Jules Quatrenoix’s extraordinary adventures - Book 1 E-Book

Tatiana Deschamps

• Herausgeber: Publishroom
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Jules Quatrenoix’s extraordinary adventures
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 430

Beschreibung

As a young boy moves to a whole new place with his mother, he discovers that there are many mysteries in this town. Each answer leads him closer to a mission he will need help for.

Twelve-year-old Jules Quatrenoix leaves Paris to settle in Howlingdeadman with his mother in the summer of 1912. She was hired as a housekeeper at the De Chaussecourtes’ after her husband, a junior officer on board RMS Titanic, went missing. Much to Jules’ annoyance, they have to start a new life in this remote small town.
The holidays promise to be gloomy until that night when Jules hears voices calling him from an abandoned room in the house. Jules is puzzled and starts to investigate. Little by little he discovers the chilling truth about Howlingdeadman – young Barnabé’s death that started it all in 1802; the murders as an offering to Datura, an evil goddess; and the members of the Brotherhood, the most influential people in town, whose ultimate aim is to spread darkness on earth during the Spring fair.
Supported by his dog, Lebrac, and with the help of his two new friends, Aristide and Lothaire, Jules tries to put an end to this madness, thus risking their lives.

As Jules, discover the town of Howlingdeadman, its inhabitants and its secrets. There isn't any chance to get bored in this adventure !

EXCERPT

"‘Did you sleep well, my boy? You look weary this morning! Doesn’t the country air agree with you? Surely it must be better than in Paris!’ teased Monsieur de Chaussecourte over his newspaper.
‘Oh no, Sir! I’m quite rested, it’s only that I heard some noise in the room below. It must have been the boys moving around in their sleep. I had trouble going back to sleep.’
Aimé looked at him quizzically.
‘Noise? In the room below? It can only be rats or mice. The children’s bedroom is not under yours. It must have come from the condemned room. It looks as if only those rodents are allowed inside!’
‘A condemned room? How long has it been here?’ asked Jules in amazement.
‘Oh for years! Even before we moved in. Nobody has ever found how to get inside. The children have spent hours trying to unlock the mystery, though! They’re certain that a treasure is hidden in there. They do have such imagination!’
He resumed reading his newspaper.
‘Those mice again! Something needs to be done, Aimé! They’ll end up gnawing everything!’ Madame de Chaussecourte said, angrily.
Jules was taken aback. He felt anxious and excited at the same time. To hear noises and whispers when the room was supposed to be empty was quite disturbing, but after all he was not going to be bored during the holidays! A secret room! An investigation just like the one in the book he had so much enjoyed reading, The Mystery of the Yellow Room2. He would solve the mystery of that place just like Joseph Rouletabille had! As soon as the family had left he would go in search of the room!"

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tatiana Deschamps : French writer, I wrote this book a few years ago while unemployed. As a child, I had always made up stories and the urge to write crept back little by little. That's how bits of the story, characters and places began to germinate seven years ago. So I do hope you will have a lovely time with Jules and his friends.

Leseprobe

Tatiana DESCHAMPS

Jules Quatrenoix’s extraordinary adventures

Book 1 Datura’s curse

‘A great man is he who does not lose

his child’s heart.’

Mencius.

I wish to thank my mother, Dominique Deschamps, for translating this book into English. Many thanks to her friends, Sarah Saunders and Barbara Hancock, who proofread the English version.

To Nausicäa.

CHAPTER 1 Arrival at Howlingdeadman – How everything began

‘Howlingdeadman’ read Jules on the sign when they reached the town, resting his brow against the window of the motor-car taking him and his mother to their new home. He was in a bad mood and the name of that town lost in the middle of nowhere only added to his irritation. They had left everything behind, their large flat in Paris, his friends and their old life, to come and bury themselves here.

The car drove through Howlingdeadman. It was getting late and the streets were already empty despite the mildness of the air on that Sunday evening, July 7th,1912. Once outside the town they reached a thick forest. As the car was driving past a huge rusty gate hanging on two stone pillars, the chauffeur said to Jules:

‘This is the road to Our Lady of Desolation, the school you’ll be attending, my boy.’

Jules rolled his eyes. People had a lot of imagination for finding unusual names for places here. And on top of that, everybody seemed to be well informed about their coming!

When he looked at the gate he caught sight of a path sinking deep into the darkness. For the first time in his life he was in no hurry to go back to school – being a new pupil was the worst of nightmares, all the more so when you came from Paris!

He glanced at his mother sitting next to him. She wassitting very straight, with her hands on her lap. She had chosen one of her most beautiful dresses for the trip. She meant to impress her future employers, she had told Jules, a flicker of a smile on her face.

She was a beautiful woman with a natural elegance and sweetness. She wore her long curly brown hair in a heavy bun on her head. She had long fingersand Jules remembered them running up and down the keyboard of the piano, filling all the rooms of their former flat with music. Her face was as sweet as a Madonna’s but the twinkle in her eyes had vanished ever since they had received that terrible telegram.

