The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  When the contraction had passed, Annette collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Agathe turned to Adele and said, ‘We’ll need some clean towels. Will you wait with her while I go and find some? Then perhaps you could go down to the kitchen and set some water to boil.’

  It was as she gathered towels from the linen cupboard that Rosalie appeared at the head of the stairs.

  ‘Madame Sauze,’ she said, ‘Hélène said there was some kind of trouble, some problem?’

  ‘Oh. Madame, I didn’t want her to trouble you. I should not have spoken to her.’

  ‘Well, you did,’ replied Rosalie briskly. ‘So, what is the problem?’

  ‘It’s Annette, madame. She has gone into labour and…’’

  Rosalie closed her eyes. Today of all days! Still, there was nothing they could do about that now. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In our room, madame.’ Agathe drew a deep breath and added, ‘I took the liberty of sending Pierre for the midwife.’

  ‘Did you now?’ If Rosalie was surprised at her housekeeper sending the coachman on errands on behalf of a maid, she didn’t say so. ‘Let’s hope she gets here in time. Bring those towels and let’s have a look at her.’

  ‘Oh, madame, it’s not appropriate for you to—’ Agathe began.

  ‘And it’s not for you to tell me what’s appropriate!’ interrupted Rosalie. ‘Come along.’ And with that she turned on her heel and set off along the landing, followed by Agathe, still clutching the pile of clean towels.

  When they reached the bedroom they found Annette sitting up in her bed, with Adèle sitting beside her, admiring the small clothes Annette had made in readiness for her baby.

  ‘Now then, Annette,’ Rosalie said when the girl stared at her in horror at having been found in her bed by her mistress and tried to get up. ‘No, no, stay where you are.’ Rosalie waved a staying hand. ‘I hear your baby is on the way. Pierre has gone to fetch Madame Leclerc, and as soon as she arrives she’ll be up here to help you. I’m sure she won’t be long.’

  Even as she spoke Annette was gripped by another contraction, making her cry out in pain. Agathe was immediately at her side.

  Rosalie turned to Adèle Paquet. ‘How long since the last one?’ she asked.

  ‘Not long, madame,’ replied the cook. ‘Maybe fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Then you’d better go downstairs and as soon as the midwife arrives bring her straight up. Make sure there is plenty of boiled water ready when needed.’

  As the cook scurried out, Rosalie said, ‘We’d better spread the towels, I fear the birth is very close.’ But there were no more contractions before the door opened and Madame Leclerc stepped into the room.

  Rosalie greeted her with relief and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, madame, I have matters to attend to downstairs.’ As she reached the door she said, ‘Madame Sauze, I will expect to hear from you as soon as the child is born.’

  Madame Leclerc moved quickly to the bedside. ‘How long has she been like this?’ she asked.

  ‘For over an hour,’ replied Agathe. ‘At first her contractions were coming regularly, but they aren’t any more.’

  ‘This is serious,’ said the midwife as she began her examination. The waters staining the bed ran dark, which she knew was a bad sign. When she had finished her examination she turned to Agathe and said, ‘The baby is lying crosswise. The only chance of saving it – and the mother – is for me to try to turn it so that its head is able to engage.’ She looked at Agathe and went on, ‘It is all I can do.’

  At that moment Annette gave another cry as a further contraction gripped her, her face now the colour of putty and covered in sweat.

  ‘Do what you can,’ Agathe said, and standing aside she watched as the midwife struggled to turn the baby.

  Annette’s son was born several hours later. With difficulty and skill Madame Leclerc had managed to turn him, but still he was taking his time to arrive and the mother was getting weaker. Agathe sat beside her, holding her hand as Madame Leclerc encouraged her to bear down and push. At last, with a groan from his mother, the baby’s head emerged and with one further push he slithered into the arms of the waiting midwife. Swiftly she cut the cord that was twisted round his neck and gathered him into a towel. She took one look at him and turned away, keeping her back to the mother, who now lay, eyes closed, exhausted on the bed. He was small, too small, and his skin was pale and blotchy and he made no sound. She rubbed him gently in the towel, wiping his face, clearing mucus from around his nose and mouth, but he remained unmoving in her hands. She turned him over and gave him a sharp slap across his tiny bottom, but still there was nothing, no catch of breath, no cry and gulp of air. She had seen this once before, when the baby, a girl that time, had never drawn breath. She felt for a pulse, holding the baby against her face in search of a heartbeat, but there was none.

