A small, dark-haired girl with wide, frightened eyes emerged from the scullery and, edging round the table, murmured, ‘It’s this way.’
They followed her up two flights of twisting stairs onto a landing that ran the length of the house. Halfway along she opened a door and said, ‘In here, but you’d better be quick, Madame Choux don’t like to be kept waiting.’
‘Thank you, Lizette,’ Agathe said with a smile. ‘You go back downstairs, we can find our own way down.’
‘Yes, miss,’ whispered the girl, recognising that the older of the newcomers was of higher status than she, and with that she scurried off down the stairs.
Annette and Agathe looked round the room that was to be their refuge for the next few weeks. It was small, with two metal bedsteads crammed in, side by side. A chest of drawers stood in a corner and there were hooks on the back of the door on which to hang clothes. In a pile on the single chair that stood in the other corner was a plain black dress, a starched apron and a white cap, clearly meant for Annette, and on one of the beds was another apron and a black lace cap. Both clearly denoted the standing of the wearer in the household.
Agathe took off her travelling cloak and, putting her bag on the bed where the apron lay, said, ‘Well, we’re at close quarters, Annette, but at least we have beds to sleep in and work to do to earn our bread.’ She reached for the apron and put it on over the plain stuff dress she was wearing, the one she’d always worn when keeping house for Father Lenoir. She glanced across at Annette, who remained standing pale-faced by the door, and said briskly, ‘Come along, Annette, change into your uniform. You’re lucky you have one provided and don’t have to buy your own, as many maids must do.’
For a moment Annette didn’t move and then – it was almost as if she had given herself a shake – she took off her outdoor shawl and hung it on the back of the door. Removing her skirt and bodice, she reached for the dress on the chair and struggled into it. At first she doubted she could do it up, but with help from Agathe and careful adjustment she managed to ease it over her stomach before tying the apron around her waist to disguise the bulge of her baby. It was a very snug fit, but it would have to do until she could loosen it further.
Agathe surveyed her and then said with a smile, ‘You’ll do.’ Then, with a more serious expression, she went on, ‘Remember, Annette, that Madame St Clair has put her trust in us, taking us on here. I can see that Madame Choux is not pleased with our arrival, but whatever happens, we must not cause any disharmony below stairs. She may well find fault with you, whatever she gives you to do, but if she does, simply duck your head and accept her comments without fuss. If we lose our jobs here, there will be nowhere else to go.’
‘I know,’ returned Annette tightly.
‘I know you know,’ said Agathe soothingly, ‘but it may not be easy, that’s all. There’s sure to be speculation about you and the baby, so we have to be certain to stick to our story.’
She reached forward and took the girl’s hand. ‘Come on then, let’s go and face Madame Cabbage.’ That elicited a smile from Annette and together they went down to the kitchen.
Although Madame Choux slept on the servants’ landing, not two doors away from Agathe and Annette, she also had her own tiny parlour off the kitchen and it was there that she waited for them.
‘You took your time,’ she snapped. ‘You can leave the door.’ They did as she said, even though it meant that everything she said to them could be overheard by those working – or simply listening – in the kitchen.
‘Madame St Clair has written a letter,’ she began, ‘and tells me I am to use you wherever I need you as we prepare for the wedding. I do not know why she has employed you at all. I have no need of anyone else; the servants we have here are more than able to cope with such preparations.’ There was an edge of anger in her voice, but she continued. ‘However, I will of course follow Madame’s orders.’ She pointed to Annette. ‘You, girl, are a maid-of-all-work. You will work in the laundry, the kitchen or as a chambermaid, wherever I tell you.’ She glowered at Annette. ‘You understand?’
Remembering Agathe’s admonition, Annette ducked her head and murmured, ‘Yes, madame.’
For a moment the housekeeper eyed her suspiciously and then gave a brief nod and said, ‘Into the kitchen with you and find Cook. She’ll have plenty of work for you.’ She did not ask either of the newcomers if she had eaten, simply waved her hand at the door and turned her attention back to Agathe. Taking this dismissal, Annette went out into the kitchen where she was greeted by the cook who gave her a far warmer welcome.