They had kept hoping against all hope, in spite of the announcements in the newspapers. Their hopes had been shattered when they received that tiny piece of paper. Jules could not forget that terrible morning when a uniformed man had knocked on their door. It was branded on his memory forever. He and his mother had looked at each other and had knownthat the man was the bearer of bad news. The man had gravely asked:

‘Are you Madame Ernestine Quatrenoix?’

She had nodded and he had handed her the telegram.

‘I am very sorry for your loss, Ma’am.’

Jules repeated the sentence to himself. His mother took the paper, read it then sat down heavily. The letter dropped from her limp hand. Jules picked it up and read it too.

“Dear Madam, we regret to inform you that your husband Mr Joseph Quatrenoix, junior officer on board RMS Titanic passed away when the liner sank in the early morning of 15 April, 1912. He was not amongst the survivors and his body could not be found among the casualties. Following the loss of your husband you will be granted an allowance. An insurance agent linked to the firm Willis Faber & Company will contact you. Please accept our deepest condolences for your loss.” His mother had wept a lot that evening.

Joseph Quatrenoix had not left his family resourceless and they would soon receive compensation. However she now had to find work. One morning she saw an advertisement in a newspaper: “Looking for a housekeeper in Howlingdeadman. References required. Board and lodging provided. One child will be accepted”. Ernestine had never had to work because her husband made a comfortable living but she knew how to run a household and the money left by her late husband would pay for their son’s secondary education.

His thoughts were interrupted by the driver.

‘Here we are!’

The car had stopped outside another iron gate as rusty and rundown as the previous one. The driver helped his mother get out, then he took their luggage out of the boot.

‘You’ll see, they are a lovely family!’ he told them as he was getting back into the car.

Jules watched him drive away, the man waved at them and the car vanished into the darkness. They stood there for a few minutes, with their luggage around their feet, outside the large gate, which opened onto a driveway lined with huge trees. A dim light could be seen in the distance. He turned to Ernestine, she looked uneasy and her face was tense. She took her son’s hand and squeezed it. Then she said as if to give herself some courage:

‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s go!’

They each grabbed a suitcase and started along the driveway. Only their footsteps could be heard on the gravel, the trees looking even taller in the twilight. They heard an owl hooting in the distance. As they moved forward Ernestine squeezed her son’s hand harder and harder. At the end of the driveway they saw the house. It was a large building with a square tower on the left-hand side and only the tall windows downstairs were lit up. They were expected, the lamp above the imposing wooden front door wason.

They climbed the steps to the front porch. Jules’ mother nervously pulled the rope to the left of the door. A bell rang in the hall. Hurried footsteps were heard. The key turned in the lock and a fair-haired woman wearing a beautiful dark blue dress greeted them warmly.

‘We were getting worried! My husband was just going out to look for you. We are so delighted to meet you! Do come in!’

She moved aside to let them in. Ernestine relaxed and let go of Jules’ hand.

‘Just leave your suitcases here,’ she said, pointing to a corner in the hall next to the staircase. ‘Come along! I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family, they are dying to meet you.’

Jules looked around. The soft light of the chandeliers in the hall and the sitting room made him feel better.Carved wood paneling ran halfway up the walls of the rooms. The coat hanger on the wall was loaded with clothes and numerous pairs of shoes were lined underneath. The floor in the hall was like a giant chessboard with its black and white tiles.

As they made their way to the sitting room on the right, they passed by the staircase which led to the upper floors. The other members of the family, gathered in front of the fireplace, got up to welcome them, smiling broadly. The lady of the house introduced her family.

‘This is the whole de Chaussecourte family! My husband, Aimé, our four children, Blanche, Victoire, Abel and Léopold. I am Adélaïde. I mustn’t forget our dear cook, Madame Eglantine Guillandou, who waits on us hand and foot.’

Ernestine introduced herself and her son as well.

‘May we offer you some refreshment? Have you had your dinner yet?’ asked Madame de Chaussecourte.

‘Yes, please, we would love a glass of water. We had something to eat on the train,’ Ernestine answered.

The cook went to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later, carrying a loaded tray.

‘Do sit down. Then we’ll show you to your rooms. You must be exhausted after such a long trip. We’ll discuss the formalities tomorrow,’ Adélaïde said cheerfully.

Ernestine stared around the room and when she saw the piano by the window, a veil of sadness clouded her eyes. She pulled herself together when she noticed that Jules was watching her.

‘Your house is absolutely beautiful!’ she said.

The small talk continued until bedtime was finally announced.

‘Come with me! I’ll show you to your rooms,’ Adélaïde said as she got up from her chair.

They went back into the hall to collect their suitcases. They climbed up the seemingly endless stairs. Their rooms were on the second floor in the attic. Ernestine’s was on the right of the staircase and Jules’s at the end of the corridor. He stared at the wooden door of his new room. As the light from the corridor did not reach it, it was half hidden in the darkness. Jules felt slightly uneasy. Madame de Chaussecourte bade them good night.

‘I do hope you’ll have a restful night.We’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.’

They heard her going back downstairs. Ernestine kissed his brow.

‘I’m exhausted, sweetheart. I’m going to bed. We’ll have plenty of time to unpack tomorrow.’

