The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

Upstairs, Hélène let Annette into her room, but as soon as she closed the door, she locked it again so that they would not be disturbed. Annette looked at her. The slap mark had faded, there would be nothing for her parents to see when she went down to dinner, but there was a dullness in her eyes and her face was unnaturally pale.

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’ Annette asked.

  Hélène did. Speaking in a flat, monotonous voice, she told Annette everything.

  ‘I can’t bear him near me,’ she said. ‘The thought of him touching me, touching me in any way, makes me feel physically sick. Can you understand that, Annette?’

  ‘Oh yes, Hélène, I understand only too well.’

  ‘But I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘There’s only one thing you can do,’ Annette told her. ‘You go to your parents and tell them that you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘Changed my mind?’ echoed Hélène faintly.

  ‘Changed your mind. That you don’t want to marry Simon Barnier after all.’

  Hélène stared at Annette in horror. ‘I couldn’t.’ She shook her head violently. ‘I just couldn’t do that. Not now. It’s too late.’

  ‘It’s not too late,’ insisted Annette. ‘Too late is when you’re married to him. Then there really is no chance of escape.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t work, just saying that. They’d all go on at me about the shame of jilting him, of how I would shame not only myself and our family by refusing to marry him but him and his family as well. I would end up having to marry him anyway, and he’d never forgive me for saying I didn’t want to.’

  ‘You could do what I did,’ suggested Annette. ‘Just walk out.’

  ‘I couldn’t, Annette. I really couldn’t. Where would I go?’

  ‘I didn’t have anywhere to go,’ Annette reminded her. ‘But I knew I couldn’t stay and nor can you. We’ll find somewhere to go, just you and me.’

  ‘But he’d come looking for me. He’d come looking for me and if and when he found me, my life wouldn’t be worth living.’

  ‘If you simply disappeared, before you were married, he’d have no claim on you. Do you really think he’ll bother to come searching for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Hélène. ‘I know he will. However long it takes.’

  ‘And you really think it’s better to be married to a man like that than take the risk of leaving while you still can?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Hélène. ‘He would find me.’

  When Annette returned to the kitchen for her supper, she whispered to Pierre that she and Madame Sauze wanted him to come to the sitting room once the meal had been cleared away and coffee served in the drawing room.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said when they were sitting beside Agathe’s fire.

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ Annette said, ‘but you must promise me to listen without interrupting until I’ve finished. All right?’

  Pierre shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Fire away.’

  Annette told him what had happened at Gavrineau, finishing by saying, ‘She’s terrified of him. We have to get her away from him.’

  It was then that Agathe said, ‘She was abducted when she was a child. She used to have nightmares.’

  ‘We need to make a plan,’ Annette said, ‘and then we have to convince her that it’s her only chance unless she wants to be tied to him for ever.’

  They continued to discuss the matter, suggesting and discarding ideas until they had thrashed out a plan that might work. They all agreed Annette and Hélène would be safest in Paris, where they could get lost in the bustle of the city, but there was no question of using the house in the Avenue Ste Anne.

  ‘That’s the first place he would look,’ said Pierre.

  ‘To her brother? He lives in Versailles. Would he take her in?’

  ‘Same thing,’ Pierre said. ‘Too obvious. We need somewhere quite different.’

  ‘I have an apartment,’ Agathe said quietly. ‘You could go there.’

  ‘You have?’ Annette cried in amazement. ‘Where? When did you get it?’

  ‘You remember my sister Fleur, Annette? She died several months ago and Madame gave me two days off to go to Paris to settle her affairs. Well, she had many more affairs than I knew about. She had been left very comfortably off by her husband, with property and some money in the bank, and when she died she left it all to me, including the apartment where you and I stayed. No one here knows anything about it, so that’s where you can go. You’d be quite safe. No one would be looking for you in that part of the town.’