‘Annette, is it? I’m Madame Paquet; I’m the cook and’ – her eyes flicked to the parlour door – ‘it’s my kitchen. I’m pleased to see you. We can do with another pair of hands in here.’ She glanced down at the roundness of Annette’s stomach and went on. ‘I see you’re in trouble—’ she began, but Annette interrupted her.
‘No, madame, I am not. It’s true I’m expecting a child, but it will not be born a bastard.’
‘Oh ho!’ laughed the cook. ‘He’s going to marry you then, is he?’
‘No, madame,’ replied Annette, looking her firmly in the eye, ‘I am already married, but my beloved husband died a month ago of the flu. I am now a widow and it is his child!’
The cook looked taken aback at this outburst, but she was not unsympathetic. She turned to the other maid, the pale-faced Lizette, who stood open-mouthed at the scullery door, and Henri, who’d just come in from the stables to have his dinner, and said, ‘There you are, now you know all about poor Annette. She and her aunt, Madame Sauze’ – she nodded towards the open door to Madame Choux’s parlour – ‘are with us at least until after Miss Clarice’s wedding, so let’s make the most of the extra help, shall we?’ She turned back to Annette. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.
‘No, madame.’
‘Well, sit up to the table, you can eat with the others. Lizette!’
The little maid hurried to the range and began to ladle broth from a cauldron into waiting bowls. As instructed, Annette took a chair at the big wooden table, and Lizette placed a bowl of steaming chicken broth, thick with vegetables, in front of her. There was already bread and cheese on the table and after a muttered grace from the cook, Lizette and Henri helped themselves and began to eat. Annette watched for a moment and then took some bread and a piece of cheese and picked up her spoon.
At that moment Pierre came into the kitchen. Coming along the outside passage he had overheard the interchange between the cook and the new maid.
So, he thought, that’s what’s happened to the girl… if you can believe it. Very sad if it’s true. But is it? He gave a wry smile. He hadn’t come down with the morning dew. He had seen her rounded figure, had assumed her unmarried and had been surprised when Madame Sauze had named her as Madame Dubois.
He walked in and sat down at the table and tucked into the broth that the cook set before him. As he mopped his bread round his bowl and licked the last drops from his fingers he considered what the girl had said. She had spoken up bravely in answer to Madame Paquet, and he admired her for it. She was able to stand up for herself, not like the other maid, Lizette. She was timid as a mouse, scared of her own shadow and thus bullied by Madame Choux. If this Annette girl and her aunt were here, it should certainly help relieve the pressure in the wedding preparations. The household managed with fewer servants these days.
Agathe had heard the raised voices as well, and seen Madame Choux’s expression darken as she heard Annette’s defence of her situation. However, she had told the prepared story and the way she had spoken was, Agathe decided, convincing enough. She turned her attention back to the housekeeper, who was speaking quite candidly.
‘I don’t know why Madame has engaged you,’ she said. ‘Of course, another maid is always helpful’ – she gave a sniff – ‘despite the state she finds herself in.’
‘A widow with a baby on the way,’ Agathe said, wilfully misunderstanding her and nodding
. ‘Very difficult for the poor girl, I do agree.’
‘But you?’ Madame Choux looked at Agathe through mistrustful eyes. ‘You’re too old. What use will you be to me?’
Agathe, remembering her own warning to Annette, bit back a retort at such rudeness, simply saying, ‘Madame St Clair knows how much extra work there will be preparing for Miss Clarice’s wedding. I think she thought you might welcome another pair of hands to lighten the load.’
Madame Choux looked at her suspiciously. ‘Did she now? She must know I’m well able to prepare the house for both the wedding and the house guests who will be staying over.’
‘She certainly does,’ Agathe agreed quietly, ‘and of course it’s you she’s relying on, but she suggested that you might have a use for me with so much happening just now.’ When Madame Choux didn’t answer, Agathe said, ‘I am at your bidding, madame.’
