Rosalie put the paper down again and inclined her head. ‘Well?’
‘It is the matter of payment to Madame Leclerc. I believe you have been generous enough to pay her for her services, but when we made our original agreement, madame, it was I who would pay for any expenses and care Annette incurred at the time of her confinement.’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Rosalie, ‘but what is done is done. Annette was, and is, in our employ. Please consider this the end of the matter.’ She spoke with a finality that brooked no argument and Agathe recognised it as such. She bobbed a curtsy and simply said, ‘Thank you, madame.’
While her mother and Agathe had been in the parlour, Hélène had gone up to her own room. Maman had said that Yvette would come up and help her dress for the evening. It was this small service that made Hélène realise for the first time that, as the eldest daughter living at home, she was now treated as such… a daughter needing to be presented to the world and in search of a suitable husband. Her mother had also suggested that she wear the gown made for her earlier in the year. Made of leaf-green silk swathed in delicate lace, it set off her pale skin, dark hair and dark eyes to perfection.
‘But, Maman,’ Hélène had said in dismay, ‘that is so old! May I not wear my new white gown?’
‘Certainly not,’ replied her mother briskly. ‘Of course you will have to wear that again, one cannot have something new to wear at every party, but never at two consecutive gatherings. This evening’s dinner is a very informal affair, really only family, and so your green will do very well.’
Hélène still looked mutinous. She had seen the effect her appearance in white had had on several gentlemen at the ball, and two of them would be there again tonight.
‘But Simon Barnier will be there, Maman, and Monsieur Chalfont.’
‘And neither of them has seen you in your green lace,’ replied her mother. ‘You know that Madame Fosch has altered the neckline and adjusted the skirt. One would hardly recognise it as the same gown. You will wear your green.’ The subject was closed.
As Hélène looked at it now, she had to admit the alterations had made it fit for a young lady, rather than a girl from the schoolroom. Will Rupert Chalfont like it? she wondered.
Meeting him unexpectedly in the village this afternoon had made her a little breathless, her heart beating faster than normal. When she had looked back at him from the chaise, he had been standing where they had left him, his hat in one hand and the other raised in farewell. Seeing him thus for the moment had pushed Annette’s problems to the back of her mind. Though Annette had brought her loss with her, at least she was back at Belair with Madame Sauze as they had planned, and now Hélène was looking forward to the evening ahead.
When she came downstairs to the drawing room, the rest of the family was already assembled. The altered gown fitted her like a glove, emphasising her small waist and delicate shoulders, and there was no suggestion that it had ever been any different. Its colour suited her, and when Yvette had dressed her hair high on her head, held in place by two mother-of-pearl combs, allowing soft ringlets to fall about her ears and neck, Hélène had been amazed at how different she looked… and felt.
Because it was a family party, Louise had been included and was standing with her brother and sister-in-law in one of the bay windows. Yvette had also dressed Louise’s hair, and though she still wore it down, it was threaded through with pink ribbons to match her dress. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with excitement, and she was talking to Georges with great animation.
Georges and Sylvie were prepared for their departure the following day, and though she had enjoyed the festivities of the wedding, Sylvie in particular looked forward to the return to her own home. She smiled at Hélène as she crossed the room to speak with them and murmured, ‘You look beautiful, chérie. That colour is perfect for you.’
When Didier announced their guests, Hélène waited in the curve of the bay window while they greeted her parents. Lucie Barrineau, accompanied by her own parents, was dressed in the height of elegance in a dusky blue gown with tiny flowers dotting the skirt and outlining the neck. In age she came between the two St Clair girls, and when Louise saw her she suddenly felt childish in her pink dress and ribbons and greeted the Barrineau party with ill-concealed discontent. However, her mood improved as the other guests arrived. Simon Barnier, announced in sonorous tones by Didier, moved to greet his host and hostess. Even as he made his courtesies, his eyes roved the room until they rested on Hélène, and she saw from the rather intense look in his eyes that he appreciated how she looked. The moments ticked by and the conversation in the room became general, but Hélène felt as if she were an observer, looking at a play on a stage in a theatre. She had seen Simon moving in her direction, but he had been waylaid by Suzanne; he was an extremely eligible bachelor and there was Lucie to consider. As she watched, it was almost as if Hélène were holding her breath as she waited for Rupert Chalfont to appear.
