The Staircase: A haunting romantic thriller Read online

  Heavily jewelled men vied for glory with the host of beautiful females who surrounded the King, himself tall and elegant, his dark good looks marred only by a very long nose. However, his bright blue eyes twinkled and it was obvious from the press of women that they did not consider François’s one ugly feature of any significance.

  “Who are they all?” whispered Helena.

  “The least attractive is the Queen, Eleanor. She is his second wife but he prefers to be in the arms of that little fair one.”

  Helena looked to where a dazzling blonde flirted in the centre of a crowd of admirers.

  “She’s Anne d’Heuilly, la Duchesse d’Etampes.”

  “And who is that giving her black and white looks?”

  “His other lady, François de Chateaubriant.”

  “Well, well!” said Helena smiling and shaking her head. Then her eye was suddenly caught by the most beautiful woman of all, standing alone, starkly clad in black, a white veil hanging from her headdress, yet with a presence that outshone every other woman in the room.

  “Who’s that?” she murmered.

  Etienne laughed gently. “La plus belles de belles. She is Diane de Poitiers, widow of the Senechal of Normandy.”

  Helena gazed in wonderment at a legend, the woman who, though twenty-one years his senior, held the Dauphin of France totally within her thrall.

  “How old is she?”

  “Over forty.”

  “No!” breathed Helena, looking at smooth milky skin, glorious eyes, blue as sea jade, and a body on which there was not one ounce of superfluous flesh.

  “And here comes Diane’s lover together with her bitterest enemy,” said Etienne quietly and Helena saw Catherine de Medici coming into the hall with her husband the Dauphin, who also wore black and white with a large crescent moon brooch pinned high on his shoulder.

  “It is the emblem of the goddess Diana and he wears it to please his mistress,” Etienne whispered but could say no more as the royal gathering began to move to where he stood.

  “Fleurmont,” the King was calling. “Where have you been? Did you lie long abed after a riotous night?”

  There was laughter as Etienne bowed low and said, “If only I had, Sire. But alas I had no such good fortune.”

  *

  They all drew nearer and it was then that it became utterly clear to Helena that Etienne was right, none of them could see her at all. It was the weirdest sensation and yet in a way intriguing.

  And yet Helena had the strongest feeling that someone was looking at her. Glancing up suddenly, she saw the Dauphine staring straight at her, just as she had done last night. Helena dropped a curtsy and saw the faintest of smiles play around Catherine’s lips.

  As the procession moved on, taking Catherine right past her, she heard the woman whisper, “This afternoon. In the Pavilion de la Chaussée. The astrologer will bring you to me.”

  Then she was gone and so was the Vicomte, and Helena was left alone to explore the chateau and forlornly search for Hal.

  It was afternoon when Helena wandered out into the gardens, lifting her face up to the sun, only to feel a pair of arms circle her waist from behind and a kiss being planted on her hair.

  “I’ve caught you at last, little rogue,” said Etienne. “I think you’ve been hiding.”

  Helena thought long afterwards that that was one of the best moments in her experience, to stand in the beautiful gardens of Chambord, in the warmth of the summer sun, exchanging kisses with Etienne de Fleurmont until, arms still entwined around each other, he finally took her in silence back inside the chateau and to the tower opposite that in which lay the King’s apartments. Still in silence Etienne opened two wooden doors and Helena found that she was in a chapel, very plain and stark and not in the least imposing, as she had thought Chambord’s place of worship would be.

  “My darling,” he said simply. “I have come here to pledge my undying love for you.”

  It was said so sincerely that Helena found all the million and one protests that should have been on her lips suddenly stilled as Etienne led her to the altar and knelt on the mosaic floor before it. Feeling in a mood of total harmony with him, Helena did the same.

  “This ring,” he said, producing the diamond she had seen lying on his bedroom floor, “has always belonged to the Vicomtesses de Fleurmont. I want you to wear it.”

  Before Helena could say a word he had slipped it on her left hand.