Reluctantly the housekeeper told her she was to sort and check through the linen cupboard, looking for anything that might need laundering or mending before it could be used in the guests’ bedchambers. It was a job she had been putting off. It had been a long time since she had performed this particular task, one she disliked, and she was afraid there might be much in need of repair; the part-time seamstress they normally used for such work was ill and would not be able to take on the job. ‘I assume you are able with your needle.’
‘Indeed, madame,’ replied Agathe.
‘But first,’ the housekeeper said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘you had better have your midday meal.’ And with that she led the way back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, waving Agathe to a vacant chair beside Annette. At once Lizette leaped to her feet and served them each with a bowl of broth.
It was extremely good, and as Agathe ate she looked round the well-ordered kitchen and thought, Well, we’re here, though unwelcome, and despite Fleur being so cross with me for leaving, Annette and I are well out of Paris, and thanks to Madame St Clair we both have the chance of a new life.
Chapter 10
Rosalie and the girls returned from Paris amid a flurry of excitement. The final purchases had been made; the wedding dress that had been packed in tissue paper and boxed for the journey was now hanging in the wardrobe in Clarice’s bedroom. Rosalie sighed when Didier, who had returned with them, came quietly into her parlour to tell her that Madame Barrineau had called and was asking the favour of a few moments’ conversation with her. Suzanne Barrineau was the last person she wanted to see just now but, as Clarice’s future mother-in-law, she was due every courtesy, and when Suzanne was announced, as always she stood to greet her visitor with a smile and ordered some refreshment.
When she heard the purpose of Suzanne’s visit, she smiled wearily and replied, ‘Of course it will be no problem, Suzanne. Any friend of Lucas’s is welcome at the wedding and of course he’ll be seated with your family.’
Suzanne went on to explain at some length the unexpected arrival of Rupert Chalfont, the son of an English ‘milor’, now in Paris and on his way to visit them.
Rosalie hardly heard what she was saying. Suzanne was always a rattle, and Rosalie had other things on her mind. She had recognised from the resentful expression on her housekeeper’s face when she’d got home earlier that Madame Choux was not best pleased with the arrival of Agathe and Annette, but though she knew she needed to smooth her housekeeper’s ruffled feathers, so far she’d had no chance to do so. Neither had she seen the newcomers – she would send for them in due course but had not yet had time. She also needed to speak with Hélène in private to tell her of the new arrivals and explain their presence.
‘So, my dear Rosalie, you see how difficult it would be for the poor man, knowing no one but Lucas…’
Rosalie returned her attention to Suzanne, saying as she poured more coffee and offered the plate of Cook’s ratafia biscuits, ‘Please don’t concern yourself, Suzanne. There will be no problem with the arrangements, I assure you.’
It was a relief when Suzanne rose to go, pleading, ‘So much to do, my dear Rosalie,’ adding as a decided afterthought, ‘as you must have yourself!’
Rosalie agreed that indeed she did, and rang for Didier to show Suzanne out.
While their mother had been engaged with Madame Barrineau, the three girls had been happily settling back into their country home. Though they all enjoyed the occasional visit to Paris, they had always preferred living at Belair, where they were allowed far more freedom. Clarice went upstairs to rest before yet another evening engagement, Louise made herself scarce before her governess, Mademoiselle Corbine, could summon her to the schoolroom, and Hélène decided to go into the drawing room and play the piano. It was as she was crossing the hall that she saw Annette, the bread thief. She stopped in her tracks as Annette emerged from behind the heavy door that separated the kitchen and servants’ area from the main part of the house. She was carrying a pile of ironed sheets that Madame Sauze needed upstairs. She, too, stopped short, almost dropping her load of linen.
‘Annette?’ Hélène stared at her. ‘Is it you?’
‘Yes, Miss Hélène,’ answered Annette carefully.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Hélène looked perplexed. ‘But what are you doing here?’
‘Taking these sheets upstairs to Madame Sauze to be—’
‘Madame Sauze! Is she here too? What’s going on?’
‘Your mother has employed us both to help out over the busy period of Miss Clarice’s wedding, miss. She said it was going to be a very busy time.’
‘I see,’ said Hélène, but she didn’t. She didn’t see at all. Why hadn’t Maman told her what she’d done? Then she remembered the visit Madame Sauze had made to the Avenue Ste Anne the previous week. Had she come there looking for work? Hélène was at a loss and said lamely, ‘How long have you been here, Annette?’