The clock was striking the hour as Didier announced his name and he strode into the room, confident and charming, an outstretched hand and a smile for his hostess, his whole attention given to her. His dark hair was smoothed from curls to ripples, and thanks to the valet services at Le Coq d’Argent his evening dress was immaculate. He was careful to include all the St Clairs before greeting the Barrineau family. He spoke politely to the parents and made his bow to Lucie before returning to speak to Louise. Suzanne Barrineau felt confused. She didn’t want him to pay marked attention to her daughter or to make any move to capture her affection, and yet now he had only given her the briefest of greetings Suzanne felt that Lucie had been slighted.
It was not long before Didier announced dinner and Rosalie led them all to the table. She had spent some time arranging it. The uneven number meant that the conventional seating must be a trifle disturbed. Emile, of course, sat at the head, flanked by Suzanne and Sylvie, and she at the foot, with Louis on her right and Simon on her left. Rupert was placed between Sylvie and Hélène opposite Georges, Lucie and Louise between Suzanne and Simon. It was not perfect but it was only an informal party and was the best she could do.
Rupert was delighted with his two dinner companions and he had inward satisfaction to see that Simon was trapped across the table between Louise, a child, and Rosalie, his hostess.
When the first course was brought in, both Rosalie and Hélène were amazed to see that the guests were being served not only by Lizette, newly promoted to the dining room and supervised by a dignified Didier, but by Annette. Neither commented, but Rosalie exchanged glances with Agathe Sauze, who had appeared in the doorway. Annette moved round the table, offering the bowls of soup that Rosalie was dispensing from a silver tureen. There was no sign of weakness, nothing to indicate, except for a certain pallidity of complexion, that two days earlier she had been prostrate in her bed. Rosalie could only applaud her courage and determination.
When everyone had been served, the servants withdrew, leaving the family to their dinner and conversation. When they had met in St Etienne, Rupert had quickly assessed the group getting into the chaise. Clearly the wan-faced young woman must have been the maid who had lost her baby. Hélène had said they were returning to Belair, so the girl must be recovered, but of course there was no mention of that in their conversation now.
A little later on, Emile came to his feet and raised his glass. ‘It is a pleasure to see you all here this evening,’ he began. ‘Our whole family, apart, of course, from our newly-weds, and some of our closest friends. It is also a pleasure to receive Monsieur Chalfont from England, a welcome guest at our daughter’s wedding and at our table tonight. I give you, “family and friends”.’
Not all here, Hélène thought with a pang of sadness. Papa never seems to remember Marcel, but perhaps he thinks it’s too happy an occasion to mention his loss. She glanced across at her mother, but Rosalie was smiling at Georges and raising her glass.
The toast was echoed round the table, and then onc
e again the conversation became general until the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to their brandy and cigars.
‘Are you planning a long stay in the area, Chalfont?’ Simon Barnier asked. The abrupt and unadorned use of his surname, which at home in England would have been an indication of friendship between equals, made Rupert bristle, but he showed no sign of his anger, simply smiled and said, ‘My man will be arriving with my traps any day, monsieur, and when he is with me I shall decide where to go from here.’
‘I trust you’ll visit us again before you go,’ remarked Louis Barrineau, adding with a wry grin, ‘I know my mother would be delighted to entertain you to coffee again.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, sir,’ Rupert replied, and found he meant it.
‘No doubt you have business elsewhere, which will claim your attention,’ suggested Emile, ‘but I hope you will call upon us again before you depart.’
‘Thank you, monsieur, I shall certainly do so.’ Inwardly he smiled. Barnier’s rudeness had awarded him two invitations, which he was only too pleased to accept.
