The curse of Kalaan by Unknown Page B

century fortress despite the periodic remodeling it had undergone throughout the ages.
    On this night of January 10 th , 1829 the drafts were particularly strong and the women were suffering. The rain and wind beat down on the castle roof and walls. No one could sleep with the raging storm and so, in search of heat, Amélie, Isabelle and Virginie found themselves together in the drawing room. As far as Amélie could remember, this was the worst storm they had experienced in over twenty years.
    Isabelle rekindled the dying fire and then went in search of warm drinks. She returned with a tray heavy with steaming bowls and slices of bread and cheese. There was no one to ask for this service. The steward and housekeeper were housed at the presbytery attached to the chapel, with the valets and the female servants. This was only a temporary situation; once their rooms were renovated, they would be moving into the house.
    The tick tock of a clock caught Virginie’s attention. To her left, on the mantle of the fireplace, was an unusual clock, in the shape of a boat. It was almost six in the morning and a funny little sailor was about to pop out, straddling a cannon. He would pop in and out the little door shouting ‘ho, ho’ six times. Keeping her eye on the clock, Virginie tried to concentrate on her hostess’ conversation. They were still quibbling about whether or not they would open Kalaan’s letter.
    She smiled tenderly while observing the women. It was the first time she had ever seen Amélie in her nightclothes with her long hair down. She looked much less stern than usual, and it was very becoming for she was a lovely, sweet woman. Although in her fifties, Amélie’s dark chestnut hair hardly had any gray and her face only had a few wrinkles around her mouth and at the corners of her blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman and Isabelle looked so much like her mother, they were like two peas in a pod. Isabelle however was thirty years younger and her eyes were a sparkling amber-green. There was another difference between mother and daughter. As much as Amélie was reserved, Isabelle was a live wire, always speaking her mind, always in movement.
    Virginie felt she was the complete opposite to her friend but only in appearance. Virginie’s hair was Venetian blond, long and straight. It resisted any attempt at curlingit, as was the fashion of the period in the ‘Jane Austen’ or grisette [43] styles. These hairstyles were sheer torture for Virginie who preferred to wear her hair long and free or tied back in a simple bun. Her eyes were, she thought, an ordinary gray, almond-shaped, and framed with long eyelashes. Her face was oval, with high cheekbones and thin lips. The young woman was not beautiful by the standards of the day, and she had always known it, despite having lost all the baby fat of her unhappy childhood. She tried to hide another yawn, and jumped when she heard the clicking of the clock’s mechanism getting ready to sound the hour. Now it was six ‘ho-ho’s! Isabelle burst into laughter and Virginie turned to look at her.
    “You poor thing, you will never get used to my father’s inventions.”
    The young woman smiled and straightened up once again in the wing chair.
    “No, on the contrary, I find them extraordinary and… most surprising!”
    Maden, the previous count of Croz, had imagination galore. All his inventions were astounding and showed true genius, such as the splendid artificial Christmas tree standing in the dining room after spending several years in a trunk in the attic. It would soon be put back, after Kalaan’s return, which they all hoped would be before next Christmas.
    Its trunk was nothing more than a ship’s mast and its branches, flared at the base but ending in a point were made of little sails set on a frame that opened like an umbrella, thanks to a very meticulous system of ropes. The tree was magnificent, but very difficult to decorate. However, decorations were quite