Ignoring the butler’s outraged look, Hélène went straight to the drawing room and, opening the door, said, ‘Maman, Madame Sauze is here. Shall I bring her in?’
Rosalie, having already placed her feet on a footstool, had been drifting into a doze, and when Hélène burst into the room she awoke with a start.
‘Hélène? What’s the matter? What did you say?’
‘I said Madame Sauze is here, Maman. She’s come to see you.’
‘Madame Sauze? Here?’
‘Yes, Maman, and she’s asking to speak to you. I said I was sure you’d like to see her. Shall I bring her in?’
Rosalie was not best pleased to be placed in this position by her younger daughter, but her good manners came to her aid and she said, ‘Of course. Do ask her to come in.’
‘Yes, Maman.’ Hélène hurried back to the hall where Madame Sauze stood waiting uncomfortably, under the eye of the butler. ‘Madame, Maman says please do come into the drawing room.’ And then turning to Didier, she added, ‘Thank you, Didier, that will be all.’ Didier looked less than pleased at this dismissal, but he simply said, ‘Yes, Miss Hélène,’ and retreated to his own domain.
‘Do come with me, madame,’ said Hélène, extending her hand again. ‘Maman’s in here.’
Madame Sauze followed her into the drawing room, and immediately Rosalie St Clair got up to greet her.
‘Madame Sauze,’ she said, ‘I didn’t realise it was you. What a pleasure to see you. Please do take a seat.’ She waved her guest to a chair and then sat down opposite her. ‘May I offer you some refreshment?’
‘No, madame, I thank you, but’ – she glanced across at Hélène, who had moved to take a seat beside her mother – ‘if I might have a word with you in private?’
‘Of course,’ replied Rosalie. ‘Please leave us, Hélène.’
‘But Maman,’ protested Hélène, ‘I wanted to talk to Madame Sauze. We haven’t seen her for ages.’
‘Maybe you can speak later, but not until we have finished our conversation. Now, please, go and leave us in peace.’
Reluctantly Hélène got to her feet and, with one disgruntled backward glance, left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Now, madame,’ said Rosalie, ‘you have my ear.’
‘I am very sorry to have to come to you, madame,’ began Agathe, ‘but I don’t know where else to turn. It’s not for myself that I’ve come, but for the girl Annette. You may remember she was with Hélène in St Luke’s orphanage.’
Rosalie nodded. She did remember; Hélène used to refer to her as the bread thief, and it was Annette who had helped her slip away from the nuns. ‘I see; well, what about her? Did she not come to work at the Clergy House with you?’
‘Yes, she did, but I don’t work there any more. Father Lenoir died and young Father Thomas no longer required my services.’
Rosalie looked surprised. ‘But surely he still needed a housekeeper?’
‘He did, but over the years I have trained Annette well and he decided that she could do the job as well as I.’ Agathe faltered as she wondered how best to explain what had happened to the girl since she herself had been dismissed. She had sallied forth to the Avenue Ste Anne to renew her acquaintance with Rosalie St Clair. Now here she was, seated opposite that lady, and she had to introduce a subject so distasteful that it could well get her thrown out of the house. A friend, Agathe had described her to Annette, but as she looked across at Rosalie now she knew that they were not friends, simply two women who had met in the most peculiar circumstances some years ago, and had made some sort of connection.
‘I’m sorry, madame,’ she said. ‘But may I speak directly to you?’
‘I think you should,’ replied Rosalie. She wondered if Madame Sauze had come looking for a position as she no longer kept house for the priest at St Jacques. Briefly she reviewed her household, here in Paris and in St Etienne. She liked the woman, respected her and had seen that she was a good housekeeper when she had visited the Clergy House all those years ago. Perhaps she could find something, an under-housekeeper at Belair? That might be a possibility. Old Madame Choux the housekeeper was getting on and would have to retire soon. As these thoughts flitted through her mind she began to give proper attention to what Madame Sauze was saying and, appalled, realised what she was actually asking for. Would she take an expectant, unmarried woman into her household?