She opened her bedroom door, smiled at him, and closed the door behind her. Jules knew that his mother needed to be on her own lately so he would not see her cry. Most nights he could hear the sobs that Ernestine tried to stifle in her pillow. During the day she endeavoured to show nothing. Jules was left alone in the corridor. The house was quiet, the only noises rose from the kitchen where Madame Guillandou was still busy finishing her day’s work.

He walked slowly to his room which looked quite grim at that time of night. The wooden floor creaked under his shoes. He put his hand on the white ceramic door knob and scraped his finger against the tiny nail holding the knob when he turned it. It was pitch dark inside his room. He groped for the switch on either side of the door. His fingers met something at last and the room lit slowly. He came in and closed the door behind him.

He looked around the room. It was plain but cosy with all the necessary amenities – a tall wooden wardrobe against the wall on the left, a large window framed with heavy curtains of dark green velvet, a single bed in front of him with a bedside table and a lamp, a beautiful wooden desk with a green leather writing pad and a chair, a small dressing table with a towel holder and a mirror, on which stood an earthenware washbasin and a jug decorated with garlands and flower baskets, and next to it, a wooden clothes valet.

Jules put his case down next to the wardrobe. He sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. Then he took off his shoes, undressed and hung his clothes on the clothes valet. He put on his nightshirt and lay down on the bed. There was a lovely smell of clean sheets. He remained motionless for a moment staring at the ceiling, with his arms by his side.

Feeling overcome with tiredness, he got up to draw the curtains and switch off the light, then blissfully slipped in between the sheets. It had been a long and eventful day. He sank into a deep sleep in the comforting smell of clean linen.

The following two weeks enabled Ernestine and Jules to adjust to their new surroundings. It was no easy thing but the de Chaussecourte family went out of their way to be nice to them.

The children and especially the boys were excited to have a new older friend and showed Jules all the nooks and crannies of the house! They also took him around the estate. During one of their walks Jules said that he wanted to explore the bottom of the park behind the house.

‘You can’t! Daddy says it’s forbidden!’ scolded Léopold, the youngest of the family.

‘Really?!!’ Jules said, surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Eglantine told our parents we mustn’t go there because it’s dangerous. Something to do with a pool in which you can drown, his big brother Abel explained. And anyway the shrubs are too thick and it’s difficult to get through.’ They turned around and walked back to the house.

‘Can you play wiv us, Zules?’ Léo asked.

Right from the start the little boy adored Jules and followed him everywhere. Jules didn’t mind, quite the opposite. He did not feel excluded and it helped him avoid thinking about his old life. The chauffeur was right, they were a lovely family!

For her part, Adélaïde could not do without Ernestine. Of course she wanted to discuss the running of the household and its chores with her, but she was far more interested in her life in Paris. She had lived there with her husband and children for a few years but they had eventually decided to move to the countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

‘We so love it here, my dear, but I do miss Le Bon Marché1! You won’t find the latest trends in fashion in Howlingdeadman! Do tell me everything!’

Ernestine was flattered and it was also a way for her to move on. Every afternoon they would chat over a cup of tea. And even Madame Guillandou would not miss a single bit of their conversations. She would stand with the tray in her hands, captivated by the town life she knew nothingof. As a result, Adélaïde asked her to sit with them one day to hear about the latest gossip from Paris.

‘Come on, Eglantine! You can’t just remain standing, can you! Do have a cup of tea with us!’

‘Very well, Madame,’ the latter answered willingly. She was delighted to join in the ladies’ important conversation.

Then it was time to start planning the holidays. The de Chaussecourte family were going away for a month, which was no small matter and trunks were piling up in the hall. Léopold had to be talked out of packing all of his toys, and no, Jules would not play with them while he was away. The same arguments arose with the eldest daughters, however on a more sensitive subject:their clothes! Their father had been adamant – they were to take only a few, and not all of their dresses. Their mother was given the same instructions.

‘But my dear, we must take at least three decent outfits, just in case!’

Confronted with three members of the fair sex, he had had to give in with a heavy heart. Léo was also allowed one more toy. The motor-car was bursting at the seams!

On Sunday night Adélaïde decided to organize a farewell dinner. It was a lively evening what with the children already fussing about which room they would sleep in. It was a small villa in Vaucottes-sur-mer that Aimé had bought when they got married and where they went every summer. He showed them photos of the children in bathing suits with the house in the background.

‘What a charming little house!’ exclaimed Ernestine.

It was a quaint villa with several sloping and overlapping slate roofs. On the top floor there was a wooden balcony offering a breathtaking view of the sea. The woodwork and the Italian style white painted shutters stood out against the red brick walls. The building was surrounded by abundant vegetation and a few apple trees, the one closest to the house providing shelter for a garden swing.

Like every year they drew lots for the bedrooms to avoid endless arguments. Adélaïde and Ernestine talked about the final preparations and checked that no one was forgetting anything. The girls giggled to themselves – they would meet up with friends, some of whom flirted with them, or so it seemed! Abel and Léo showed Jules their brand new nets to catch crabs and small fish.

‘We don’t kill’em! We put’em back in ve water!’ Léopold specified.

It was very late when they all went up to bed with a full belly and quieted minds. Jules quickly fell asleep thinking about the villa by the sea.