  “In my eyes and also, I humbly believe, in God’s,” Etienne said softly, “we are now man and wife.”

  Helena did not know what to say. How could she at such a moment tell such a truly splendid person that she had suddenly discovered, even in the last few hours, that Hal was, despite everything, the man she had been in love with all the time? That her teenage rebellion, though understandable, had been utterly without point?

  Instead, with equal sincerity she answered, “As long as I am here, in your century, know that I do love you.”

  At that they joined hands and without saying more rose from the altar and turned to go. In the doorway a gaunt, instantly recognisable figure waited for them and as they approached bowed low.

  “I greet the new Vicomtesse with much joy, but alas I must speak with her privately,” said Ruggieri.

  Etienne put a protective arm round Helena. “What do you want with my wife?”

  “That I cannot reveal, Sir.”

  “You must,” said the Vicomte, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

  “Please,” Helena put in, “don’t quarrel.” She turned to Etienne. “My dear, Madame la Dauphine knows of my presence here. She has asked me to meet her in the Pavilion de la Chaussée.

  His face paled. “Why did you not tell me of this before?”

  “There has been no time.”

  Over Helena’s head, Etienne stared at the astrologer. “What is this about? What does the Dauphine want with my wife?”

  Ruggieri smiled his cynical smile and spead his hands. “How would I know that, Sir? Madame does not confide all her secrets to me.”

  “You lying dog,” said Etienne, grabbing him by the collar. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Let him go,” said Helena, suddenly sharp, “there is no need to make an enemy of him.”

  Etienne released his hold and looked at her sadly. “Because only he can help you to return? Is that why you defend him?”

  Helena turned away, unable to meet the Vicomte’s eye.

  “It’s as well,” said Ruggieri, brushing at his collar, “that no injury befell me. If it had done you would have left me no choice but to inform Madame.”

  “That will not be necessary,” answered Helena determinedly. “I am coming with you now.”

  And as Etienne moved forward to stop her, she side-stepped. “It is no use. I am determined to go.”

  Ruggieri bowed. “You are a wise woman, my dear. Nonetheless, let me give you my personal assurance that you are in absolutely no danger.” He shot Etienne a dark, unreadable look.

  “Pretty words, but I shall accompany my wife as far as the pavilion,” said the Vicomte.

  “You will do no such thing,” answered the astrologer briskly. “Keep to your own quarters, Monsieur, and I will return your little ghost to you within two hours.”

  And with that he took Helena firmly by the elbow and propelled her out of the chapel, leaving Etienne staring anxiously after them.

  Once outside the astrologer moved quickly and Helena found herself hurrying up the drive which led through the forest and away from Chambord. It seemed to her that they had gone at least a mile, in fact the walls of the estate were visible in the distance, before Ruggieri swiftly bore left in the direction of a collonaded pavilion.

  “I will leave you at the steps,” he said. “Madame’s conversation with you is to be entirely private.”

  “What does she want with me?” asked Helena, striving to keep up. “And how is it that she alone of those at Court can see me?”

  “Ma
dame has long been interested in things that are beyond the narrow confines of the known,” Ruggieri answered tersely.

  “You mean magic?” asked Helena, but he would say no more.

  The light in the pavilion was dim after the brightness of the day and it took Helena several minutes, straining to adjust her vision, to realise that Catherine stood in the shadows, silently watching her. Yet again a chill of foreboding made her shiver as the Dauphine softly spoke.

  “So we have succeeded. A triumph, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean, Madame?”

  “I think it remarkable that between us Ruggieri and I brought you here.”

  “But I thought Etienne . . .”

  Catherine gave a contemptuous laugh and stepped forward, the light from the windows falling on her face in stripes from the closed shutters.

  “Etienne? He was used. I have studied magic since I was a girl and it was I who called you to me, assisted by my astrologer.”

  “Then please,” said Helena firmly, “send me back again.”