‘It’s a great deal that you ask, madame,’ she said when Agathe finally fell silent.
‘I don’t ask it for myself,’ Agathe replied quietly, ‘I ask for a child who has been abused and is now in a cruel situation that is none of her making.’ She did not remind Rosalie that her own daughter could have been in just such a situation some years ago if Agathe had not stepped in to keep her safe; she didn’t have to. The words lay between them, unspoken.
At last Rosalie said, ‘So, madame, tell me again what you want of me.’
Agathe outlined her plan, that Annette should be introduced to the house at St Etienne as her niece, recently widowed by la grippe, currently rife in Paris, and allowed to work for the family there until her time should come.
Rosalie listened in silence, considering the possibilities of the plan. She knew Emile would be against such an idea, even if he believed the tale of the dead husband. He knew a little of what had befallen Hélène when she was lost during the siege, but his wife had not gone into any details and it appeared that Hélène herself had been able to block the memory entirely from her mind. She never referred to it, and she seemed to be a normal, untroubled girl on the brink of womanhood. Could she expose her to Annette in her condition without awkward explanations? How could she explain the sudden arrival of such a girl to the rest of the household, who, deliberately, had been told nothing of Hélène’s experiences? Hélène would recognise her, of course she would, but would meeting her again trigger memories better left undisturbed? And yet, Rosalie knew, she owed it to Madame Sauze to agree to help.
‘I understand that you wish to protect this woman,’ she began and was surprised when Agathe put in gently, ‘She’s still a child, madame, little older than Hélène.’
‘I understand what you’re saying, madame,’ Rosalie continued briskly, ‘and I promise you I will consider what you’re asking of me. My mind is full of family affairs at present – my eldest daughter, Clarice, is getting married in less than a month and she is my priority just now. However’ – she held up a hand as she saw Agathe was about to speak – ‘I will give the situation serious thought and see if there is any way I can help you and the girl. Let me sleep on it. Come back and see me again tomorrow and I’ll give you my decision then.’ She got to her feet to indicate that the interview was now over. ‘I’d be grateful, madame, if this remained a private matter between us. It would distress me greatly if Hélène came to hear of the situation.’
‘Certainly, madame,’ Agathe agreed. ‘I would never speak of this matter to Hélène.’
Rosalie nodded. ‘Then, until tomorrow. Please call at the same time and I will instruct Didier to bring you straight to me.’
*
‘She didn’t say no,’ Agathe told Annette when she got back to the apartment. ‘She said she’d think it over and give me her answer tomorrow.’
‘That means she’ll say no,’ sighed Annette.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Agathe firmly. ‘It means she’s giving the idea consideration.’
Chapter 8
Rosalie St Clair was indeed giving the idea consideration, but so far she was coming down on the side of refusal. How could she introduce an expectant mother into the Belair household? At this moment of all times? Hélène would know that Annette was not Madame Sauze’s niece. The whole project would be built on lies and deception and would, inevitably, come out in the end. Perhaps it was not the girl’s fault that she found herself pregnant and unmarried, but few people would see it like that. Maybe she could be placed with one of the village families until the baby was born. It could
be brought up there and Annette could get work elsewhere to provide for it. Well, that was a possibility, she supposed. One heard of such arrangements.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Hélène’s return to the room. ‘Maman,’ she cried, ‘Didier told me Madame Sauze has gone. What did she want? Why didn’t she stay and talk to me? I so wanted to hear how she is. And Annette.’
‘She had something she wanted to discuss with me,’ returned her mother easily. ‘It took longer than we thought and she had to go back to where she’s working now.’
‘But isn’t she still looking after the fathers at St Jacques?’
‘No. I believe she keeps house for her sister.’
‘For her sister? I didn’t know she had a sister.’
‘Really, Hélène, why should you? You actually know very little about her.’
‘I know she’s kind and looked after me,’ replied Hélène.
‘Indeed she did,’ agreed Rosalie carefully. ‘Now, chérie,’ she went on, anxious to change the subject, ‘have you done your piano practice today?’
