The Chateau on the Lake by Charlotte Betts Read Free Book Online Page B

doorway and see that the carpet is being rolled up too.
    ‘Mrs Jephcott’s orders,’ says one of the men. ‘We’re to strip this room and take the furniture to their new apartments. Excuse me, miss, but we’ve got a job of work to do.’
    I retreat to my bedroom and weep, wondering how long it will be before I lose that too. I’m powerless to fight against the implacable Jephcotts.
     

     
    I call upon Sophie several times in the ensuing weeks but rarely find her at home. My loneliness and despair mount and, if I had hoped to find solace in friendship with Lydia, I have been disappointed. One Saturday in November I make another overture towards her.
    ‘It’s a perfect day for a ride in Rotten Row,’ I say. ‘Will you come with me, Lydia?’
    She bites her lip and looks away. I know already that she’ll refuse.
    ‘Why do you always rebuff me?’ I ask.
    Shrugging, she looks at her feet.
    ‘Please tell me!’ My feelings are hurt.
    ‘I can’t,’ she mumbles.
    ‘Have I offended you?’
    Lydia sighs. ‘I can’t look at you without remembering that terrible night when your father died. I want to put it all behind me. I’m sorry, Madeleine, but it’s too uncomfortable for me to be your friend.’
    Feeling miserable, I retire to my lonely bedroom. I must face up to the fact that there is no comfortable position for me in the school any more. I twist my father’s ring around my finger, losing myself in the changing colours of the luminous depths of the moonstone. It used to be said that anyone who looked deep into a moonstone could see into the future but I’m not sure I want to know what is going to happen to me. I do know there must be change ahead.
     

     
    The change, when it arrives in early-December, comes in an entirely unexpected way, in the form of a letter. I remove the wax seal and unfold it. It’s a response to Mama’s letter that I posted to her lawyer, Mr Thimbleby.
     
Dear Miss Moreau,
May I offer my sincere condolences for your recent tragic losses? During her last illness your mother, the late Mrs Caroline Moreau, asked me to write to you and explain certain circumstances.
Upon the death of her parents, Mrs Moreau received an inheritance, which your father did not wish her to accept. The funds were therefore invested for you, to be made available for such time as you might have need of them. My client’s instructions were for ourselves to release some of the trust funds to you immediately. You may find it reassuring to know that there is a sum available to you that is sufficient, if you live frugally, to allow you a modicum of comfort for the next few years.
Furthermore, when you attain the age of five and twenty you will inherit your grandfather’s home, Maitland Hall. In the meantime, the property is tenanted and the income invested with the remainder of your grandfather’s estate. These funds will in due course allow you to maintain Maitland Hall and enjoy a life of ease.
Arrangements have been set in train for you to collect an allowance from the Mercantile Bank in Threadneedle Street. Please do not hesitate to write to me should you require further advice.
I remain your obedient servant,
Josiah Thimbleby
     
    Carefully, I fold the letter and put it away in my pocket, only to take it out and read it again a few minutes later. Nothing can bring back my beloved parents but at least this legacy will bring me a measure of independence. All at once a tiny bubble of hope begins to swell inside me and I long to share it with the only person I know who will be happy for me.
    Ten minutes later I’m buttoning my coat against the chill winter air and hurrying towards Sophie’s house, hoping that for once she will be at home.
    It seems that my wish is to be granted. However, when I’m admitted to the drawing room, I’m shocked to see that one of her eyelids is purple and swollen and there’s a cut on her cheek.
    I turn her face to look at her bruises in the light. ‘Sophie, what happened?