Character Preludes: Alistair...?

"The Family Portrait"

Annais and Clarell were on their hands and knees polishing out any imperfection on the herringbone floorboards of the West Parlour, a painful task for the young servants as they crawled along the unforgiving surface with wax clothe to buff away the heel scuffs of the pedigreed Du Quenoy family whom owned the estates. Taking a break from her chore, Clarell’s eyes crept over the baroque extravagance of the furniture and commissioned portraits watching them from the walls. Her attention came to rest on the largest one hanging over the marble mantle shelf of the fireplace, recognizing the background as the grand steps and pillars of the Chateau Du Quenoy’s main entrance.

“I’ve never seen the Comte smile like he does in this picture.” Clarell rubbed her shoulder as she studied the family dynasty, figures painted like dolls in perfect arrangement.

“That was a few years before your name was written into the books of the estate servants” Annais took one look at the painting in its gilt frame, returning her gaze to the floor at which she scrubbed “I was only months into my own service her at the Chateau when a great fuss was made for the ‘dynasty portrait’, and the arrival of the artiste monsieur Oudry from Paris.”

“Oui, but there are two children here I do not recognize... who is this one? The one in the white dress.”

“That ... was the cherished Magdalene, the Comtess’ only daughter. She passed away many years ago, not long after they posed for Monsieur Oudry.”

“Oh? So sad. How old was she when she died?”

“Clarell! It is not fitting for a maid like yourself to be asking such questions? If you must ask though, Magdalene was eleven when they found her...”

“Found her?” She turned to look over Annais still buffing the wax coat into the tessellating oak segments.

“Found her where?”

“Shhh! Foolish girl! It is a subject not spoken of in the Chateau. You are new here, of course, so I’ll tell you this once so you do not get beaten by the Cook.”

Eager to learn the mystery of the child in the painting, Clarell knelt down to work beside the older maid, whose voice had turned sentimental with the memory of it all.

“You saw the younger boy as well? That was her older brother, Alois. He was much older than Magdalene, by at least five years. You are fortunate in not having much contact with Alois, his studies in the bigger cities keep him away for many months.”

“I’ve heard his name, yes Henri the stableman mentioned his unfriendly manners.”

Annais gave the other servant a cold appraising stare in admonishment, then continued.

“Yes, he is very... distant in his social graces. It was not always so; when his sister was alive the two of them were quite happy together, but he has always been shy of others, even his parents.

“He was gifted with his mother’s wit, and read any books he could find, even the old recipe notes in the kitchen! Then a tutor was brought into the home to school them, and the little Comte made up his mind that he would become a doctor of the natural philosophies and study at the new Academie in Paris.

“The week he was to leave for his studies in the city, Magdalene went missing from her bedroom. The grounds of the Dulaque estate were searched, as were the villages but nothing was discovered until two days later, when they found her body in the woods of the Ardennes. Maitre Alois made himself sick with grief, somehow blaming his impending farewell as the cause of his sister’s death, the attention that should have been spent on the child was selfishly taken up by his own preparations for Paris.

“Two men were hung for the murder, villagers from Bourmont whom had confessed to the men of the Comte. Their deaths satisfied the local magistrates, but not everyone believed they were guilty. Alois left for his appointment with the Academie after the trial, his heart broken from the ordeal.

“When he returned there was no warmth left in the young man, indifferent to all but his journals and ‘natural experiments’. Then he began to catch rats and cats in the fields and snuff their lives in cruel and unusual tests to try and revive them hours later. Some he froze in the Le Croisell river during winter, others he pickled in brine or other chemicals. His habits scared us servants into avoiding the North Walk of the Chateau where he kept his rooms and those pleading, mewling beasts.”

Annais closed her eyes momentarily, then continued:

“The Comte also became fed up with his son’s behaviour, and after a great argument over his lifestyle he was forbidden to stay in the Chateau except to visit during the holy days and anniversaries of the immediate family.

“Alois was given an allowance to pursue his studies abroad, as of which I know nothing more. I’ve overheard the Comtess speak of Bonn, Marseille, Paris, Vienna, London, but I’m not sure they even know what he does in his travels. When he returns to the chateau, he never speaks, just glares with his melancholy eyes until he takes his old rooms in the North Walk, always a candle burning in the blackest hours in the cellars below, as he keeps a lonely vigil with his journals and scalpel...”