‘They couldn’t not,’ she said softly. ‘Your Léon had to be laid to rest.’
‘The priest came and took him.’ Annette spoke with chilling anger.
‘He will have said prayers for him,’ Hélène said comfortingly. ‘He will have prayed for his soul, and your little Léon is now with his father, in heaven. They will both be looking down on you.’
‘His father!’ Annette gave a harsh laugh. ‘His father isn’t in heaven and never will be! If there is a God and he is just, Léon’s father will burn in hell for all eternity!’
Hélène let go of her hands and stared at her in astonishment. ‘But your husband…?’ she faltered.
‘Husband?’ cried Annette bitterly. ‘What husband? I never had a husband!’
‘But the baby’s father…’
‘I was raped,’ said Annette flatly. ‘A man forced himself on me. That’s rape and you know the man who did it.’
‘I do?’ Hélène was horrified. ‘I don’t know any men that you know.’
‘Father Thomas,’ stated Annette.
‘Father Thomas?’ echoed Hélène, incredulous. ‘You mean Father Thomas at the Clergy House?’
‘Where else?’
‘But he’s a priest!’
‘Doesn’t stop him raping young girls.’
‘But Father Lenoir? Madame Sauze?’
‘Father Lenoir died last year. Father Thomas stayed. He sent Madame Sauze away. When I was left alone in the house with him, he took me by force, coming to me in my bed at night. He could do as he chose… and he did.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Hélène said. ‘You’re telling me that you had no husband and that Father Thomas is the father of the baby?’
‘Yes.’
‘But how? I mean he’s a priest.’
‘He’s also a man; it takes a man and a woman to make a baby.’
Hélène knew that; she didn’t know the mechanics of exactly how, she had wondered about kissing, but she had always assumed that the couple must be married to achieve this miracle.
‘And Father Thomas made the baby… with you?’
‘Yes.’
The single word sat between them for several moments and then Hélène asked, ‘Does he know – about the baby, I mean?’
‘Of course! That’s why he was going to send me back to St Luke’s.’
‘St Luke’s?’ Hélène stared at her in horror.
‘You remember that at St Luke’s the nuns used to call us children of shame. That was because our parents, whoever they were, weren’t married, didn’t want us and dumped us on the orphanage doorstep. That’s what he was going to do to me. Tell them that I had been with some man and was now having a child of shame myself.’
‘But back to St Luke’s?’ gasped Hélène. ‘Oh, Annette, no!’
‘No,’ Annette said. ‘So I ran away. He called the baby spawn of the devil and said I would burn in hellfire.’
‘You would burn in hellfire,’ Hélène echoed incredulously. ‘But wasn’t it his fault? He was the father?’
‘Who else? I’ve never been with another man.’ Annette gave a bitter laugh. ‘He’s right, in a way – he’s Léon’s father and he is the devil incarnate. That made Léon spawn of the devil.’ She closed her eyes and murmured, ‘Perhaps that’s why he died.’
Hélène looked at her friend in despair. How could all these dreadful things happen to anyone?
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annette replied. ‘Your mother will not take me back now I have told you the truth.’
‘My mother…? She knows the truth?’
‘Yes, she knows. Madame Sauze found me on the streets and took me in. She went to your mother to ask for help.’
‘And Maman took you both in?’
‘Yes, but with certain conditions. No mention of Father Thomas. We had to make up the story of my being a widow. She said if anyone learned the truth we would be dismissed at once.’
‘She won’t mind you telling me,’ averred Hélène. ‘And I won’t tell anyone else. Your secret will be safe.’
‘It was you in particular who wasn’t to know,’ Annette said. ‘And now I’ve told you we can’t go back to Belair. Oh, poor Madame Sauze,’ she cried as she realised the consequences of speaking the truth to Hélène. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything!’
‘But my mother won’t know you’ve told me,’ pointed out Hélène. ‘I won’t tell her and you won’t tell her, and Madame Sauze won’t know either. It’ll be our secret, Annette. I promise you. When you’re well again you can come back to Belair, you and Madame Sauze.’