However a few hours later he woke with a start. It was still late at night and everything was dark. He switched on his bedside lamp. Whispers! He thought he had heard whispers! But there was no noise in the house, it must have been in his dream.

He switched off the light and waited. He was drifting back to sleep at last when he heard them again. Noises and creaking sounds! It came from the room below! He panicked at first, then he tried to reason with himself. It had to be the children sleeping fitfully on the floor below him.

He waited again. Everything was quiet. He did not dare switch off the light this time. He waited for a long time, sitting up in his bed with weary eyelids. He was so sleepy that he could not hold his head straight. As he was exhausted and could no longer hear anything, he slid back in between the sheets and slept until morning with the bedside lamp on.

1Le Bon Marché is a department store in Paris. It was founded in 1838 and was the first ever modern department store.

CHAPTER 2 In search of the lost room

Monday July 22nd, 1912. Ernestine came in to wake up her son who was still sound asleep. She watched him for a moment then stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

‘It’s time to get up, sweetheart. We are expected downstairs for breakfast.’

Jules opened his eyes and saw his mother’s sweet face bent over him. His fears during the past night vanished.

‘I’m getting ready and I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’

Ernestine drew the curtains and opened the window. There was a light breeze, the weather was beautiful and the birds were chirping. From his bedroom window, Jules had a stunning view of the park. He had a quick wash, got dressed and hurried down the stairs. On his way, he greeted the cook and rushed into the dining room where the family was having breakfast.

He stopped in the doorway and said good morning to everyone. They were all in a jolly mood and the children were excited. They were going on holiday this afternoon!

‘Did you sleep well, my boy? You look weary this morning! Doesn’t the country air agree with you? Surely it must be better than in Paris!’ teased Monsieur de Chaussecourte over his newspaper.

‘Oh no, Sir! I’m quite rested, it’s only that I heard some noise in the room below. It must have been the boys moving around in their sleep. I had trouble going back to sleep.’

Aimé looked at him quizzically.

‘Noise? In the room below? It can only be rats or mice. The children’s bedroom is not under yours. It must have come from the condemned room. It looks as if only those rodents are allowed inside!’

‘A condemned room? How long has it been here?’ asked Jules in amazement.

‘Oh for years! Even before we moved in. Nobody has ever found how to get inside. The children have spent hours trying to unlock the mystery, though! They’re certain that a treasure is hidden in there. They do have such imagination!’

He resumed reading his newspaper.

‘Those mice again! Something needs to be done, Aimé! They’ll end up gnawing everything!’ Madame de Chaussecourte said, angrily.

Jules was taken aback. He felt anxious and excited at the same time. To hear noises and whispers when the room was supposed to be empty was quite disturbing, but after all he was not going to be bored during the holidays! A secret room! An investigation just like the one in the book he had so much enjoyed reading, The Mystery of the Yellow Room2. He would solve the mystery of that place just like Joseph Rouletabille had! As soon as the family had left he would go in search of the room!

Then all the luggage and paraphernalia had to be squeezed into the car. It was quite an ordeal! Helped by Ernestine and Adélaïde, Aimé had to make several attempts to fit everything in. He glared at the ladies when he noticed the extra suitcase that had been sneakedin among the others.

Jules stayed well away from the bustle and managed to avoid Léo. He went for a walk in the park and then made for the gate. The cool air swept his face.The thick foliage of the trees growing all over the park blocked out the sunlight. When he got to the entrance he noticed a stream running along the edge of the property. He decided to follow it and turned right. The surrounding wall was very high so it was impossible to see over it without a ladder. But shards of glass glinting in the sun had been carefully stuck in the concrete top to discourage any trespassers.

After a few minutes Jules reached the corner of the park. The stream ran along the wall and must have been used as a boundary in theolden days. The forest grew everywhere as if nature prevailed in those remote places. The stream ran through the exuberant vegetation. Jules hopped from one stone to the next for fun. He was very careful not to slip on the green and almost fluorescent moss and held on to the rough tree trunks. Then the wall turned again, with the stream still running along its bottom.

He kept hopping along, his long thin legs made him look like a wading bird. Jules was quite tall for his age and slender. His fine features were soft like his mother’s. He had his father’s light chestnut brown hair and his eyes as well, of a golden brown hue. He often caught Ernestine staring at him with infinite sadness. He knew that he had her lost love’s eyes. In spite of his pudding-bowl hairstyle his unruly hair spiked in all directions much to his mother’s despair. Even brilliantine could not tame it! He had a small scar in the corner of his right eye – a war wound, a fight with slingshots that had ended badly.

When he looked up to jump back to the bank along the wall, he spotted a small wooden gate which led straight from the park into the forest. He drew closer. The wood was rotten, it had been neglected for many years. On the off chance he lifted the rusty latch and pushed the gate. It wasn’t locked! He went in. The forest was very thick in that part of the park. He would never have seen the gate if he had tried to find it from this side of the forest.

He was very pleased with his lucky find and continued his exploration. In the distance he saw a low stone wall. As he drew closer he realized that it was a pool, the pool Monsieur de Chaussecourte forbade the children to go near. The mud had invaded it and turned it into a haven for frogs! As soon as they heard Jules coming near they all jumped into the water and only their protruding eyes could be seen on the surface among the algae and water plants.