When the gentlemen returned to the drawing room, Rupert, seeing that Hélène was engaged in speaking with Suzanne Barrineau, crossed the room to the window where Georges and Sylvie were sitting.
‘I hope you will come and visit us at Versailles if you are passing that way, Monsieur Chalfont,’ Sylvie said. ‘Georges and I would be delighted to see you.’
‘That would give me great pleasure, madame,’ Rupert replied with a smile.
‘Then we shall expect you. My mother-in-law will give you our direction.’
It was Simon who suggested that Hélène might play for them, and it was he who followed her to the piano to turn the pages of her music. He glanced back at Rupert, who seemed to be paying little attention to Hélène. Perhaps the Englishman was no threat at all. Surely, from what he’d said, he would soon be gone and as quickly forgotten.
Shortly afterwards the Barrineaux got up to take their leave. Sylvie and Georges went across to make their farewells, and Rupert, thus released, made his way over to where Hélène still stood by the piano.
‘Mademoiselle Hélène,’ he said softly. ‘How charmingly you play.’
‘Thank you, monsieur, I always get pleasure from music.’
‘And I,’ he said. Glancing across to make sure they were not overheard, he went on, ‘I assume that was your maid with you in the village this afternoon.’
‘Yes,’ replied Hélène, ‘Annette. We were bringing her home, but,’ she confided, ‘I didn’t expect to see her waiting at table tonight. She’s very brave.’
‘She has your friendship to rely on,’ Rupert said. ‘That must be a great comfort to her.’
‘She has been a good friend to me in the past,’ answered Hélène.
Rupert realised that he might be intruding into something very private and so changed the subject. Across the room he could see that Simon had been captured by Lucie in conversation as he had bid the Barrineaux goodnight, so he said, ‘Your father has invited me to call again at Belair. Would it please you if I did so?’
He was rewarded with the faint blush that warmed Hélène’s cheeks. ‘Yes, monsieur, I know we should all be pleased to see you.’
Rupert inclined his head and gave her his lopsided smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but you? I was asking about you.’
Hélène’s colour deepened, but she gave him a shy smile in return and replied, ‘It would please me if you visited us again, monsieur. You have been very kind.’
‘Then I will certainly do so. But,’ he said, extending his hand, ‘now I must wish you goodnight. I look forward to our next meeting.’ As he took her hand he looked into her face and, with words he had not planned, said softly, ‘You are very beautiful, Hélène.’
Hélène’s eyes widened and she murmured, ‘I’m sure you shouldn’t say such things, monsieur.’
Rupert held her gaze and, answering softly, said, ‘Why not? If they are true?’ He raised her hand to his lips and went on in a more normal voice, ‘Goodnight, mademoiselle. A delightful evening.’ As he turned away he almost collided with Simon Barnier, now free of Lucie Barrineau. He made a slight bow, acknowledged with the faintest inclination of Simon’s head, and with a polite ‘Goodnight, Monsieur Barnier,’ Rupert went to make his farewells to Rosalie and Emile.
Simon’s earlier optimism might have left him had he heard the brief conversation Rupert had with his host as he bid him goodnight. ‘I wondered, monsieur, if I might call upon you tomorrow? I have something particular I would like to discuss with you.’
Emile looked surprised, but answered, ‘By all means. I shall be at home at noon.’
Chapter 22
Peter Parker had been pleased to receive the telegram from Mr Rupert instructing him to return to Pilgrim’s Oak, pack a trunk for him – enough for an extended stay abroad – and bring it to him in France. Parker and his master had travelled extensively together and there was an easiness between them that other men failed to achieve with those who served them. It was due to this that Parker had been able to return to the family home when his father had died, being struck down unexpectedly by a seizure. Rupert had sent him home to be with his mother and sister, to help arrange the funeral and to settle, such as they were, his father’s affairs. He had done his best, but it was not long before he felt claustrophobic in the small house of his childhood. He longed to escape from its confines and, if he were honest, from his mother’s misery. His sister, married to a clerk in a lawyer’s office in Taunton, had returned to her husband, and when he left to return to Mr Rupert, his mother would be marooned in the house that had been her marital home, empty now of all that had given it life. She was lonely and sad and begged Peter to stay a little longer. As he had heard nothing from Rupert, he agreed, but it was with guilty relief that he was able to show his mother the telegram that summoned him. He packed his bag and with a kiss on her cheek he bade her goodbye, promising to come back and visit her as soon as Mr Rupert’s business allowed.
