Book 1, Chapter 1

Even the garden looked threatening. It was spring in the northern hemisphere but there wasn’t a single flower to soften the grey walls of the chateau; just tall spiky trees and grey stone terraces.

“It’s gargantuan,” Henry said.

Charlie smiled at the word ‘gargantuan’. Henry loved the sound of words. When his English teacher said he was a ‘lexophile’, he’d gone around for a week quoting it at every opportunity.

“It’s not as nice as our house,” Charlie said.

“Now, Charlotte, don’t be ungracious. Your house is not available to you anymore,” Aunt Lavinia said stiffly. She was all bone and angles. Like a vulture, Charlie thought.

“Who knows where you might have ended up if you’d stayed in Australia. It was your good luck that we arrived as the social worker was about to take you away.”

“We can send you back, you know,” Uncle Maximilian said. “I wonder how you’d feel in different homes, not knowing where the other was living.” His lips curled. “Who knows what might happen to you alone in a big city.”

Charlie felt Henry move closer to her and she squeezed his fingers. She was five years older than Henry, 15 to his 10, and she couldn’t help being the big sister.

She looked at her aunt and uncle and again felt the shiver of revulsion that had crept up her spine when she had opened the door to their house in Melbourne and been confronted by Aunt Lavinia and a tall, thin man with jet black hair and black eyes. The man, their Uncle Maximilian, had towered over them, blotting out the sun.

“Chateau Tremayne,” Aunt Lavinia said, gesturing towards the house. For the first time her voice was warm. “The ancient seat of the Tremayne family. You’ll be happy here.” She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“We just want Dad back,” Charlie said crossly. She was tired after their long flight and even though it had been on a luxurious private jet, she had felt more and more worried the further they flew from Australia. There was something not right about Aunt Lavinia or Uncle Maximilian.

Nothing had been right since their father disappeared.

The police told them there had been a robbery at the local convenience store. One moment their father had been in the doorway of the shop and the next he’d disappeared. No one could explain exactly what had happened but Charlie knew the police story couldn’t be right. Dad would never leave her and Henry, especially since their mother died six months ago and there was just the three of them. But their father hadn’t returned home, and they were given the choice of living with their aunt or going into foster care.

In the end, the choice had been made for them by Aunt Lavinia and, in no time at all it seemed, their aunt had whisked the children away to the family home in France. The house she and Henry now faced.

Aunt Lavinia pressed a silver bell to the right of the black door and it opened immediately to reveal a plump, middle- aged woman in the doorway.

“My housekeeper, Florence,” Aunt Lavinia said. “She’ll show you your rooms.”

Florence greeted them with a half-smile. Charlie wondered if it was against the rules to smile around Aunt Lavinia.

“Come along”, Florence said. “You’ll like your rooms.” She gestured to the children to fall in behind her. “Now yours, Master Henry, was your father’s when he was boy, and you Miss Charlotte are in the room where your mother stayed when she was here.”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled. She hated being called Charlotte. It was such a prissy name. “Please call me Charlie.”

“Oh, no miss. That would never do,” Florence said. “Why, your aunt would –”

“Enough, Florence,” her aunt snapped. “The children are anxious to get settled.”

Charlie looked down. Aunt Lavinia stood watching them from the bottom of the stairs.

Charlie and Henry followed Florence down a long passage. At last, panting a little, Florence paused outside a door on the right-hand side.

“This is your room, Master Henry. I’ll leave you here to explore while I take your sister to hers.”

Further down the passage, Charlie opened the door to the ugliest room she’d ever seen. The heavy curtains hanging from the one small window were the same colour as the brown walls.  At one end a moose head with eyes that tracked her as she moved loomed over a huge fireplace with a black mantel. A wolf head hung over her bed.

Charlie sank onto the four-poster bed, with its black bedspread and blood red drapes on three sides and closed her eyes. She pictured her father’s face.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Charlie opened her eyes to see Florence looking at her, a concerned expression on her face. “I’m tired,” Charlie answered. “Can I ask you a question?”

Florence nodded her head reluctantly. “Where exactly are we?”

“Why at Chateau Tremayne, Miss.”

“I mean what town is this?”

“Didn’t your aunt tell you? It’s Giverny, France.”

“The town of Monet’s Garden!”

“That’s right, Miss Charlotte.”

Charlie blinked. “Dad told us about the garden but he never said he lived near it. He used pictures in a book about Monet to teach Henry and me the names of flowers and plants.”

“Yes, your father loved the garden. If he wasn’t at the chateau, you could always find him there talking to the gardeners,” Florence said.

“I wonder why he didn’t tell us about the chateau.”

Florence shrugged. I wouldn’t know, miss.” She dipped her head to one side. “You look like him, you know. You have the same black hair, and he was tall and slim when he was a boy, like you.”

Charlie felt tears prickling her eyes. She turned her head so Florence wouldn’t see them. “Please leave me alone now.”

Florence picked up Charlie’s backpack. “I’ll just put your clothes away and let you rest until dinner.”

“I’ll do it,” Charlie said. She wrestled the pack from Florence’s arms. “I mean, I can unpack my own things. Thank you, Florence.”

She all but pushed Florence out of her room and slumped back on the bed. Her insides shook. She turned her head from side to side and flexed her shoulders to try to relieve the tension.

She had to get out of her horrible room and check on Henry. He hated cruelty to animals or any kind of violence and her room reeked of both. He would never sleep if his room resembled hers.

They had to find a way to get Dad back before the dreadful chateau sapped them of courage.