She reached for Annette’s hand again and saw that tears were pouring down her cheeks. ‘Oh, don’t,’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘Don’t cry. I’m your friend.’
‘But why?’ Annette sobbed. ‘Why are you my friend? I’m a servant in your home.’
‘You know why,’ answered Hélène. ‘When I needed a friend, you helped me. When I was running away from St Luke’s, you stopped Sister Gabrielle from catching me… and took a beating for doing it.’
For a moment both the girls thought back to that time over six years ago when they had both been in the care of the nuns at St Luke’s orphanage. Hélène had made a break for freedom during Mass at the parish church, and when Sister Gabrielle had tried to catch her, Annette had collapsed into the aisle in front of her, blocking her way for the precious moments that allowed Hélène to reach the church door and disappear into the myriad of streets outside.
‘My whole life would have been different if I hadn’t got away that day,’ Hélène said. ‘If I’d been taken back to St Luke’s I might never have found my family again. My mother knows that too, and I’m sure she will continue to help you in her own way. So,’ she went on, ‘we must decide what we’re going to do now.’
While the girls were beginning to make plans upstairs, Estelle Leclerc and Agathe Sauze were discussing the situation downstairs in the kitchen.
‘Annette can stay here as long as is necessary. Madame St Clair has already paid me to look after her until she is well enough to return to Belair.’
Agathe stared at her in surprise. ‘Madame St Clair has?’
‘Yes, she sent a groom here yesterday with a letter and some money.’ Estelle shook her head sadly. ‘It’s a dreadful thing to say, but in the circumstances it is, perhaps, a blessing that the baby did not survive. Your niece is young. She may marry again, and a woman alone with a child could find it more difficult to attract a man who would take on a child that was not his.’
For a moment Agathe had thought that Estelle, mentioning Annette’s situation, had been told the truth, but her comments about ‘marrying again’ assured her that she still believed Annette to be a widow giving birth to a posthumous child.
‘That’s very generous of Madame St Clair,’ she said carefully. ‘It will certainly be better for my niece if she is able to come back to Belair soon. Work is one way to cope with grief.’
‘I agree,’ said Estelle, ‘and sadly I speak from experience.’ She went into the cool of her tiny pantry and picked up the pitcher of lemonade. As she did so, she went on. ‘Father Bernard came to visit her, but she wouldn’t see him. When she refused I told him she was asleep and should not be disturbed. The baby has been buried just outside the churchyard. He wasn’t baptised, of course, which meant he could not be buried in hallowed ground, but there is a corner beyond the eastern wall where they bury those like him.’
Those like him, thought Agathe – someone of no consequence, unbaptised, a non-Christian… as if he’d had a choice in the matter! Encouraged by some of the priests, this was how many people thought, so she made no comment, simply nodded. She knew how Annette felt about priests, however, and she wasn’t surprised that the girl had refused to see him, though she herself had met Father Bernard, an elderly priest, and had thought him a gentle and sympathetic man.
To change the subject, she asked, ‘How long do you think Annette will
be here with you?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ Estelle replied. ‘Physically she is beginning to recover; she has started to take a little food and her strength will return. Her mind is a different matter. She makes no effort to do anything. Your visits will help, but it’s hard to lose a husband and a child in such a short time.’
‘I’ll tell her that Madame St Clair says her job is waiting for her as soon as she can return,’ Agathe said.
When they went back upstairs, Estelle and Agathe found two very different girls in the bedroom. Annette was out of the chair, the bag was open on the bed and Hélène was helping her to get dressed. It was such a reversal of their normal relationship that Agathe paused in the doorway, staring in amazement.
‘I want to visit my baby,’ Annette announced without preamble. ‘Miss Hélène and I are going to the churchyard.’
‘Annette,’ said Estelle calmly, ‘you must certainly visit your baby’s grave, but not today. You’re not strong enough yet.’