It was an eerie, rather scary place. A light breeze shook the leaves and allowed a ray of sunshine to beam through the trees. Something sparkled on the stone wall. The corner of a brass plate could be seen under the moss. Jules came closer, brushed away the moss and cleaned it with water from the pool. He read aloud: “To our beloved son, Barnabé, 1802”.

What had happened there? Surely something terrible involving a child. He remembered Abel talking about drowning. He shivered. Suddenly the wind rose, swirling the dead leaves scattered on the ground and he heard them again! The whispers! Thinking they came from behind him he turned around abruptly, but there was no one. He panicked and started to run straight ahead. He was short of breath when he arrived at the house. As he did not want to show his distress in case people thought he was mad, he pulled himself together and went in. He was happy to be back in the hustle and bustle of the household.

The family left in the afternoon. Standing on the front porchsteps Jules and his mother waved goodbye to the motor-car that was driving away. He was quite pleased that theyhad gone because it meant that he was now free to look for the lost room.

‘Well, sweetheart! We are alone with Madame Guillandou for a whole month. I’ve got lots of things to do. Madame de Chaussecourte has left a list of chores that should keep me busy while they are away. We’ll meet for lunch. If you need me I’ll be with Eglantine in the kitchen.’

She kissed him on the forehead and went into the house. Great! He would now be able to snoop around the house. His mission for the holidays was to find that mysterious room. It was as exciting as the adventure novels by Jules Verne. His favourite book was A Captain at Fifteen! For each of his birthdays his father would give him one with a beautiful red linen binding and golden decorations. He had been named after him in tribute to the ‘genius writer’ as his father used to call him. This year his mother had thoughtfully upheld the tradition but it was no longer the same. Jules sighed and went back into the house too.

‘Right, let’s be logical, like Rouletabille! The room I’m looking for is under mine, so on the first floor.’

He climbed up the stairs four at a time, holding onto the wooden bannister worn smooth by the hands of the former inhabitants of the house over the years.

Once on the landing he turned right and walked down the corridor. He was now facing a wooden bookcase filled with books and knick-knacks. He stood in front of the imposing piece of furniture and pondered. The door to the condemned room had to be behind it. Unless there was a hidden door in one of the bedrooms? He inspected them but found nothing – the walls adjoining the room did not sound hollow at any point and he could not see anything protruding from the wall that would indicate the location of a door.

He went back to the bookcase. In his adventure novels there was always something about a secret passage opened by a sophisticated mechanism. What could it be? He loved enigmas and here was one to challenge him. He emptied out the bookcase – no book or trinket was used as a lever to operate the mechanism. He ran his fingers along the frame of the bookcase, standing on a chair at one point, to try and find a push button. Nothing! The task was going to prove more arduous than he thought.

He stepped back to get an overall view of the bookcase but he tripped over the narrow rug in the corridor. He tried to cling to the first thing that came within his reach. He grasped an old curtain cord hanging on the side of one of the bedroom doors and held onto it without breaking it. There he was half-hanging from the cord, with a dazed expression on his face, when a loud noise was heard. He was convinced that something would come crashing down and that he had made a terrible mistake. He waited, petrified and anxious.

In a long cracking sound the bookcase slid and folded up, revealing a small door. Jules could not believe it, he had found it!

Well not in a very logical and methodical way, he thought, a bit upset. But still!

‘Is everything all right, sweetheart?’ asked a voice from downstairs.

He was startled. It was his mother. She and Eglantine must have heard the racket made by his fall. They had to be prevented from coming upstairs!

‘Yes, everything’s fine! I just tripped over the rug.’

‘Are you sure? It sounded like furniture being knocked over.’

‘Yes, no harm done!’

He heard them go back to the kitchen and Madame Guillandou say:

‘That boy is skinny as a rail but when he falls it sounds like an elephant!’

Phew! The coast was clear.

Once the excitement was gone, the door had to be opened. However he had a sense of foreboding that when it was opened there would be no going back. It was a bit like opening Pandora’s box3. He recalled the whispers, the pool. And yet curiosity prevailed!

He walked to the door. It was not closed! It had been left ajar for all those years! He slowly pushed it open with his hand. The hinges creaked balefully. The room was in darkness. Dim light filtered through a thick velvet curtain hiding a narrow window.

Jules plucked up his courage, crossed the room and sharply pulled the curtain open. The room was bathed in light with dust fluttering in all directions. It was like a glittering cloud. It was a study! Everything had been left intact! When?And why would anyone want to hide a study?

There had to be something important, something secret that the former owner wanted to be kept hidden. He was roused from his thoughts by the voice of his mother calling him again, but for lunch this time.

As he did not want to tell anyone about his discovery, he quickly went out of the room. But how could he close it? Logically he thought to himself that the best way would be to pull the cord again to reverse the mechanism. And luckily that is exactly what happened – the bookcase slid heavily, unfolded and set back into its former place. Jules was looking forward to coming back to explore the study. He rushed down the stairs to join his mother and Madame Guillandou in the kitchen.

2The Mystery of the Yellow Room is one of the first locked-room mystery novels, written by French author Gaston Leroux., and the first starring fictional reporter Joseph Rouletabille.

