateau. The coachman knew the way, which was fortunate, as it was a rather secluded spot. There were a few little villages, then the seemingly endless lands belonging to the chateau, which specialised principally in wine-growing and horse-breeding. A few more little villages attached to the chateau housed farmers who had leased fields and grew there the food that supplied the workers, and also in part the inhabitants of the big house.
In principle the chateau could be self-sufficient, since there were also woodlands belonging to it, but this was not intended. Nor was it necessary. The wine production did very well and the exceptional quality of the wine made selling it a simple matter. The stud also had a good reputation, and its horses sold readily.
On their arrival Christine was astonished by the size of the grounds. The chateau was preceded by the little workers' village, which had a shop that sold practically everything, a tailor, a cobbler and a carpenter — also a very pretty Romanesque church. Then came a wall about three metres high made of rough stones, with a wrought-iron gate. Beyond the gate there began a gravel drive which ran through an attractively laid-out garden to the chateau proper, which seemed to have been conceived as a miniature castle.
Christine's eyes grew wider and wider as she realised how large the area within the walls was. "And these are only the gardens?" she said, marvelling. "It will be wonderful here in springtime — in the spring, when our baby has come!"
The staff at the chateau were standing ready to receive Raoul and his wife, and the steward in particular hastened to give a welcome to the Vicomte and Vicomtesse. The local priest was also present to pay his respects, along with every possible servant, foremen, local dignitaries and all those who considered themselves to be important persons. The Vicomte was friendly to them all, although he doubted if he would be able to remember all their names. The Vicomtesse was tired and quickly withdrew.
When the official part of the welcome was finally over, Raoul collapsed into an armchair in the library and dropped his head between his hands, exhausted. He heard Pierre's voice. "Excuse me..."
Raoul gave himself a shake and raised his head. "What is it now?"
"I've had a brief look over the chateau. Your brother really made a good choice here; a break-in would be difficult. I suggest that you give the order that at night all the windows must be shuttered and all the outside doors barred, and no-one is to hang around in the garden; it makes for an excellent barrier zone around the house, and I shall be on watch there with my dogs. I wouldn't want some member of the staff coming back from a tryst with a girl in one of the villages to get bitten by the dogs by mistake, so it's best to let them all know that it's not allowed. And if it's all right with you, I've noticed that the gatehouse is standing empty — I think that would make an excellent kennels for me and the dogs, if you would permit me to move in."
Raoul leant back in the chair and considered briefly. "All right. We need to discuss in any case the precise terms under which you are to work here. But I'm too tired at the moment to make any decision; we'll talk about it another time. Until then you can live in the gatehouse. If you need anything — firewood, blankets, sheets and so on — I'll give orders that you can get them from the chateau."
Pierre replied with a slight bow: "Thank you, Monsieur, and good night."
Over the next few weeks a certain routine became established. After Pierre's dogs had bitten a couple of the younger servants, word got about generally that it was better for anyone who failed to get back by curfew to stay out until the next morning. Christine settled down into rapid domestication and attempted to undertake the running of such a large household, though she would have been completely lost without the help of the plump and constantly cheerful cook. She had no idea of what she should do as lady of the house, or what orders to give. But the chateau had managed for decades without any members of the de Chagny family, under the rule of the steward and the cook, who oversaw the household, and there was not much for Christine to get wrong. She simply needed to learn, and positively blossomed in her new role. The tranquility and the fresh air were perceptibly doing her good.
Raoul had far more to struggle with. The steward was always pleasant to him, but it was clear that the man was not happy to have one of his noble employers moving into the chateau with the intention of taking affairs into his own hands. In consequence he did his best to keep the Vicomte out of the running of the estate as far as possible. To start off with this was entirely agreeable to Raoul, who knew nothing about wine-growing or horse-breeding, since it meant that he could concentrate on the things that really mattered: Christine's safety and well-being.
Pierre and his dogs were constantly everywhere, and Pierre developed a habit — extremely annoying to the staff — of sticking his nose into almost everything. The only one who stood up to him was the cook, who threatened briskly to hit him over the head with her frying-pan if she caught him or his hounds in her kitchen. All the others allowed themselves to be intimidated by the gun he openly carried and the huge dogs. In order to avoid bothering Raoul, Pierre simply took the question of the safety of the chateau into his own hands and took steps for the repair of the wall, the replacement of the window shutters and the fitting of new and better locks on almost all the doors.
Some days later, on a grey, rainy day in late autumn, one of the maidservants came rushing in a fluster to the music-room, where Christine and Raoul were sitting and reading the newspapers. "Come quickly, please, Monsieur! There's a quarrel between the soldier and the steward, one where only you can intervene!"
Raoul sighed, gave Christine a kiss and promised to be back soon. The maid led him towards the steward's office, and the raised voices of Pierre Bertrand and Maurice Dubois, the steward, were audible when they were still several corridors away.
"Change all the shutters and locks? Rebuild the fermentation cellar? Renew the stables and barns? Are you out of your mind?" shouted Maurice furiously.
Pierre's reply was somewhat quieter, but fury could be heard in his voice too. "The window shutters and locks have been useless for a long time — they might as well have a notice on them reading 'break in here please' — and the cellar doesn't have adequate ventilation. You know what a build-up of fermentation gas could mean..."