  The Dauphine looked genuinely astonished. “But I thought you loved the Vicomte?”

  “I do,” Helena answered, “but not enough to give up my own world and all the people in it.”

  Catherine’s dark eyes had pools of fire in their depths which flickered as she leaned close to Helena’s ear.

  “In that case it will not be as difficult to persuade you as I thought.”

  Helena recoiled. “To do what?”

  Catherine laughed, a chill and bitter sound. “I wonder how much you know of real love, if you have ever suffered the torment of adoring yet being spurned in return. I was fourteen when I married the Dauphin and I was in love with him then. But he had eyes for only one woman, the widow Diane, and I hate her more than words can say.”

  She paused, thinking her own private thoughts and Helena tensed, almost guessing what was coming next.

  “So that is where you come in, my dear. In return for special services Ruggieri and I will have you away from here tonight.”

  “And what must I do?”

  Catherine smiled wickedly. “Did you know that this evening the King has ordered a masked ball?” Helena shook her head and the Dauphine went on, “The masks will be elaborate, disguising, but it is always easy to recognise the Widow. She wears black to show up the cream of her skin and white near her face to enhance its perfection.” Catherine ground her teeth. “And have you noticed that Monsieur le Dauphin dresses in the same sober colours simply to please his lady?”

  Helena nodded mutely, the feeling of horror deepening.

  “So little ghost, I have a simple task for you. Tonight you must kill Diane.”

  Helena froze where she stood. “But I can’t do that.”

  Catherine’s face transformed. “You will do it, exactly as I say. Otherwise you can stay here forever. A ghost without substance, marooned in time.”

  Helena stood stock still, thinking of the terrible prospect that lay before her. “What do you want me to do?” she said eventually.

  Catherine de Medici laughed soundlessly. “Why, turn your invisibility to good use, of course. At the height of the festivities when all have drunk too much I want you to push the Widow to her death.”

  It was on the tip of Helena’s tongue to say, “But Diane de Poitiers was never murdered”, when she thought better of it.

  “And what guarantee have I that you will send me back to my own time if I do this for you?”

  “You have the word of a Medici,” said Catherine icily. “The word of a Dauphine of France.”

  “It seems to me I have little choice,” answered Helena slowly.

  “My dear, you have none. Now, will you do it?”

  “Yes,” said Helena, “I promise that before midnight tonight, Diane de Poitiers will be gone for ever.”

  Chapter Four

  Helena stood, as if in a trance, before a painting of Etienne and herself, and she knew without a shred of doubt that she would one day see him again . . .

  *

  Helena turned, running from the pavilion so fast that she actually seemed to glide above the earth, part of her mind back in the Paris Tourist Office, seeing the poster of Chambord and remembering the vision in which she had hastened down this very drive and entered the chateau.

  Had that been a premonition of this moment rather than a memory, Helena wondered now. But there was no time to dwell on anything so abstract. Her principal concern must be to escape both from the palace and Catherine de Medici’s scheme. And yet what hope was there? Her dream seemed to have become a reality. How could she turn it into fantasy once more?

  Helena ran on blindly, unaware that she had left the forest behind and had entered the furthest of the beautiful gardens, until the sound of voices caught her attention and she slowed her pace.

  There was no one immediately in sight though the murmuring continued and instinctively Helena froze behind a tree. A second later she was glad she had done so for two of the three people to whom she was visible came into view. Etienne walked right past her with none other than Ruggieri himself. Helena’s eyes widened in amazement to see a couple who had so recently quarrelled deep in conversation.

  “. . . she wants to leave, astrologer. My love is not enough for her. Will you help me keep Helena here?” Etienne was saying.

  “Monsieur le Vicomte, I am in difficulties. Today Madame struck some kind of bargain with her to which even I was not privy, though I believe it may concern Helena’s return to her own time.”

  “But surely you . . .” Etienne interrupted.