  Chapter 16

  Hélène lay in bed, her eyes wide open in the darkness. She had left her curtains slightly apart so that she could see the full moon hanging in the sky – the moon under which she had walked with Rupert Chalfont. She had no wish to go to sleep; she didn’t feel in the least tired, and she didn’t want the day to end. Clarice’s wedding day, the day when she, Hélène, had first seen Rupert Chalfont, looking up at her as she stood on the stairs. He was different from every other man she had known. Handsome, charming, well-bred, yes, indeed, but as she’d been growing up she’d known plenty of men who were all of those things, but they were nothing like Rupert. She had no idea what made him different, all she was certain of was that he was.

  After their return to the pavilion, they had parted company, Hélène to tell her mother of her encounter with Madame Sauze in the hall, Rupert to join with a group of men gathered at the far end. Louis Barrineau introduced him to Simon Barnier, another neighbour. Simon made a polite bow but soon drifted away, uninterested in a stray Englishman with whom he had nothing in common.

  ‘Had his eye on young Clarice,’ Louis Barrineau murmured, ‘until our Lucas cut him out. Still, if he’s looking for a pretty girl with a decent portion, there’s always her sister!’

  ‘Miss Hélène?’ Rupert kept his tone one of casual interest. ‘I was introduced to her earlier by your wife, sir.’

  ‘Well, between you and me I wouldn’t be surprised if they made a match of it. She and Barnier have known each other from childhood, of course, and it would be a good bargain. She would marry into a distinguished local family and he would have a much-needed injection of cash.’ Louis glanced up at Rupert. ‘All the St Clair girls bring a sizeable dowry, you know. Comes from their maternal grandmother, theirs entirely on the day they get married.’ As if suddenly recognising the freedom with which he was mentioning his neighbours’ financial affairs to a relatively unknown young Englishman, he tapped the side of his nose and said, ‘Nothing said, you know. Common knowledge, of course, but it’s not discussed. Lucas gave that no consideration when he proposed to Clarice. Head over ears in love with her, he is, and I’m not surprised, eh?’ Obviously feeling that the wine had led his tongue astray, Monsieur Barrineau changed the subject and continued, ‘Very good of you to look after my mother earlier, sir. Very thoughtful. Much appreciated.’

  ‘It was a pleasure, sir,’ Rupert replied. ‘And indeed she’s invited me to visit her in her rooms after the ball. I rather think she wants me to tell all that goes on there.’

  Louis Barrineau gave a laugh. ‘I’m sure she does and that you’ll be more than welcome,’ he said. ‘My mother was determined to be at Lucas’s wedding, she hates to be left out, but I think the ball will be beyond her strength.’

  At that moment there was a general movement from the pavilion as the bridal couple went out to their waiting carriage. Their departure was soon followed by the last of the guests, and Rupert had to take his place in one of the Barrineau carriages to return to Montmichel. He watched as Hélène turned to go back into the house. He’d had no opportunity to speak with her again before he took his leav
e of her parents, but as she reached the door she glanced back. For a moment their eyes met and he saw the colour flood her cheeks and couldn’t repress a smile. Tomorrow night they would meet at the ball and he would hold her in his arms as they danced.

  As Hélène relived the evening from the moment she had seen him, she gave herself a mental shake. His manners were easy and engaging and must make him agreeable to any woman; there was no reason to think that he had treated her differently from anyone else, that he thought of her differently, or at all. But she thought of him and it was he who filled her mind as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  *

  Many in the household slept late the next morning, but despite only a few hours’ sleep Hélène was awake early. As she did so often, she went to her window seat and looked out over the parterre. Although it was early, the sun was up, flooding the garden with sunshine. She looked down at the arbour by the rose garden where she had sat with her brother and sister-in-law last evening… and with Rupert Chalfont. Her reverie was broken by a clattering in the stable yard and, turning, she saw that Henri, the stable boy, was hitching one of the farm horses to a waggon. It seemed to be a strange activity for so early in the morning and even as she watched, a woman she didn’t know emerged into the yard carrying a bundle, followed by Madame Sauze with her arm round Annette, almost as if she were supporting her. Then Pierre appeared, and to Hélène’s surprise, he gathered Annette into his arms and lifted her onto the waggon, setting her down gently on a pile of sacks. The strange woman got in beside her, and with that Henri climbed up on the seat and with a click of his teeth and a shake of the reins drove the waggon slowly out of the yard.

