Miramont's Ghost by Elizabeth Hall

Julien’s shoulder as he rose and headed back inside. Julien spotted Adrienne and her governess coming across the grass from the meadow. Lucie carried a large bag containing their paints and easels, and Adrienne carried her painting in front of her, occasionally glancing at it as she skipped along the stone path. She stopped skipping, lowered her painting, and stared at Julien as she walked more sedately toward the terrace.
    “Good morning, Adrienne.” Julien smiled. “Have you been painting?”
    She nodded, and glanced toward Marie, still walking with the gardener.
    “Might I see it?”
    Adrienne smiled slightly and rushed up to stand next to Julien’s side. The painting was a small one, about eight inches square, and showed a view of the meadow and the vineyards beyond. Julien had often looked out at this same view in the years he spent at the château as a teenager.
    “I wanted to paint Phillipe, working in the vineyard,” Adrienne explained, pointing to a spot where the paint had been scraped. “But I have trouble with figures.”
    “Perhaps. But you do quite a nice job with scenery, Adrienne. How old are you?”
    “Six and a half. Lucie is a good teacher. You should see her paintings. She can do figures. She can paint almost anything and it looks right.” Lucie had joined them on the terrace, and stood a few feet away, waiting for Adrienne to finish her conversation.
    Julien looked up at the governess, and let his eyes roam the length of her body. Yes, he thought , she does figures quite nicely . He pulled his eyes away and looked back at his young cousin.
    “You like painting, then?” Julien continued.
    Adrienne nodded. “And reading. And playing the pianoforte. And I’m learning a little Italian, too.”
    Julien’s eyebrows went up. “How fortunate you are, to have a good teacher, and such broad interests.”
    Adrienne smiled.
    Julien started to cough, and he turned away from her slightly. He covered his mouth; his legs jerked with the effort. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip.
    Marie rushed up and moved between Julien and the girl. “Adrienne, off with you. Can’t you see he’s too ill for your foolishness?” Marie scowled.
    “But . . .” Adrienne stood staring. “But I want to hear about trains. And Indians. And ships on the ocean.”
    Marie knelt beside Julien, and offered a glass of water. She turned to Adrienne again. “Can’t you see how sick he is? Leave us. Now.”
    Adrienne moved slowly in Lucie’s direction, her painting now forgotten and hanging at her side. She stopped and glanced back at this man she barely knew.
    Julien was exhausted from his coughing fit, but he could see that the girl wanted to talk to him. He turned his head toward Adrienne and gave her a weak smile.
    Adrienne stared at Marie’s back, hunched as she knelt over her son. Quickly, before anyone could catch her at it, she stuck out her tongue. Then she turned and fled into the house. Julien was the only one to see.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    A current of tension ran through the estate, and it wasn’t just the normal tension of Marie and her demands. This was subtle, more pervasive; it affected every moment of every day, for everyone who lived and worked at the château, regardless of where Marie might be or what she might be doing. This apprehension was all centered on the little girl and her visions.
    The servants knew, and it had been whispered about endlessly, that Adrienne had predicted, almost a year ago, that someone would try to hurt Julien at his new church assignment. They knew what she had blurted out at church, even before the family was aware that Julien and Marie were back from America. They had all heard the story that Marie had told—the story about the secret mission for the French government that had taken Julien to South America. No one was quite sure what to believe.
    While talk about the grandmother had lain dormant for many years, the rumors had begun to circulate once again, brought