‘No,’ Hélène admitted, and finding herself dismissed to the music room, she left her mother deep in thought in the drawing room.
Rosalie’s thoughts were interrupted again when the door opened and Emile walked in. She knew a moment’s surprise. With everything that had been happening, including Madame Sauze’s unexpected visit, she had forgotten he was arriving in Paris today. She stood up to greet him and for the moment the question of Madame Sauze and Annette was pushed to the back of her mind.
‘Emile,’ she said, presenting her cheek for the touch of his lips. ‘I hope you had an easy journey.’
‘Easy enough,’ replied her husband as he flung himself down into his armchair. ‘Ring for Didier, will you?’
Rosalie did as she was asked and then said, ‘Madame Choux looked after you well?’
‘Well enough, I suppose,’ grunted Emile. ‘But she’s getting very forgetful. Forgot to have my dinner served in the morning room as I’d asked. Laid us up in the dining room.’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about Madame Choux,’ Rosalie said. ‘I think that after Clarice’s wedding, we must suggest she retires. Find someone experienced but younger. There is always a great deal to do in a house such as ours and I think she’s struggling.’
‘Whatever you decide, my dear,’ Emile replied dismissively, and picking up the paper Didier had laid out on the side table, he began to read.
‘Will you be joining us at the opera tonight?’ Rosalie asked him.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Emile looked up from the paper. ‘The opera?’
‘Yes, we’ve been invited into Madame Descamps’ box to see The Pearl Fishers.’
Emile shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so, my dear. I shall probably go to my club.’
Rosalie was not surprised at his refusal. Over the last few years she and Emile had drifted apart, the first coolness between them occurring when eleven-year-old Hélène had been missing in Paris during the siege of the Communards. Rosalie had blamed Emile for not bringing Hélène to safety when he had had the chance, and if he were honest, he knew she was right, but could not admit the fact.
Outwardly they continued to live together as they always had, but the rift had gradually increased between them. Emile, always rather a distant father, had little to do with the day-to-day upbringing of his daughters. All such matters he left to Rosalie, and the atmosphere in the house was one of detached civility. Rosalie transferred all the love she had once had for him to her daughters and her son Georges and his children, her beloved grandchildren.
Now, as she watched him sipping his cognac, reading his paper, entirely unaware of her scrutiny, she thought, How he’s aged over these last years!
Stooped where once he had been so erect, his hair receding to a fringe around his bald pate and the muscles of his face drooping to soft, fleshy pouches, she realised with a pang of regret that he looked older than his fifty-four years. Where, she wondered, had her Emile gone? The handsome young man who had swept her off her feet and married her when she was just eighteen? Only the ghost of him remained.
‘I must go up and change,’ she said with a sigh and she got to her feet. Her remark was greeted by a grunt and she added quietly, ‘So you’ll go to your club for your dinner?’
Emile glanced up and answered, ‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ before returning to his paper.
Rosalie saw little of The Pearl Fishers that evening, as Madame Sauze’s request filled her mind. Emile was not yet home when they returned from the opera and it was with relief that she went immediately to her bed. Despite her fatigue she still couldn’t sleep. Lying in the darkness, Rosalie went through all the possibilities. She knew, even against her better judgement, that she was going to take in the girl, Annette, but there had to be definite conditions, and working these out kept her awake until the small hours. She realised that the story of Annette’s ‘husband’ was thin, but the girl would be entirely unknown in St Etienne and it couldn’t be disproved. If Madame Sauze accepted her offer, Rosalie would be the one to tell Hélène, to ensure that she had no doubt about the veracity of the story. She would have to speak to Emile about it in the morning, but the story she would tell him would be of the death of a young man, leaving a young widow expecting his child.
When Agathe arrived back at the Avenue Ste Anne the following afternoon, she was immediately shown up to Rosalie’s private sitting room. Rosalie was sitting at a desk in the bay window with papers spread out before her.
‘Madame Sauze, madame.’ Didier’s voice conveyed his distaste that this person should be received twice in as many days.