3Pandora’s box was a jar given to Pandora, which contained all the evils of the world.

CHAPTER 3 The child of the pool

The two ladies were already at the table and engaged in conversation, sitting in front of white china plates with dark blue patterns, piled high with hot food.

‘Do come to the table, sweetheart!’

Jules sat down on a bench opposite them. Ernestine served him some food and resumed chatting with the cook, Madame Guillandou, who was telling her about the running of the household.

She was a plump middle-aged woman with a jovial expression on her face – like all cooks in fact, Jules thought, amused – and who was from these parts, from the bits of conversation that he overheard when he was not pondering on his discovery. She said that she was born here and she had never left the town, except for the christenings, weddings or funerals of close or distant relatives. Her husband was a driver and it was he who had brought them here. They were good people, thought Jules who found them quite nice.

As they were talking about the house again, Ernestine asked her if there was special maintenance for the park. Hearing them, he remembered the metal plate at the pool and decided to join the conversation.

‘What about the pool at the bottom of the park, is it good for swimming?’

He was angry with himself for asking such a naive question.

‘No, dear, it’s not! It is full of mud and hasn’t been cleaned up in ages.’

‘You mean since 1802?’

Madame Guillandou was taken aback at his question.

‘That’s right. But how do you know?’

‘There’s a metal plate on one edge of the pool. It’s covered in moss.’

‘You are a very observant young man! That’s right, the park has not been tended to since that year. The de Chaussecourtes moved in only seven years ago and never really took the time to maintain it. The estate was left uninhabited for over a hundred years!’

She was proud to tell stories about her hometown. Jules tried his luck.

‘And who was Barnabé?’

‘Jules! Don’t forget your manners!’ scolded his mother.

‘It’s all right!’ answered the cook, a conspiratorial smile on her face. ‘The de Crochemarre family history is very sad indeed.’

She shook her head melancholically.

‘Barnabé was the only child in that charming family,’ she went on. ‘One morning his mother found him floating in the pool. He had drowned. No one ever knew what had happened. Madame de Crochemarre went insane after that terrible event. She had already lost her husband the year before … a heart attack. Some people say he had gone mad since his return from Egypt. He was a renowned naturalist, you know. A learned man loved by all the local people. He took part in that famous expedition, under Napoleon, that discovered the stone …, ah! The name escapes me! I’m not very good at history … the Rose stone or something like that.’

‘The Rosetta stone’, Jules suggested with a smile.

‘Yes, that’s it, thank you, dear! But I’m sure I’m bothering you with my stories’, she apologized. ‘On the other hand I could go on and on about Howlingdeadman.’

‘Not at all! You’re not bothering us!’ Jules was hanging onto her every word. ‘Please go on! I love these stories’, he spurred her on.

‘Well, if you like them! Here’s what happened. The metal plate was laid by Barnabé’s mother before she was locked up in an asylum, where she stayed until she died. She never got over it. As the story goes, she said that it was all the fault of a flower called datura. She had written the word on all the walls of her room. What a tragic end for that poor woman! Everyone was shocked at the terrible tragedy. The fact is we still talk about it! They were awfully nice people, though a bit eccentric. The family had been in the area for many generations. I’ve been told little Barnabé was a shy and lonely child. His classmates didn’t really like him’, she bent forward as if she did not want anybody to overhear what she was about to say, ‘which prompted some people to say that he had taken his own life! Can you believe it!’

Ernestine and Jules were speechless.

‘Mind you, he had just lost his father, poor thing! And since that terrible year – she stressed the word terrible, delighted to be the center of attention – the de Crochemarre estate had been left abandoned.’ She turned to Jules.‘Actually, there is no treasure hidden in the secret room you mentioned. It used to be Monsieur de Crochemarre’s study. He had it condemned shortly after he came back from Egypt, and he alone knew how to get in. Since then it’s been said that whoever found the way to get inside would suffer from the same illness and sink into madness.’

Jules turned very pale. When she saw his reaction, Madame Guillandou felt that she had gone a bit too far and added:

‘They’re just stories, dear! Old wives’ tales!’

She stood up to fetch their dessert. Jules was a little upset by what he had heard but his curiosity was aroused more than ever. What the cook had just told him matched his discoveries – the pool, the study, even the strange whispers. He meant to get to the bottom of it and find out the real story.

In the afternoon he wanted to go back to Barnabé’s father’s study, but his mother required his help until dinner time to carry trunks up to the attic. At the end of the day he was exhausted and went to bed early.

He had a strange dream that night. He was standing in front of the bookcase, it slid aside all by itself. He went into the room. The dust was gone, everything was as it used to be, when the de Crochemarre family lived there. He saw a boy aged about ten, like him, make for a floorboard, lift it and take out a beautiful rectangular wooden box with silver decorations inlaid in the ebony. Barnabé! It was absolutely obvious. It must have been a present that his father had brought him back from Egypt. Barnabé opened the box, put a sheet of paper folded in four inside, closed it and put it back in its hiding place. He stood up, looked at Jules, put his right index finger to his lips and said ‘Hushhh!’.