"In the last fifty years we've never had an accident with fermentation!"
"That doesn't mean it can't happen!"
Raoul quickened his step as he heard others interfering in the argument. Voices were audible:
"The gas really is dangerous..."
"We've always done it that way and nothing has ever gone wrong..."
"What's the point of that all of a sudden?"
"Why right now?"
"Who does he think he is anyway?"
"Well, I'm not going down there no more..."
"It's dangerous for all of us..."
and soon a number of men were shouting at each other in agitation.
Raoul turned into the corridor at the end of which the office lay. Through the open door he could see several men with their backs to the door blocking his view.
"Do you have any idea of the cost?" shouted Maurice. "This estate is just about in profit — but only just!"
"D—- your profit, we're talking about men's lives!" Pierre shouted back in outrage.
"I don't have to put up with that, Monsieur — not from you, some old man who comes from who knows where and ought to be thankful to have his feet under the table!"
"You swollen-headed stuffed shirt..." Pierre, who had started on a tirade of abuse, cut himself short, took a couple of deep breaths, and, mastering himself with difficulty, growled "I'm too old for this nonsense. I've been through it too often and I won't be a party to it again. Do yourself a favour; don't pick a quarrel with me."
"Is that a threat?" The steward's voice was derisive.
At that moment Raoul made it into the room and pushed through the bystanders, who were obviously foremen, secretaries and accountants. Now he could see that Maurice was sitting behind his desk with Pierre standing in front, leaning on the desktop with both hands while the two men glared into each other's eyes as if they wanted to shoot one another down with looks alone.
"No, Monsieur Dubois, that's not a threat," said Pierre, and his heavy breathing betrayed his fury. "It's a fact. Now do us both a favour and get out of my way — all I want is to do my job. But if you insist on thrusting a quarrel on me, then I won't be answerable for the consequences!"
"Messieurs, control yourselves — the pair of you!" The Vicomte had aimed for an air of authority, but at the moment he felt himself instead to be ridiculous.
All the same a sudden silence fell, and Pierre took a couple of steps back. "My apologies, Monsieur le Vicomte," he murmured, with a bow which left Raoul unsure whether it was meant as mockery or not.
"Now, what's wrong here? Monsieur Dubois — you first."
The steward reported in great detail how the accounts of the estate stood: how the vineyards were making a loss but the stud was doing better, such that the estate as a whole was in the black but there was no money for investment — and now this crazy old soldier turned up and wanted to give orders for completely unnecessary renovation work.
"Very well, that's your version. Monsieur Bertrand, what do you have to say on the matter?"
Pierre listed all the necessary improvements to the chateau and all its adjacent structures, in particular the farm buildings. Then he qualified this by saying that the shutters and locks on the chateau along with the ventilation of the cellar were the most important safety measures that could not wait.
"Safety measures?" snorted the steward. "Just who do you think you are?"
Raoul rounded on him. "It was MY order that he should attend to the matter of our safety here — are you questioning my decisions?"
Maurice paled and hastened to assure him that he would never venture to do any such thing.
"And you, Monsieur Bertrand?" Raoul began, planting himself in front of the man who was at least a head taller than himself. "You were to ask me before taking any action. You can offer me advice at any time, but I am the only one who makes the decisions here — is that clear?"
Pierre's eyes flashed as if he were on the point of breaking out in fury. Then he swallowed a couple of times, and finally answered through clenched teeth "Yes, Monsieur."
Raoul turned on his heel and strode off. He was himself not entirely sure what had just taken place: it reminded him a little of a fight for dominance between two dogs in a pack. Maurice and Pierre were both hot-heads who were clearly used to giving the orders, not following them.
Christine looked up from her paper in concern when her husband came into the room and collapsed onto the divan with a sigh. "What's the matter?"
Raoul shrugged it off. "Nothing that need worry you. A squabble between Bertrand and Dubois — I think I'm going to have a hard job to establish my authority here. How's the baby?"
Christine ran a hand over a stomach which had become increasingly round, and answered, with a laugh, "Kicking me harder every day."
At that moment there came a knock on the door. "Come in," called Christine automatically.
The door opened and Pierre came in alone, his steps lagging and shoulders slumped.
"I want to apologise, Monsieur," he began. "I... I misjudged you."
"How so?" asked Raoul, confused.
"I took you for a puffed-up fop, neither willing nor able to manage his own affairs. Today you taught me otherwise. I won't question your authority again."
Raoul didn't know whether or not he ought to be angry. Clearly Pierre had had no respect for him at all — which given the age difference between them was small wonder. It must have been hard for the old man to allow himself to be given orders by someone who could be his son. On the other hand the Vicomte had now won Pierre's respect, and somehow he had the feeling that it cost the man who stood before him a great effort to respect anyone else.
So he decided not to haul Pierre over the coals but answered quietly: "Apology accepted, Monsieur Bertrand. Now if there is nothing else to discuss, I wish you a good night."
Pierre bowed gracefully and left without another word.
Shortly afterwards, Christine and Raoul saw him and his dogs in the garden. It was dark, but Pierre's hurricane lamp could be made out clearly.