‘Just five days, miss,’ came the reply.
‘Five days?’ Only a week since Madame Sauze had come to see Maman. This was all very sudden.
‘Excuse me, miss, but I have to take these up to Madame Sauze. She’s waiting for them.’
‘Of course, Annette, sorry.’ Hélène stood aside, and as the other girl stepped onto the stairs she added, ‘But I don’t think you need to call me “miss”, Annette. You never did before.’
‘Yes I must, miss,’ came the firm reply. ‘I’m a housemaid and you’re family. If you’ll excuse me, miss?’ She turned and went up the stairs, watched for a moment by Hélène, left standing in the hall. As Annette reached the top Hélène called up to her, ‘In that case, you should be using the back stairs.’
‘Yes, miss,’ said the bread thief quietly. ‘Thank you. I’ll remember in future.’ And with that she disappeared along the landing.
Not like the bread thief of old, thought Hélène. Not at all like the girl who had stolen her bread and then, later, taken a beating for tripping up Sister Gabrielle, allowing Hélène to make her escape from St Luke’s orphanage all those years ago. That girl wasn’t meek and mild – she’d been rebellious and full of spunk. So what, Hélène wondered, had happened to her to account for the change?
At that moment Didier appeared in the hall and said, ‘Miss Hélène, your mother would like to speak to you in her sitting room.’
And I’d like to speak to her, too, thought Hélène as she replied, ‘Thank you, Didier, I’ll go and see her now.’
Rosalie was pouring herself yet more coffee when Hélène knocked and went into her mother’s private sitting room. It wasn’t a large room, but prettily furnished, with tall windows looking out over the garden, and it was entirely her mother’s domain. No one went into it except by invitation, and Rosalie guarded, jealously, the peace that she found there.
‘You wanted me, Maman?’
‘Yes, sit down, chérie, we need to have a quiet talk. Would you like some coffee?’
Rosalie rang the bell for another cup and a second pot of coffee and waited until they had been brought before she said, ‘I’ve a surprise for you, Hé
lène.’
‘A surprise? What sort of surprise?’
‘While we were in Paris, you may remember Madame Sauze came to visit me. Well, she was looking for a job. She no longer works at the Clergy House, and nor does her niece.’
‘Her niece?’ echoed Hélène. ‘Who’s that?’ But even as she asked the question she knew the answer. ‘You mean Annette? But she’s not her niece!’
‘No,’ agreed her mother, ‘I know that and so do you, but since they have been working together over the last few years they have become close and Madame Sauze now introduces Annette as her niece; it gives them both a feeling of family. Anyway,’ she went on, ‘the old priest died and the young curate gave them notice. Annette was going to be married anyway, so she was happy enough to leave the house.’
‘Annette’s married?’ asked Hélène, startled.
‘Yes, or at least she was, but her husband died in the flu epidemic soon after, so now she’s a widow.’
‘Oh, poor Annette,’ cried Hélène. ‘How awful!’
‘Yes, it’s very sad for her. Still, what I was going to tell you is that after Madame Sauze came to see me, I decided to employ them both, just over the wedding period to begin with, so you mustn’t be surprised to see them about the house. Agathe Sauze is helping Madame Choux, taking on some of the more mundane housekeeping jobs, and Annette is a general maid-of-all-work.’
‘That explains it,’ exclaimed Hélène. ‘I saw Annette just now and—’
‘You’ve seen her?’ interrupted Rosalie. ‘And did you speak with her?’
‘Yes, of course,’ answered Hélène. ‘Why?’
‘And what did she say?’
‘Nothing much. I was surprised to see her and asked why she was here. She told me you’d just hired her and Madame Sauze to work here over the wedding.’ Hélène gave a slight smile and added, ‘She called me “miss”.’
‘As indeed she should,’ said Rosalie. ‘I know you knew each other as children, but that was long ago. Now the situation is quite different.’ She paused and, looking speculatively at her daughter, said, ‘How did you think she looked?’
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