Jules woke up with a start, bathed in sweat. When he realized that it was only a dream, he was relieved. But he heard something, barely audible at first, then louder and louder. The whispers! There they were again! But this time he clearly heard his name … they were calling him! Panic-stricken, he hid under the sheets and blocked his ears with his fingers. He remained motionless for a few minutes, then listened again, the whispers had stopped!

‘Come on! Don’t be a coward! It’s you who wanted to know what had happened, you who dream of adventure. Go for it, Rouletabille!’

Somewhat cheered up, he got out of bed and looked at the time on his alarm-clock, three in the morning. He hated waking up at that time, to him it was the time when nightmares could come to life. In fact he felt as if that was nearly coming true!

He struck a match and lit the wick of the oil lamp on his bedside table. He got up and opened his bedroom door. There wasn’t a sound. Only the ticking of the huge clock in the sitting room echoing throughout the house.

Barefoot, in his nightdress and his hair messy from sleep, he walked to the stairs, trying not to make the floorboards creak. He went down the steps one at a time. The light of the lamp danced on the walls. He got to the landing on the first floor. It was pitch black. He could not make out the bookcase at the end of the corridor, as if that part of the house had been swallowed in the darkness.

He felt panic coming over him. He breathed in deeply and moved forwards. The corridor seemed to be endless. Then he saw the bookcase. He pulled the cord and the bookcase slid aside with a slight creaking sound this time. He did not want to wake his mother. He opened the door nervously and went into the study. It was as dusty as this morning!

Now he had to find the box. Jules put the lamp on the desk and made for the section of the floor where he had seen Barnabé lift a board in his dream. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. He swept it aside with his hands and started looking. He did not know if he was to believe what he had seen in his dream when he noticed a notch in one of the boards. It rather looked as if the corner of the board had been chipped. Still, he slipped his finger into the hole and tried to lift the piece of wood. The board yielded easily. Jules set it aside. Because of the darkness he could not see if there was anything hidden there. He took the lamp and brought it closer to the hole. He thought that he could make out a box. He groped around and his hands brushed against something. He grasped it and took it out. He blew the dust away. The box was exactly like the one in his dreams!

He felt like an archaeologist making his first discovery! He was thrilled but decided against opening it here. He would be more comfortable in his room. He got up, shook his nightshirt and went back upstairs after he had put the bookcase back in its place.

He sat down at his desk, with the box in front of him. It was a historic moment indeed! Jules Quatrenoix had just discovered a treasure! He cleaned his trove with a wet cloth. It was beautiful, the ebony it was made of had the same inlays he had seen in his dream. He gazed at it for a few minutes and then made up his mind to open it.

Hardly had he done so when a scorpion escaped from the box. He had never seen such a big one! It looked a bit groggy. Taking advantage of its dizziness, and even though he was terrified, Jules took a glass from the wash stand and captured the scorpionunder it. The scorpion didn’t struggle. Jules even felt it was staring at him.

What was he supposed to do with it? He didn’t know what species it was, but judging from its size, he realized that it would not be a good idea to get stung. He put a thick book on the glass to make sure the creature could not escape, especially when he was asleep. Now he was at leisure to examine the contents of the box while at the same time keeping a watchful eye on his new roommate!

CHAPTER 4 Letters from beyond the grave

Inside the box were several carefully folded sheets of paper that had turned yellow with age. Jules took them out and unfolded them with infinite delicacy, fearing that they might tear after so many years. There were two sheaves of papers and a loose sheet. He spread the papers in front of him. The sheaves were hand-written letters from two different people. A map was drawn on the loose sheet.

Jules started reading the letter. The handwriting was like a schoolchild’s, quite industrious but shaky. He checked the signature on the last sheet. It was signed Barnabé de Crochemarre!

June 8th, 1802

If you read this letter, it will mean that I have failed. I should have listened to my father and done what he had told me to do. But the temptation was too great! I only wanted to be popular at school and not to be ignored or laughed at anymore. How I regret it now!

They’ll come and get me. SHE told them where I was. We should never have set that monster free.

She promised all of us that we would be rich and become prominent and respected citizens. But in order to prove our loyalty to her, she wanted a gift, a sacrifice every year. At first we didn’t really grasp her meaning but then she made it all too clear. She wanted one of us! Our souls to be precise!

I can still see her evil smile when she uttered those words. A pure and innocent soul preferably. She stared at me and said ‘Don’t you agree, Barnabé?’ The others turned towards me and she told them that they would have everything they wished for if they gave me in sacrifice. They couldn’t do that to me! They were my friends now. I immediately saw in their eyes that I was wrong, so I ran away! Oh my God, I don’t want to die!

A drop of water had beaded on the paper and obliterated the beginning of the sentence. Jules imagined Barnabé crying while writing this sentence.

I only wanted to be popular, to have friends. I never thought it would go that far. I never intended any of this! I have awakened a terrible thing. Please forgive me! I don’t have much time left. She knows where I am, and the scorpion is here, watching me while I’m writing this letter.

Jules looked up toward the glass. It was still inside, staring at him. Could it be that…? No! It must be a coincidence! he thought, to put his mind at ease.

She must be prevented at all costs from causing harm. I am but the first, there will be others. She said so, every year we would have to give her a pure and innocent soul if we were to keep holding the prominent positions that would be ours. Theirs eventually!

