The return of Madame Loufoque

I can not truthfully describe to you the depth of trepidation with which I undertook the long journey north to Brittany. Having received Madame Grognonne’s last communication, and having had no response from my telegram to her, I had no idea what I might find at Chateau Loufoque on our return . It would seem my worst fears were justified when we arrived in the dark hours of the early morning, tired and travel weary from our long journey, to find the doors wide open and no sign of life.

We had come as fast as we could but it would seem we had arrived, alas, too late.

The kitchen range was cold, no lights were lit, and all was dark and empty. There were signs of an apparent disturbance in the pantry plus an all pervading and unmistakable aroma of stale fish in the air. I had neither strength nor stomach to inspect the cellar nor the melon beds but feared the worst. The only sound was the slight snoring and snuffling of Loic’s pigs curled up under the kitchen table, not I admit the most appropriate place for them to sleep but, under the circumstances, I had not the heart to disturb them.

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The etching above is of the Prison in Vannes, an insanitary place with little in the way of comfort. When I imagine Madame Grognonne incarcerated there in, possibly shut away for ever for her crime my blood runs cold. As a housekeeper her faults were undoubtedly many and various but good domestic servants are so hard to find these days and where on earth would I retrieve another capable of pulling a governess cart unaided and wielding a Kendo stick with such accuracy, it has taken me years to get her to understand the finer points of English tea making! Had I been a lesser woman I should have wept.