Almost Gone

“Marc! Give Ella her doll.”

Feet dragging, lower lip jutting, Marc shuffled back past the wreckage. Reluctantly he handed the doll to Pierre, who passed it to Ella. Her sobbing subsided as she smoothed the doll’s hair.

“That was a Durand art glass vase,” Margot hissed at the young boy. “Antique. Irreplaceable. Do you have no respect for your father’s possessions?”

A sullen silence was the only response.

“Where is Antoinette?” Pierre asked, sounding frustrated.

Margot glanced up and, following her gaze, Cassie saw a slim, dark-haired girl at the top of the stairs—she looked to be the eldest of the three by a few years. Elegantly dressed in a perfectly ironed frock, she waited with a hand on the balustrade until she had the family’s full attention. Then, chin high, she descended.

Anxious to make a good impression, Cassie cleared her throat and attempted a friendly greeting.

“Hello, children. My name’s Cassie. I’m so pleased to be here, and happy to be looking after you.”

Ella smiled shyly in return. Marc glared unrelentingly at the floor. And Antoinette met her gaze for a long, challenging moment. Then, without a word, she turned her back on her.

“If you will excuse me, Papa,” she said to Pierre. “I have homework to finish before bedtime.”

“Of course,” Pierre said, and Antoinette flounced upstairs again.

Cassie felt her face flame with embarrassment at the deliberate snub. She wondered if she should say something, make light of the situation or try to excuse Antoinette’s rude behavior, but she was unable to think of suitable words.

Margot muttered furiously, “I told you, Pierre. The teenage moods are starting already,” and Cassie realized that she hadn’t been the only one Antoinette had ignored.

“At least she was doing her homework, despite nobody helping her with it,” Pierre countered. “Ella, Marc, why don’t you both introduce yourselves properly to Cassie?”

There was a short silence. Clearly, introductions weren’t going to happen without a fight. But perhaps she could ease the tension with a few questions.

“Well, Marc, I know your name but I’d like to find out how old you are,” she said.

“I’m eight,” he muttered.

Glancing between him and Pierre, she could see a definite family resemblance. The unruly hair, the strong chin, the bright blue eyes. Even the way they frowned was similar. The other children were also dark, but Ella and Antoinette had more delicate features.

“And Ella, what’s your age?”

“I am nearly six,” the small girl announced proudly. “My birthday is the day after Christmas.”

“That’s a good day to have a birthday. I hope it means you get lots of extra presents.”

Ella gave a surprised smile, as if this was an advantage she hadn’t yet considered.

“Antoinette is the oldest of all of us. She’s twelve,” she said.

Pierre clapped his hands. “Right, it’s bedtime now. Margot, will you show Cassie the house after you’ve put the children to bed. She will need to know her way around. Make it quick. We must leave by seven.”

“I still have to finish getting ready,” Margot replied in acid tones. “You can put the children to bed, and call a butler to clear up this mess. I will show Cassie the house.”

Pierre drew an angry breath before glancing at Cassie and pressing his lips together. She guessed her presence had made him swallow his words.

“Upstairs and into bed,” he said, and the two children followed him reluctantly up the staircase. She was heartened to see that Ella turned and gave her a small wave.

“Come with me, Cassie,” Margot ordered.

Cassie followed Margot through the doorway on the left and found herself in a formal lounge with exquisite, showpiece furniture, and tapestries lining the walls. The room was huge and chilly; there was no fire lit in the massive fireplace.

“This lounge is seldom used, and the children are not allowed in here. The main dining room is beyond—the same rules apply.”

Cassie wondered how often the massive mahogany dining table was used—it looked pristine and she counted sixteen high-backed chairs. Three more vases, similar to the one Marc had broken earlier, stood on the darkly polished sideboard. She couldn’t imagine happy dinner table conversation flowing in this austere and silent space.

What would it feel like growing up in such a house, where whole areas were off limits because of furnishings that could be damaged? She guessed that it might make a child feel as if they were less important than the furniture.

“This we call the Blue Room.” It was a smaller lounge, wallpapered in navy, with large French doors. Cassie guessed they opened out onto a patio or courtyard, but it was fully dark, and all she could see were the room’s dim lights reflected in the glass. She wished the house had higher-wattage globes—all the rooms were gloomy, with shadows lurking in the corners.

A sculpture caught her eye… the marble statue’s stand had been broken, so it lay face up on a table. Its features looked blank and immobile, as if the stone were coating a dead person’s face. Its limbs were chunky and rudely carved. Cassie shivered, looking away from the creepy sight.

“That is one of our most valuable pieces,” Margot informed her. “Marc knocked it over last week. We will have it repaired soon.”

Cassie thought about the young boy’s destructive energy and the way he had knocked his shoulder into the vase earlier. Had the action been totally accidental? Or had there been a subliminal desire to shatter the glass, to get himself noticed in a world where possessions seemed to take priority?

Margot led her back the way they had come. “The rooms down that passage are kept locked. The kitchen is this way, to the right, and beyond it are the servants’ quarters. There is a small parlor to the left, and a room where we dine as a family.”

On the way back they passed a gray-uniformed butler carrying a broom, dustpan, and brush. He stood aside for them but Margot did not acknowledge him at all.

The west wing was a mirror image of the east. Huge, darkened rooms with exquisite furnishings and works of art. Quiet and empty. Cassie shivered, longing for a homey bright light or the familiar sound of a television, if such a thing even existed in this house. She followed Margot up the magnificent staircase to the second floor.

“The guest wing.” Three pristine bedrooms, with four-poster beds, were separated by two spacious drawing rooms. The bedrooms were as neat and formal as hotel rooms, and the bedcovers looked as if they had been ironed flat.

“And the family wing.”

Cassie brightened, glad to finally reach the part of the house where people lived.

“The nursery.”

To her confusion, this was another empty room, occupied only by a tall crib with high, barred sides.

“And here, the children’s bedrooms. Our suite is at the end of the passage, around the corner.”

Three closed doors in a row. Margot’s voice dropped and Cassie guessed she didn’t want to look in on the children—not even to say good night.

“This is Antoinette’s bedroom, this is Marc’s, and the closest to ours is Ella’s. Your room is opposite Antoinette’s.”

The door was open and two maids were busily making up the bed. The room was enormous and icy cold. It was furnished with two wingback chairs, a table, and a large wooden wardrobe. Heavy red curtains shrouded the window. Her suitcase had been placed at the foot of the bed.

“You will hear the children if they cry or call—please attend to them. Tomorrow morning they need to be dressed and ready by eight. They will be going outdoors, so choose warm clothing.”

“I will, but…” Cassie gathered her courage. “Could I please have some supper? I’ve had nothing to eat since dinner on the plane last night.”