‘Thank you, Didier.’ Rosalie got up from her chair and, having greeted Agathe, invited her to sit in one of the armchairs and took the one opposite.
‘Madame,’ she said, leaning forward and coming straight to the point. ‘I have been giving your request a great deal of thought and I think I may be able to help you and the young person concerned. However, I have to insist on several strict and unalterable conditions.’ She paused, but Agathe made no reply, simply waited to hear what the conditions were.
Rosalie gave a nod of appreciation. ‘Firstly, the fiction of her being recently widowed must be upheld. She must speak to no one at all of the Clergy House or what has happened there. Secondly, you will have to accompany her.’
‘Oh, but, madame—’
Rosalie raised her hand. ‘Hear me out, madame,’ she said. ‘Very soon I shall be looking for a new housekeeper at Belair. Madame Choux, my present housekeeper, is old and tired. She has served the family well for many years, but the work is getting too much for her. Before long she will be pensioned off in one of the cottages in the village. You and the girl—’
‘Annette,’ put in Agathe, determined that Annette should be a real person rather than a nobody without a name.
‘Annette,’ conceded Rosalie. ‘For now, you and Annette will both work for me, until the baby is born. You will have to share a room on the servants’ landing, but that can easily be explained as you are aunt and niece. After the birth, Annette will have to move out of the house. We cannot keep the child there, but it may be possible to find a family in the village who, for a little extra cash, would be happy to take them in, and it will be up to the two of you to find that money.’ Rosalie glanced at Agathe for her reaction when she said this. Agathe, thinking of her few savings, gave a slight nod, and Rosalie went on, ‘Depending on circumstances I may be able to employ… Annette… in the house again, once the child is of an age to be left while she is working. In the meantime, you will work with my housekeeper, Madame Choux, easing her load until Clarice’s wedding, after which she will be retired. I am hoping that you and I will find we suit each other very well, in which case I shall offer you her position as the Belair housekeeper.’
Agathe’s eyes widened at this. She had never considered that she might find a permanent place at Belair, and she was about to speak when Ros
alie continued, saying, ‘However, there is one further proviso. Hélène will undoubtedly recognise Annette, and it is she who must be protected from the unsavoury truth of the matter. She will know that Annette is not your niece but I will tell her that when you were working together over the last few years, you became fond of each other and you adopted her as such. It is I who will explain this and the circumstances of Annette’s widowhood to Hélène. I intend to preserve her innocence in the matter. I shall say that Annette was married to… Have you decided on a name?’
‘Marc Dubois,’ replied Agathe.
‘A good name,’ agreed Rosalie. ‘There must be hundreds of those in Paris, so no one can query which one she was married to. Marc Dubois will have died in the flu epidemic, and Annette came to you, as she was left with nowhere to go. There must be no suggestion of anything else. You and Annette must concoct the details of the story and you must both stick to it rigidly. Annette must not share confidences with Hélène, and should I find that she has even hinted that her marriage and widowhood are not the truth, she – and you – will be out of the house within the hour, and so you may tell her.’
Rosalie sat back in her chair and, looking across at the other woman, said, ‘That, madame, is what I have to offer, no more, no less.’
It was an offer that had been difficult to achieve. Emile had not returned home until the small hours and she’d had to wait until he awoke to discuss things with him. She had found him in the morning room partaking of a late breakfast, and pouring another cup of hot chocolate for herself, she sat down with him and told him what she had in mind. Despite her presenting him with the fictitious version of the matter, his reaction had been predictable.
‘Taking in a pregnant girl who’s probably no better than she should be?’ He had been incredulous. ‘What are you thinking of, my dear? Whatever made this woman think she could come to you in the first place? The answer is definitely no.’
‘That of course was my initial reaction,’ agreed Rosalie, ‘but then I remembered how Madame Sauze had looked after Hélène when she was lost during the siege, and I felt we owed her something. The poor woman is desperately worried about her niece. The unhappy girl is left widowed, with a baby on the way and no visible means of support.’
The French Wife Page 6