Excerpt 2 from the Exclusive Episode of Lazare Donatien’s Adventures

Discover below the promised excerpt from the exclusive episode of Lazare Donatien’s adventures:

Lazare’s Gift

Chapter 2

Have you ever wondered what life might hold in store for you? I’d wager you have, and as for me, I can tell you this: at the ripe age of thirty, with a life already brimming with adventures, I never would have imagined inheriting such a property.

A bit of context before we proceed. This morning, I found myself in La Flotte-en-Ré, a thoroughly charming village, mind you, but one where I’d never set foot until today. So, you can imagine my astonishment when, last month, I received a letter announcing that a distant relative, recently deceased, had named me his sole heir. And, to top it all off, a relative whose existence I hadn’t even known of the day before! In my defense, my own parents were never particularly keen on family ties—a fact that spared only the tight-knit trio we formed. Teaching me the ropes of the peculiar gift I’d inherited from them and exploring its full potential had, truth be told, always kept our years well occupied.

But I digress, and to return to the matter at hand and be perfectly honest, the estate I now trod upon was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Though I’d led a mostly nomadic life thus far, trailing my parents from one country to another, I could see myself settling into this magnificent, elegant residence. I’d learned that the deceased—a distant cousin on my mother’s side, by all appearances—had spent the vast majority of his life on this island, where he’d chosen to establish his trade.

An antiques shop with quite a reputation around these parts, or so I’d been told. I’d decided to visit the Manoir first; there’d be time enough to see the shop tomorrow, I told myself. Now that I’d set foot here, I congratulated myself on my choice. This single building offered enough nooks and crannies to keep me occupied all day.

By the way, in case you’re wondering, I’m not an antiquarian by trade. I’d describe myself more as a jack-of-all-trades endowed with a particular talent, if I may be so bold. That said, history and antiques have always been something of a hobby for me. Clearly, this had much to do with the peculiar talent I possess. Indeed, learning of my cousin’s trade spurred my swift decision to settle here. I, who fancied myself a vagabond at heart… Well, what can I say? Everything has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?

Having completed my tour of the grounds outside, I decided it was time to turn my curiosity to the interior of the dwelling. I pulled out the heavy key the notary had entrusted to me and paused to consider the imposing lock it was meant to open. I had the distinct impression of stepping into a vault, and the dark, faintly unsettling atmosphere of the place only heightened the unease.

My predecessor must not have been the funniest bean in the pod, judging by the drab, dusty decor I uncovered as I wandered through. Nor was he a fan of housekeeping, it seems, unless he had a secret penchant for Halloween, who knows. The spiders certainly felt right at home here. The countless cobwebs thriving scattered about in the Manoir’s myriad vacant rooms were proof enough of that.

The notary had warned me that the electricity had been cut off while they tracked me down, so I’d come equipped with a flashlight. And while it was certainly useful, I soon realized, with some bitterness, that its beam was sorely lacking in range. I couldn’t see a thing two feet in front of me!

After stubbing my poor toes on a piece of furniture for the second time, I made a solemn decision for the sake of my beleaguered feet. Postponing the exploration of the remaining rooms until later suddenly seemed the brightest idea of the day. I added an urgent note to my already brimming notebook of notes on my visit—hire a cleaning crew and restore electricity as soon as possible—and called it a day.

Well, “called it a day” is a bit hasty; I’d decided to spend the night here, after all. Feeling hunger creeping in, I headed to the kitchen, where I lit every candle I could find. I pulled a sandwich from my backpack, its leather worn by years of travel and never far from my side, and dug into my meal with gusto while comparing my observations from the exploration to the papers the notary had given me.

New jottings joined those I’d already scribbled down, and then, sated, I set off in search of a comfortable—and relatively clean—spot to spend the night.