‘Today.’ Annette spoke firmly. ‘While Miss Hélène is here.’ But when she bent down to put on her shoes, her head began to spin and she sat up again quickly, her face ashen.
‘Annette, my dear girl,’ Agathe stepped in to prevent an argument, ‘I’ll come and visit you again tomorrow and together we will go to the churchyard. Madame Leclerc is right, today is too soon. You have to rebuild your strength. Tomorrow or the next day.’
Although the wheels in her head were spinning more slowly, Annette knew that she was right, but she said belligerently, ‘All right. Tomorrow.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Hélène said. ‘We can all go together.’
Good as their word, the next afternoon Agathe and Hélène returned to Madame Leclerc’s and found Annette waiting for them, dressed and ready to go out. Pierre had again brought them into the village in the chaise.
‘I want you to come with us today,’ Agathe had told him. ‘We’re going to the churchyard with Annette, but in case she finds it too far to walk, or too…’ She didn’t explain, but she didn’t have to. Pierre agreed at once, and leaving the carriage in the inn yard, they collected Annette and took the lane to the church.
The tiny grave, no more than a broken patch of earth in the shade of the eastern wall, had nothing to mark it as a place of burial, or to name the child who lay beneath the ground. Annette stared down at it, silent tears on her cheeks. In her hands was a posy of flowers that Hélène had brought from the garden at Belair.
Agathe and Hélène stood back as Annette moved forward with the flowers in her hands. Both Hélène and Agathe found tears in their own eyes as they watched her bend and lay the nosegay on the tiny grave, and Pierre, watching from a discreet distance, once again admired her courage.
At that moment Father Bernard emerged from the church and, seeing the little group beyond the wall, walked over to speak to them. He paused as Annette stood in silence at the graveside of her son, the flowers at her feet, but as at length she turned away he stepped forward.
‘God bless you, my child,’ he said softly. ‘Your baby is with God in heaven now.’
Annette stared at him for a moment, her eyes filled with an emotion so violent that the old man took a step backwards.
‘God?’ she said, her voice full of contempt. ‘God doesn’t exist, and even if he does, I don’t believe in him!’ She turned her back on the priest and moved away.
‘I can see you don’t,’ replied Father Bernard, ‘but that doesn’t matter. He believes in you.’
‘And I am not your child!’ She threw the comment over her shoulder and set off unsteadily down the hill towards the lane below.
Pierre went after her to steady her, but she threw off his proffered hand and continued alone.
Agathe and Hélène watched her progress for a moment and then turned back to the old priest, who stood beside the grave, his eyes closed and his lips moving in prayer.
How strange, Agathe thought as she watched him, that two supposed men of God could be so different – the arrogant, bullying Father Thomas full of hellfire and the kindly Father Bernard, understanding and filled with compassion.
As far as I’m concerned, thought Agathe, only one of them is a man of God.
They were turning to follow Annette and Pierre down to the village when Father Bernard opened his eyes and smiled at them. He didn’t speak, merely raised his hand in what could have been a blessing or simply a wave, and returned to his church.
‘Come along,’ Agathe said to Hélène. ‘We’d better go and find her.’
They set off back down the hill and found Annette and Pierre waiting for them in the lane behind Le Coq d’Argent. As they approached, Annette said, ‘You told me yesterday that Madame St Clair said I could come back to work as soon as I was ready.’
Agathe nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When you are.’
‘I’m ready now.’
‘Perhaps you should wait a few more days…’ began Agathe.
‘No!’ came the fierce reply. ‘I’m ready now.’
The three women walked over to the house with the green door to collect Annette’s few belongings and to explain to Madame Leclerc, and Pierre returned to the inn yard to put the horse to the chaise.
It was ten minutes later that Rupert saw them getting into the carriage as he was returning to the inn. He stepped forward and, raising his hat, said, ‘Good afternoon, mademoiselle, I trust I see you well?’
Hélène turned her head at the sound of his voice and a faint pink coloured her cheeks.
