As beautiful as the day was, as peaceful and relaxed as everyone felt, there was a little something in the air. A little ‘frizz’ that kept everyone on their toes. It could have been the busy sounds of stall-holders setting up their wares or the excited voices of children being ‘shhhh’-ed by adults and reminded that it was only six in the morning, but there was something. The birds were unusually quiet and the cats sat in corners staring at something mere humans couldn’t see. Now and then a dog barked but it was half-hearted.
Somewhere far down the main road ? it was hardly a high street ? someone called out,
?Qui voudrait un caf???
There was always time to stop for a coffee, even on the day of the most important and famous flea market in the region. This year the sun was shining down and the number of pitches sold had far exceeded the year before. It would be a wonderful day for the locals, the sellers and anyone looking for a bargain.
Around 7.30 am people started to arrive from outside the village. There had been customers wandering through even as people were finishing putting out their goods but they lived in the village and it was allowed – even expected. Amongst those coming from elsewhere was a small man who might have walked in from a neighbouring community. It would have been hard to guess his age; anything between twenty and fifty, and that was a very rough guide. He had long, brown, straggly hair under a brown peaked cap and beige trousers poking out from below a camel-coloured trench coat. On his quite noticeable nose he carried a pair of glasses, the lenses of which suggested he had very poor sight. The overall impression was one of shabby carelessness. He did not greet anyone, nor did they greet him, as he shuffled his way through the lines of tables, now heaving with items that these people didn’t want but that someone else surely would. That was not normal but everyone was so busy; the French rarely ignored people walking through their home turf, even if they were a stranger. There was always a Bonjour or a Bonsoir, depending on the time of day.
-o0o-
In the big house at the start of the hill people were stirring. The noise outside wasn’t sufficient to actually wake them but it was lighter in the mornings now and the sunlight made it easier to rouse yourself from sleep. Breakfast smells were wafting from the kitchen; even though this English family had been in France for almost three years, they were still attached to a ‘proper’ breakfast, something it was very hard to shake. This morning it was French toast ? at least there was a sop to their new homeland in the name of what they would be eating. Having showered, dressed and eaten, they would walk down the long path to the road and make their way round most, if not all, the stalls. This time they would be early enough to see most of the goods available.
-o0o-
Stepping out into the gorgeous day at around ten o’clock (perhaps a little later than expected), the three walked down the path and entered the m?l?e.
Before taking a step from the gate, they were hailed by their neighbour opposite.
?Bonjour! ?a va??
?Bien merci. Et vous??
?Tr?s bien. Bonne journ?e?!?
?Up the hill first to look at the stalls? There aren’t many that way and we can then turn round and walk through to the other end.?
Maddie’s suggestion met with approval and they turned to the right out of the gate. As usual there was a mixture of goods but most stalls fell into the same, few categories. There were clothes ? baby, children and adult – very old, rusty machinery and tools, drinking glasses, chandeliers, wooden furniture ? you name it, someone was probably selling it somewhere in the village.
?Don’t tell dad but there are some clamps on that table!? whispered Maddie. That was a bit unfair, as Doug actually needed some clamps but that wouldn’t stop him from picking over everything on the stall to see if there was something more interesting.
-o0o-
Further down the village, the man with the trench coat had reached the caf? in the square. He turned the corner and walked towards the open door, making his way through the outside tables. One or two people turned as he passed but they had possibly used up all their greetings and said nothing to him. He stood by the door but didn’t ask for a coffee. ‘Trench Coat’ gazed around at the other patrons. There were a man and ? presumably ? his wife having a heated discussion but the words were indistinct. A young couple sat in the corner near the bar drinking long drinks and staring into each other’s eyes. Three old men sat near the door and played cards, unaware of anyone else in the room. From outside came a constant hum of voices as the flea market reached its busiest time.
-o0o-
‘Trench Coat’ clearly didn’t want a coffee and left the bar. People at the outside tables seemed to turn to watch him move away but still said nothing. He passed the sweets stall, the table heaving with ancient farm tools and stopped in front of a man selling all kinds of glass objects. Maddie had also stopped at this table and was ogling a wall mirror in a wooden frame with a small shelf attached at the bottom. She also spotted a large, crystal goblet and reached for it, just as ‘Trench Coat’ did.
?Pardon,? she said and withdrew her arm.
He removed his hand at the same time but gave her a long, hard stare.
?Une belle belette,? he offered.
?Pardon? A beautiful weasel? Where is it? O? est-elle??
‘Trench Coat’ pointed to the base of the goblet. Sure enough, etched into the fine glass was a picture of a weasel, apparently in full flight.
?I hadn’t noticed it,? Maddie said. ?Je ne l’avais pas remarqu?.?
?I have been looking for this everywhere,? ‘Trench Coat’ said in halting but quite understandable English. ?It is from my family home, lost when an ancestor sold everything to pay a gambling debt. I was missing the last goblet and here it is. May I??
Maddie was taken aback, by the man, by the story and by the goblet. She indicated with her hand that he should take it. He picked it up reverently and turned round, checking for flaws or signs of misuse.
?Un tr?s beau gobelet,? he said, almost to himself.
?How long have you been looking for them,? Maddie asked.
‘Trench Coat’ sighed.
?Quite a long time. I did not think I would find this last one.?
?Will you buy it?? Maddie asked.
After a moment’s pause, ‘Trench Coat’ sighed and replied,
?I may come back later to see if it’s still here,? and, with that, he moved away through the crowd until he was out of sight.
