King of the Castle by Victoria Holt

shown over the chateau the next day;
    and I had achieved some sort of relationship with the Comte, although I was not sure what sort.
    I was rather pleased when I could retire to my room, but before I left, the Comte said that there was a book in the library which I might like to see.
    “My father had a man down here to write it,” he explained.
    “He was extremely interested in the history of our family. The book was written and printed. It is years since I read it, but I do believe it would interest you.”
    I said that I was sure it would and I should be delighted to see it.
    “I will have it sent to you,” he told me.
     
    I took my leave of the company when Genevieve did and we left the men together. She conducted me to my room and bade me a cool good night.
    I had not been long in my room when there was a knock on the door and a maid entered with the book.
    “Monsieur Ie Comte said you wanted this,” she told me.
    She went out leaving me standing with the book in my hand. It was a slim volume and there were some line drawings of the castle. I was sure I should find it absorbing, but at the moment my mind was full of the evening’s events.
    I did not want to go to bed for my mind was too stimulated for sleep, and my thoughts were dominated by the Comte. I had expected him to be unusual. After all he was a man surrounded by mystery. His daughter was afraid of him; I was not sure about his cousin, but I suspected he was too. The Comte was a man who liked those about him to fear him, and yet despised them for doing it. That was the conclusion I had come to. I had noted the exasperation those two had aroused in him and yet by his manner he had added to their fear. I wondered what his life had been like with the woman who had been unfortunate enough to marry him.
    Had she cowered from his contempt? How had he ill-treated her? It was not easy to think of him indulging in physical violence . and yet how could I be sure of anything where he was concerned? I scarcely knew him . yet.
    The last word excited me. I had to admit it. For how did he think of me? Scarcely at all. He had looked me over, had decided to give me the job, and that could well be the end of his interest. Why had I been invited to dine with the family? So that he could look more intently at a human specimen who interested him vaguely? Because there was nothing else of interest at the castle? Dining alone with Philippe and Genevieve would be somewhat boring. I had defied him not altogether successfully for
     
    he was too clever not to see through my defence-and because I was bold it had amused him to submit me to further examination, to attempt to deflate me.
    He was a sadist. That was my conclusion. He was responsible for his wife’s death, for even if he had not administered the dose he had driven her to take it. Poor woman! What must her life have been! How wretched could a woman be to be driven to take her life. Poor Genevieve, who was her daughter! I must try to understand that girl, somehow make a friend of her. I felt she was a lost child wandering through a maze, growing increasingly more afraid that she would never find a way out.
    And I, who prided myself on being a practical woman, could grow quite fanciful in this place, where strange events must have happened over centuries, where a woman so recently had died unhappily.
    To drive this man out of my thoughts I tried to think of another. How different was the open face of Jean Pierre Bastide!
    Then suddenly I began to smile. It was strange that I who had never been interested in a man since I had loved Charles years ago had now found two who were constantly in my thoughts.
    How foolish! I admonished myself. What have either of them to do with you?
    I picked up the book the Comte had given me and began to read.
    The castle had been built in the year 1405 and there was still much of the original structure standing. The two wings which flanked the old building had been added later, they were well