  ‘But who lives there now?’ asked Annette. ‘I mean, haven’t you let the apartment?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Agathe. ‘Because of the property, the proving of the will took the lawyer, Monsieur Colet, longer than he had thought, but it’s all done now and everything is transferred into my name. I can write a note to him and he’ll give you the key; you can stay as long as is necessary. And don’t worry about money, there’s plenty for now.’

  ‘If you leave very early in the morning,’ Pierre suggested, ‘you can take the footpath to the village and catch the first train to Paris before anyone here realises that you’ve gone. I’ll come with you and once I’ve seen you safely onto the train, I’ll come straight back. No one will know I’ve even been out.’

  ‘Suppose someone sees us leaving?’ worried Annette.

  ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take,’ replied Pierre, ‘but it isn’t a big one. It’s very cold these winter mornings and still dark for a while. No one gets up early, as they might in the summer. They stay in bed and keep their curtains drawn against the cold outside. To catch that first train we shall have to leave in the dark. No one will see us go.’

  It was agreed that this was the best plan they could come up with. All of them were fond of Hélène, had known her from childhood, and they were all prepared to risk helping her escape marriage with an abusive husband. Now all they had to do was convince Hélène.

  Annette carried the plan up to Hélène when she attended her at bedtime.

  ‘It will be easy enough,’ she explained. ‘While it’s still dark we’ll take the back stairs down to the kitchen and leave the house that way. It is only Miss Louise’s window that looks out over the stable yard, and she is never one to leave her bed before she has to.’

  ‘But where are we going? You just say Paris.’

  ‘We have a safe place to go,’ insisted Annette. ‘No one will find you there. Now,’ she went on, ‘you can bring just a small bag with you. Pierre will go with us across the fields to the village and see us onto the train. I have money for our tickets and Pierre will buy them so that we are not seen at the ticket office. Then he will come back here, ready to hear that you’ve disappeared.’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ ventured Hélène. ‘Especially for you and Pierre.’

  ‘There is an element of risk,’ agreed Annette, ‘but it shouldn’t be too great and we have to get you away from here. This is your only chance if you really want to go. Think about it and make your decision.’

  When Annette had left her, Hélène lay in bed, unable to sleep, and considered the plan Annette had explained. It was so risky that her heart failed her and so far she was refusing to contemplate the idea. For a long while she simply stared into the darkness, with only the glow of the fire for light and warmth, but at last she drifted off to an uneasy sleep. As the fire died to embers the chill of the night crept back into the room, and with it the night terror that had haunted her as a child.

  She was alone in a cold, damp cell. It was almost dark and she was freezing. The floor and the walls of the cell were stone, wet and slippery. She sat on the small heap of straw piled into a corner, the only light illuminating her prison filtering through a barred window high above her. She curled into a ball, her arms wrapped round her body, trying to retain some warmth, but her clothes were torn and her body was bruised and she shook with cold and fear. Then she heard it, the key scraping in the lock, and when the door op
ened she saw his face, lit by the candle he carried. Flickering flame showed her the black beard, the scarred cheeks, the cruel eyes, now alight with lustful anticipation.

  ‘On your feet!’ he ordered. ‘It’s playtime!’

  She screamed then, a shrill, penetrating scream of terror, a scream that woke her and left her shivering in the dark.

  The bedroom door burst open and her mother was across the room and at her bedside. She gathered her weeping daughter into her arms and rocked her gently as she had done so often in the days after the siege, letting her sob great heaving sobs until, exhausted, she collapsed back on her pillows.

  Annette had heard her cries and tiptoed down from the servants’ landing, but when she saw that Rosalie St Clair was already there, she turned and went back upstairs to tell Agathe that they simply must persuade Hélène to follow their plan and make a break for it.

  ‘Imagine what he’ll do to her if she wakes up screaming like that when they’re married,’ Annette said before returning to her own bed.