  “Surely, nothing,” Ruggieri answered swiftly. “You must believe that Madame had more than a little to do with your wife’s strange arrival at Chambord.”

  “You mean that her influence is greater than mine . . . or yours?”

  Ruggieri nodded gravely. “I fear so, Monsieur. Madame is a mistress of the hidden arts. If she has promised to send Helena home, then beware.”

  Their voices were lost as they went on down the path, still in earnest debate.

  Slowly Helena stepped out of her hiding place, her mind now in a turmoil. If Ruggieri had a foot in both camps, as it would appear he obviously had, what hope had she of persuading him to help her? It seemed that she had come up against a blank wall, for she most certainly could never kill the widow Diane de Poitiers to earn her escape. The very thought was so horrifying that Helena put it straight from her mind.

  Wretchedly she entered the chateau, not quite sure in which direction to go, but vaguely heading for Etienne’s apartments. Then an idea struck her. Perhaps it had been the bridge under which she had swum, the bridge which had echoed and re-echoed with the sound of cleaving water, that might hold the key.

  Could it be that, if Helena retraced her steps exactly, the reverse process would take place and she would find herself standing by the river bank, the chateau closed and dark, the last hotel guests having a late-night drink on the terrace?

  With sudden purpose she entered the Vicomte’s rooms silently and went to the cupboard where her clothes had been put after they had dried.

  With a beating heart Helena opened the door to find that her luck had held, they were still there. Now came the difficult business of wrestling with laces and buttons but with maximum concentration she finally managed to divest herself of the heavy garments and put on the trousers and tee shirt in which she had arrived. They seemed slight and superficial after the richness of the others and Helena caught herself wishing that modern clothes were more romantic, more sumptuous, as she turned from the mirror to go.

  She had actually put her hand out to unlock the door when it suddenly flew open and there was Etienne, standing staring at her aghast, his smile dying on his lips as he took in how she was dressed.

  “Monsieur . . .” Helena began, but he would not let her finish, instead slamming the door behind him and leaning on it to bar the way out.

  “Where are you going?” he asked angrily.

&nbs
p; “I have to leave — or try to,” Helena answered desperately. “If I stay here I will be forced to commit a crime.” She flew into his arms. “Etienne, I must go. Please help me, oh please.”

  “Is this to do with Madame?” he asked tersely.

  “Of course it is. She wants me to push Diane de Poitiers to her death.”

  “Tonight at the ball?”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  *

  Helena felt the whole of Etienne’s body tense as the impact of what she had just said dawned on him. Finally he held her at arm’s length to look at her.

  “You are telling me the truth?” he asked.

  “Of course I am. Etienne,” Helena went on impulsively, “I heard you try to persuade the astrologer to keep me here, but if you succeed you realise the cost to me. I am visible to Catherine de Medici who will give me no peace until I obey her wishes.”

  “Then there is no hope,” said the Vicomte wretchedly, “you must leave here, and quickly.”

  Words came onto Helena’s lips over which she seemed to have no control. “If you help me, I promise that one day, somehow, I’ll come back. It would be unbearable never to see you again.”

  “My little wife, I will wait for you for ever, you know that,” Etienne said with feeling.

  They kissed swiftly, then Helena said, “As soon as it is dark I plan to retrace my steps from the night I arrived. If you will let me out through your balcony window, just exactly as you let me in, I intend to swim from the moat to the river and see if I can reverse the chain of events which led to me being here.”

  Etienne frowned. “But it is the staircase that originally brought us together. Surely that would be the way to go.”

  “I don’t know. I simply don’t know.”

  “Neither do I, unless . . .”

  “What?” asked Helena, torn between hope and fear.

  “If Master Leonardo could really travel through time as you believe, then somewhere in his journals or notebooks he must have referred to it. If we could see those . . .”

  “But surely they are locked away at Clos-Luce?” said Helena despairingly.

  “No, they are here. After da Vinci’s death, the King brought everything to Chambord. He has them now, under lock and key.”