  What is going on? wondered Hélène. There was only one way to find out; she must ask Madame Sauze. Dressing quickly, she went out onto the landing. The house was still quiet, and though she could hear voices from the nursery, it appeared that no one else was awake. Quietly Hélène went downstairs and made her way to the kitchen. There she found Lizette stoking the stove into life, but there was no sign of Agathe Sauze.

  As Hélène came in, Lizette looked up, startled, dropping the poker with a clatter. ‘Lizette,’ Hélène said. ‘Where is Madame Sauze?’

  Colour and confusion flooded the maid’s face and she said, ‘I think she’s upstairs, Miss Hélène. Sorting things out.’

  ‘Sorting things out?’ repeated Hélène. ‘What sort of things?’

  The girl looked near to tears as she replied, ‘I don’t know, miss. I don’t know.’

  Realising that she was going to get nothing more from the maid, Hélène said, ‘Then I’ll go and find her.’ She left the kitchen and climbed the back stairs to the servants’ quarters. As she neared the top she could hear someone moving about, and as she reached the landing Madame Sauze emerged from one of the rooms. She stopped abruptly when she saw Hélène.

  ‘Miss Hélène,’ she exclaimed. ‘You shouldn’t be up here!’

  ‘I came to find you,’ replied Hélène. ‘I came to ask you why Annette’s been taken away in the waggon. Where’s she gone? Who was that woman with her? She looked ill. Has she gone to have her baby?’

  Agathe drew a deep breath. ‘All these questions, Miss Hélène,’ she said as her brain raced to provide answers she could give. Madame St Clair had already been apprised of the events of last night, and it was she who had insisted that Annette should be removed as soon as possible to Madame Leclerc’s house. Agathe had no idea of the explanations her mistress would give to Hélène, but she did know that she would want to be the one breaking the news to her daughter. She wouldn’t thank her housekeeper for taking that duty. Agathe was well aware of Madame St Clair being particularly protective of her daughter and, understanding why, had no wish to interfere.

  ‘When you have a baby, it is best to have a midwife with you,’ she said cautiously. ‘Madame Leclerc, the woman who went with her, is the midwife from the village. She’s going to take care of her.’

  ‘I see.’ Hélène looked relieved. ‘That’s all right then.’

  Later, when Hélène had a chance to speak with her mother about Annette, Rosalie had already decided that she was not going to tell the family of the happenings in the night. The baby’s death was sad, but really nothing to do with her or her family, and she was determined that nothing should spoil the further celebrations of Clarice’s wedding. Hélène would be going to her first society ball, and she was determined that nothing should tarnish that special moment for her. Louise was angry that she was considered too young to be allowed to attend. She had been thrilled to be a bridesmaid, making her an important participant at the wedding, and thought she should have been invited to the ball at Montmichel.

  ‘I’m the only one of the family not going!’ she fumed. ‘It’s not fair!’ But her mother had remained adamant. ‘You’re too young, chérie,’ she’d said. ‘Even Hélène isn’t formally out yet and you certainly are not.’

  When Hélène mentioned having seen Annette leaving in the waggon, Rosalie asked guardedly what she had seen. On hearing it was all from her bedroom window, she said, ‘She has gone to the house of the midwife,’ and was surprised when Hélène said, ‘Yes, Madame Sauze told me that.’

  ‘Did she?’ Rosalie asked sharply. ‘And what else did she say?’

  ‘Nothing, Maman,’ Hélène said. ‘Just that it was important for her to be with the midwife at a time like this.’

  Rosalie gave an inward sigh of relief. Madame Sauze had stuck to her word and said nothing to alert Hélène to the reason she and Annette were at Belair, particularly at such a sensitive time. It might all come out later, of course, but at present there was nothing to spoil the day ahead, and that was as it should be. Later she called Agathe to see her in her parlour.