On his arrival at Pilgrim’s Oak, he was greeted by Mr Justin Chalfont.
‘Parker, you’re back!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is my brother with you?’
‘No, sir. He has sent me to collect some things he requires.’
‘Has he? Where is he, then?’
‘He’s in France, sir,’ Parker replied. ‘Someplace outside Paris called St Etienne.’
‘Is he indeed? Well, you know more about him than any of us. Why didn’t you go with him?’
‘My father died, sir. Mr Rupert sent me home for his funeral.’
‘Oh, sorry to hear that, Parker. Still, you’re here now… and going to France?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m to pack a trunk and take it to him at this place, St Etienne. He’s staying at an inn called Le Coq d’Argent.’
‘I see,’ said Justin. ‘Well, you can take a letter for me when you go. I’ve got news for him that may bring him home.’ Justin looked at Rupert’s man and said, ‘You may as well know, as everyone else does – I’m to be married. Miss Kitty Blake has done me the honour of engaging herself to me. We’re planning an autumn wedding.’
If Parker was surprised at this news, he didn’t show it – he had always thought it was Rupert who had captured Miss Kitty’s heart – but he simply gave a half bow and said, ‘Allow me to congratulate you, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ said Justin. ‘Now, before you get to work on your packing for Rupert, I think it would be a good idea if you went in to see my father. I’ll tell him you’re here and he’ll ring when he’s ready. I’m sure he’ll want to have news of Mr Rupert and may well have messages for you to take. Probably my mother too.’
Parker repaired to the servants’ quarters, where he found Mitchell, the butler, drinking a cup of tea with the cook, Mrs Darwin.
‘Well, well,’ said Mitchell when he walked in. ‘Look who’s turned up. Proverbial bad penny.’
‘Cup of tea, Mr Parker?’ suggested Mrs Darwin. �
��There’s plenty in the pot.’
Parker accepted the offer and sat down at the table with them while she stirred the tea and poured him a cup.
‘Everything all right with your mother?’ she asked. The servants knew why he’d been away, even if the family did not. ‘Poor dear, she must be very sad.’
‘She is,’ agreed Parker, ‘and thank you for asking. I was sorry to leave her, but Mr Rupert’s sent me a telegram to collect his things and meet him in France. Still,’ he went on with the air of someone happy enough to shift responsibility elsewhere, ‘my sister Eliza’s not far away, she can look in to Mother from time to time.’
At that moment a bell jangled. Mitchell looked up at the row and, seeing it was the library bell, said, ‘That’s Sir Philip. ‘I’d better go, unless… I expect it’s you he wants to see, Parker.’
Parker got to his feet. ‘Yes, I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I saw Mr Justin as I arrived, he said he’d tell the master I was here.’
He found Sir Philip sitting in his usual chair in the library bay window, looking out over the garden. The room was dual aspect, facing south and west, and at this time of day the sunlight streamed through the mullions of the window, casting patterns on the polished oak floor. He looked up as Parker knocked and came in, and for a moment his face was turned to the sun that poured into the room, bright and unforgiving, lighting his features with stark reality.
How he has aged! Parker thought suddenly. He’s become an old man. How did that happen so fast? I’ve been away less than a month.
‘Ah, Parker,’ said Sir Philip, and Parker noticed that even his voice had aged, not querulous, but softer and less acerbic. ‘Just the man. Now, tell me what news you have of Mr Rupert.’
Parker repeated all he had said to Justin and then waited for Sir Philip to comment.
‘So you haven’t been with him, or seen him since he went up to London?’
‘No, sir, nothing until I received his wire. I shall get packed up today and set out first thing in the morning.’
The French Wife Page 18