Maddie, Doug and Shereen continued round the village and had, at last, exhausted all the alleys and side streets that were crammed with stalls. On their return Maddie noticed that the crystal goblet was still there. Presumably ‘Trench Coat’ hadn’t come back for it. It would look good on the wooden pedestal on the first landing. Before Maddie knew it, her hand had found its way into her pocket and suddenly had money it it. Just the right amount to buy the goblet. She hesitated. What if ‘Trench Coat’ came back and found it gone? Would he be very upset? She looked around and scanned the crowds for his distinctive features. Nothing. She made up her mind that this was meant to be and handed over the cash. The beautiful crystal piece was in her hands and she cradled it for safety. Hot, hungry and happy they went home for lunch.
-o0o-
With due reverence and ceremony, Doug and Shereen stood at a respectful distance whilst Maddie placed the new acquisition onto its new home. Maddie sighed a long, deep sigh. Now it begins. How can she have such an old piece and half a story and not want to research for more? Tomorrow she would start. There might even be a new story in it to write.
-o0o-
The rest of the day passed in household chores, sitting in the sun for an hour or so with a glass of wine and dinner in the evening. The last rays of the sun flooded through the window in the front door and fell on the goblet. It glinted and sparkled, almost with delight at its new situation. As they went up to bed, its new owners said a silent ‘Goodnight’ as they passed and left it until the morning.
-o0o-
Maddie was the first down the following day. The Cat God must be fed, you know, and becomes insistent if ignored. She descended the first flight of stairs and turned the corner towards the second. She gazed at the pedestal to admire its adornment and stopped in her tracks.
?Mum! Dad! Have you moved the goblet??
Shereen and Doug came onto the top landing from their room.
?No. Why?? they both asked.
?It’s been turned round.?
Sure enough, the goblet was now placed with the engraved weasel into the corner, not facing out as it had been last night.
?I’d say ‘odd’ but that’s a bit obvious,? offered Shereen.
Maddie turned it back the right way and they carried on down. Breakfast was now the most important objective.
The rest of the morning was uneventful, if you don’t count removing another dead rodent from Marmaduke’s mouth ? before he eviscerated it on a bed – and disposing of it in the dustbin. Household chores were completed and, around one o’clock, the family sat down to lunch.
Over their food, they discussed what Maddie had discovered during the couple of hours of research she had complete so far.
?The Internet is a wonderful thing,? Maddie began.
?And?? asked Shereen.
Maddie consulted her printout.
?The weasel on the goblet. It was the animal on the Belette family crest from the 17th century. There was, indeed, a Belette who lost many of the family’s possessions through gambling debts. The set of crystal goblets was a wedding present to the founder of the dynasty, who had made his fortune in commerce. They were given, one at a time, to pay various card sharps, who were clearly fleecing the appalling card player.?
?Anything about what happened to the family??
?Erm ? yes, here. The last listed male heir died in 1895 ? they didn’t last long, did they? They lost everything eventually but managed to survive the Revolution.?
?Any more about descendants?? asked Doug.
?In some respects it’s not as easy looking up details on registers here, as I’m not as familiar with which ones I’m looking for. However, since so much of the official recording is done in a woman’s maiden name, it’s far easier to track the female line.?
It turned out there were one or two notable women in the Belette line but information on them soon fizzled out as well.
?Trying to find out where they’re buried now,? said Maddie. ?Off up to my computer to look for a couple of hours.?
She left the room and started up the stairs. Her footsteps stopped. ?You ok?? called Shereen.
?Mum,? came the reply.
Shereen, followed by Doug, went to the bottom of the stairs and looked towards where Maddie was pointing. The crystal goblet was on the floor beside the pedestal. Not broken but in one piece and standing on its base. It had, again, been turned round so that the engraved weasel was facing into the corner.
Maddie replaced it ? yet again ? and continued up. Her research suddenly became more interesting.
The rest of the day was without distinction and the goblet remained where it was until they went to bed. The following morning, however, it had moved again and was at the bottom of the stairs with the weasel facing the same direction as it had been on the landing.
?I think this is a pattern,? mused Maddie. ?Every time it’s moved, the weasel on the base has ended up facing the same way. I wonder if that’s significant??
?Possibly,? answered Doug. ?It might be useful to determine the compass direction and check everything in a line from here.?
?Excuse me for being fanciful,” added Shereen, ?but it seems to be going somewhere!?
?What?? asked Doug moving closer to the sound of an interesting development.
?I think I know why the goblet is moving,? Maddie reply. ?Way back in the history of our village ch?teau the family lived there for a while. It was before they had their own property but were going up in the world. The goblets were bought during their stay here so it was, effectively, their first home. Perhaps it’s trying to return. Perhaps we should leave it turned round ? find a place where we can do that and still see the engraving.?
There was a long silence. They all knew odd things happened and had experienced some themselves, but this was out of court.
They decided to try that and see what happened and play it by ear.
?So,? began Shereen, ?any idea who ‘Trench Coat‘ was??
Maddie turned the computer screen to face the others. On it, staring back at them, was ‘Trench Coat’. There was no mistaking the long, brown hair, the eyes – even though he wore pince nez rather than glasses – or the prominent nose. The really noticeable differences were that this was a portrait on canvas and the figure was dressed in late 19th century clothes. Beside the portrait was the name of the subject.
Maddie smiled.
?Well, hello, Edouard Belette. Nice to have met you.?