  ‘I am sure you want to know how Annette is getting on, and once luncheon has been served please feel free to go into the village and find out.’

  ‘Thank you, madame,’ Agathe replied. ‘I will go and visit her.’

  ‘And please let it be known only that she was in labour and has been taken to Madame Leclerc’s for her lying-in. I wish there to be no loose talk among the servants, no gossip to attach to the family. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, madame, but I have to say that there is already talk in the kitchen – speculation as to what has happened. They were all at table when…’ She paused to choose her words carefully. ‘When it was obvious that the baby was on its way.’

  ‘There is no need to tell them the sad news yet, however,’ replied her mistress. ‘Let them think she was taken to Madame Leclerc’s early this morning and will be delivered there. Tomorrow will be time enough to tell them that the child was stillborn.’

  ‘If that is what you wish, madame, but I’m certain Pierre at least knows what has happened.’

  ‘You need not worry about Pierre. I shall speak to him.’

  When Agathe had left the room Rosalie sat and considered what was to be done. No scandal must attach to the family, but there need be none provided those in the know stuck to the agreed story. Annette was a widow carrying a posthumous child and unfortunately, this morning at the home of the midwife, the baby had been stillborn. As far as Rosalie was concerned it must be a blessing in disguise, for how would a girl like Annette have managed to bring up a child on her own, with no money and no prospects of a job, as she had to nurse the child?

  Maybe, she thought, the girl herself will greet the news with relief. She’ll be able to put it all behind her and live the rest of her life free of the shame.

  Well, Rosalie decided with a mental shake, she would give it no further thought today. There were the family staying in the house to consider, and she had no wish for them to hear what had happened. She would play with the children in the afternoon and then they all had to prepare to attend the ball this evening. Agathe Sauze could deal with Annette. She had proved herself a trustworthy servant, able to keep a still tongue, and she would be rewarded with the position of housekeeper now that Madame Choux seem
ed to have retired herself. And the girl? Well, she could come back to work in a week or so, once she had got over the birth. After all, she was a good worker and would be in need of a job. All in all, things had worked out for the best.

  *

  Later that afternoon Agathe walked across the fields to the little house in the lane behind Le Coq d’Argent. Madame Leclerc opened the door and led her inside.

  ‘How is she?’ Agathe asked.

  ‘Exhausted,’ replied the midwife. ‘And I’m not surprised. We were lucky not to lose her as well as the child.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Agathe said. ‘And thanks to you. You are a very skilful woman, madame.’

  ‘I have seen most things,’ sighed Madame Leclerc. ‘But she’s taken it hard, as you’d imagine – the last part of her husband gone for ever.’

  Agathe was faced at that moment with an almost overwhelming temptation to tell this compassionate woman the truth, but realising that to do so would put both her and Annette’s futures in jeopardy, she stifled the impulse and said, ‘You are very understanding, madame. May I see my niece now?’

  ‘Of course,’ came the reply. ‘I’ll take you up. She may be asleep; she was earlier, and if so, let us not wake her. Sleep is the great healer and is what she needs. We have to make sure she has plenty of rest and there is no chance of infection.’

  Agathe followed her up the stairs to a bedroom at the back. The thin curtains were drawn against the sun, leaving the room in a pale twilight. Annette was awake, lying in bed, her face pale, dark circles under eyes that were red with weeping. Agathe hurried to her bedside and took her hand in her own.

  ‘My dearest girl,’ murmured Agathe, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Léon,’ she whispered. ‘His name was Léon.’

  Chapter 17

  The ballroom at Montmichel was flooded with light, its mirrored walls reflecting the brilliance of the four large chandeliers that hung from its lofty ceiling. Monsieur and Madame Barrineau were standing at the double doors, opened wide to welcome their guests, and beside them stood the newly married couple. Clarice wore a ballgown of cream silk embroidered with gold thread, its scooped neckline edged with tiny rosebuds, leaving her shoulders bare, her arms in opera-length gloves. She radiated happiness as she stood beautiful and proud at her husband’s side, her fingers resting lightly on his arm.