She must be sent back to her world but I don’t know how it is to be done. I set her free when I read the formula in Avestan on the rhyton. Father had translated it before he died. It is an ancient artefact father had brought back from Egypt, a silver horn-shaped drinking vessel with a bottom in the shape of an antelope’s head. It’s in the cave. I have drawn a map giving directions to the cave. Father had also brought back another artefact, a brass dish. I think there is a link. Mother uses it as a fruit dish in the dining room.

In the box, I have also put the last letter father wrote to me before he sank into madness and died, like Ernest. I shouldn’t have read father’s translations, he had kept them well hidden, though. I should have known he had a good reason and it was only for my own good.

I’m so scared. She has to be destroyed. It has to stop. They’re coming! I can hear them in the park. I must hide the box. Have mercy on me!

One more dried drop.

Jules had trouble grasping it all. He had a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. He had just read the last moments of Barnabé, the boy who was then found drowned in the pool.

Was that really possible? The exhilaration of discovery was giving way to a vague feeling of anxiety. If what Barnabé said was true, horrible events were happening in Howlingdeadman. He decided to read the second letter for more information.

November 15th, 1801

My dearest son,

I take the opportunity of my last few lucid moments to write you this letter. Consider it my last will and testament. It is of the utmost importance that you do exactly as I tell you.

I should never have brought back this relic. I realize it now even though it is unfortunately too late. I should have listened to that Egyptian who had warned me against it.

You must absolutely get rid of the artefact and ensure that no one ever finds it. It is cursed! I can assure you that I am perfectly sane as I am writing this.

Ernest did not die of the plague, as everyone thought. He cut himself with the rhyton when he uncovered it among the mummies of sacred animals we found in the Egyptian tomb, near Bubastis.

You must also do away with the dish we found in the same place on that fateful day.

We should have known there was something wrong. The relics didn’t belong there. They were far older than the tomb where they had been left, as if someone wanted to hide them there.

The wound on Ernest’s arm became infected in spite of all our care. One morning he started howling with terror as if he were seeing something awful and with his dying breath he asked me not to let her take his soul. He was terrified!

My point in telling you that loathsome story, my dear son, is to make you understand how important it is to destroy those artefacts. I am unable to do it, she has taken hold of me too. I should never have tried to translate what was written on that cursed rhyton.

The voices keep reverberating in my head. They want me to set her free, to do awful things! I don’t want to! They promise me the moon if I do it. But I know it is not true!

I have never believed in the devil, or anything else for that matter, I am a scientist! But that thing is not human and her sole purpose is destruction. She has to be exterminated but I don’t know how. So do away with her and burn all my research papers. Above all, don’t try to read them or she will own you too.

I am so sorry to put such a heavy burden on you, my dearest child. Please forgive me! I do hope I have been a good father to you, nevertheless.

I love you, my darling son, and please say nothing to your mother, it would only upset her! You know how delicate she is.

Gédéon de Crochemarre

The last sheet attached to Gédéon’s letter was blank. Only ‘G. de C.’ was written in the upper right-hand corner. Did he mean to continue writing but could not find the strength to do so? His handwriting was unsure and even shaky toward the end. A sudden fit of madness may have overtaken him.

Jules was stunned. Either the de Crochemarre family were a bunch of lunatics, which would be more reassuring after all, or they were telling the truth. He felt dizzy and extremely tired. He looked at the alarm-clock, it was very late, or rather very early … after four in the morning. He got up and glanced at the glass. The scorpion was still there and wasn’t moving. He collapsed on the bed.

Before he sank into a deep sleep, he thought to himself it was now too late to back out, he had opened his own Pandora’s Box and he had to know, whatever the cost!

Tomorrow he would study the map and he would use the letter to find clues that could give him answers to this incredible story! He also definitely had to find the translations mentioned by Barnabé. If they were not to be found in the box, they would surely be in the study, with Gédéon’s research papers, as it seemed Barnabé had destroyed nothing.

The following day he was woken by daylight slipping through the heavy velvet curtains. Recalling his wild night he jumped out of bed. Everything was as he had left it on his desk. Everything except the scorpion! It was gone although the glass and the book had not been moved!

He leapt up onto his bed and shook the sheets. Then he looked under the bed and inspected every corner of his room, to no avail! Still uneasy and treading carefully he put the papers back into the box and decided to hide it in a safe place, at the bottom of his wardrobe where he knew no one would look. He got dressed and went down to the kitchen.

He bolted down his breakfast and went back to his room to take a closer look at the letters and try and find clues. But first he looked around his room for the umpteenth time to make sure the scorpion had really gone. It was nowhere to be found, it was as if it had vanished into thin air!

According to Barnabé, as well as a secret cave, there must have been strange deaths or disappearances in Howlingdeadman over the past hundred years. Those horrific deeds would have been perpetrated by influential members of Howlingdeadman, but only after 1802. He also had to find the dish and the rhyton. The dish could still be somewhere in the house. The cook said that the house had been left untouched after Barnabé’s mother died. If the rhyton was indeed used during those ceremonies, it had to be in the cave. A methodical approach was required!

‘I must think logically’, he thought to himself.