‘Quite well, I thank you, monsieur,’ she said and then somehow feeling that further explanation was required of the company on the chaise, she added, ‘We are just returning to Belair. I believe we shall have the pleasure of your company this evening, monsieur.’ Even to her own ears the words seemed stilted and formal, but Rupert didn’t seem to notice, in fact answering in the same vein.
‘Indeed, I’m greatly looking forward to it.’ He smiled up at her and then stepped back so that Pierre could drive out into the street and had the pleasure of seeing Hélène cast a glance back over her shoulder as the chaise rounded the corner and took the road to Belair.
They travelled in silence, each deep in thought, Madame Sauze deciding that she must speak to Madame St Clair about the money she had already disbursed on Annette’s behalf; Annette vowing in her own mind that she would never again allow herself the self-indulgence of tears; Pierre glad that Annette was returning to Belair so soon, where he could keep watch over her; and Hélène thinking of Rupert Chalfont and the smile that lit his face and warmed her heart. She was amazed that with everything that had happened so far that day she had entirely forgotten that Rupert Chalfont was coming to dinner that evening. How could that have slipped her mind? Since the wedding and the ball, he had seldom been far from her thoughts, but until he had spoken to her just now, she realised, she had been so concerned with Annette she had not allowed him to intrude upon her mind. Now, however, with them all safely on their way back home, she found a bubble of excitement was growing inside her at the thought of his company that evening.
Chapter 21
When they arrived back at Belair, Pierre handed each of them down from the carriage. If he held Annette’s hand a moment longer than was necessary, she was not aware of it. All she wanted to do was get into the house and lie down. The exertions of the day were beginning to catch up with her. Agathe insisted that she go straight up to their room, and having helped her up the stairs, she came down again and went in search of Madame St Clair. She found her in her private parlour.
‘We have brought Annette home again, madame,’ she said. ‘She is much better and would like to return to work, if that is agreeable to you.’
‘Is she fit to work?’ asked Rosalie. ‘I understood that she was very weak after such a difficult birth.’
She remembered that when each of her children had been born, she had been expected to remain in bed for at least two weeks to recover her strength, and had been glad t
o do so. She knew the servant classes, being less gently brought up, were up and about more quickly, but even so, the five days since Annette’s baby had been born seemed a very short time to recuperate before coming back to work.
‘She’s not quite herself yet,’ admitted Agathe, ‘but Madame Leclerc and I both feel it is better for her to return to her normal life as soon as possible.’
In truth Estelle Leclerc had not thought Annette fit to return to Belair and had suggested at least another week of recuperation before she considered taking up her household duties again, but Agathe had a sneaking suspicion this opinion had something to do with the generous payment Madame St Clair was making for her services as a nurse.
‘I thought perhaps, with your consent, madame, that we could put Annette on light duties for a few days… ease her back into the household.’
Rosalie nodded. She was more than happy to have Annette back among the servants. Madame Choux had left that very morning, going to live in retirement with her sister in Orléans, and Rosalie was relieved that she had already had Madame Sauze waiting as her replacement.
‘You must do as you think fit, Madame Sauze,’ she said. ‘As soon as the rooms have been cleaned, you must move into those previously occupied by Madame Choux. As my housekeeper you’re entitled to your own bedroom and parlour.’
‘Thank you, madame.’ Agathe knew that Madame Choux had left, but she had not been at all sure if her own place as housekeeper had been confirmed, and it was with pleasurable anticipation that she looked forward to her new responsibilities.
‘But I have decided to keep Ella on as extra help in the kitchen,’ Rosalie continued. ‘She’ll be coming in daily from the village and can take care of some of the rough work. How do you find Lizette?’
‘Hard working, madame, but in need of guidance.’
Rosalie nodded. ‘Then train her up for work in the house.’ She picked up a paper from her desk as if to indicate that the interview was over.
‘Thank you, madame,’ Agathe said. ‘However, there is one other matter I would like to mention.’
The French Wife Page 17