  Chapter 40

  Hélène had her breakfast in bed the next morning and asked Annette to stay with her while she ate. In fact she hardly ate anything, simply drank some coffee and picked at a warm pastry Madame Paquet had sent up in the hope of tempting her appetite, but after one mouthful she pushed it away.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said listlessly. ‘I can’t eat.’

  ‘You can’t not,’ Annette said in a rallying voice. ‘You have to keep up your strength for tonight if we’re to put our plan into action. And after your nightmare last night, we really have to get you away.’

  ‘It was only a dream,’ Hélène answered. ‘I used to get them when I was younger.’

  ‘I know, you used to wake us up with your screams at St Luke’s!’

  ‘Did I? I’d forgotten.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t remember when I last had one, but it was exactly the same dream.’ And she described it to Annette.

  Annette shuddered. ‘Well, we know what caused it last night, don’t we? Listen, Hélène, you’ve always had the courage of a lion. Don’t give in now. You’ve still got one chance.’

  ‘Running away is the coward’s way out,’ murmured Hélène.

  ‘And staying is the fool’s,’ Annette assured her. ‘We’ve got it all planned. All we have to do is creep out during the night and get to the station in time to catch the first train to Paris. Once we’re there, even if he does come looking he’ll never find us. We shall be swallowed up by the city.’

  ‘But we’ve nowhere to go,’ sighed Hélène. ‘It’s no good.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Annette said. ‘We have got somewhere to go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s not my secret,’ Annette told her, ‘but I can promise you, Simon Barnier will not find us.’ She noticed a gleam of interest, or possibly hope, in Hélène’s eye and went on, ‘While you’re all at dinner, I’ll pack a bag for you. We can’t take much, as we have to carry our own luggage, but enough to keep us going for a few weeks.’

  ‘And what happens after that?’

  ‘We stay safely away until we hear that he’s given up looking and gone back to Gavrineau. Then we can return to Belair, or perhaps go back and live in the Avenue Ste Anne for a while until all the furore dies down.’ She reached and grasped Hélène’s hands in hers. They were like ice and she began rubbing them gently between her own, encouraging the blood to return to them. ‘Tonight, when everyone has gone to bed, I’ll come and fetch you and we’ll leave the house through the kitchen and the stable yard. Pierre will be waiting for us outside by the field gate and he’ll carry the bags to the station for us. We can do it, Hélène, and then you’ll be safe.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Hélène still hesitated.

  ‘Well, you’ve got until tonight to decide,’ Annette said. ‘I will have everything ready, and you can decide, but tomorrow will be too late!’

  The day passed very slowly, the hours dragging through a grey morning and a wet and chilly winter afternoon. At times Hélène made up her mind that she would go to Paris, and at others that she dare not.

  ‘We must pray for fine weather tomorrow,’ her mother said as they sat together by the fire in her parlour. ‘It’ll be cold, but with luck the sun may break through.’ Her mother took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Happy the bride that the sun shines on!’ Hélène managed a faint smile and wondered how she could possibly creep out into the night and leave her mother to face the wrath of Simon Barnier… because she knew without doubt that there would be wrath and her mother would bear the brunt of it. She came closer then to confiding in her mother than at any other time; not the escape plan but that she might, at the last minute, refuse to marry Simon.

  ‘Maman…’ she began, but at that moment Lizette came into the parlour to make up the fire, and when she had gone, the moment had gone also. Hélène realised that she either slipped away in the night, or she married Simon Barnier in the morning.

  Simon had been invited to dinner that evening and he arrived in high good humour, his manners well-bred and charming, his conversation light and entertaining. They did not stand on ceremony but ate as a family round the dinner table. Louise sat opposite Simon and thought as she watched the candlelight dance in his eyes what a lucky girl Hélène was to be marrying such a handsome, beguiling man. By this time tomorrow both her sisters would be married women, with a status in society that she had yet to attain. Louise sighed and wished that Simon had a brother.

  At the end of the evening Simon took his leave and the family wished him goodnight. He and Hélène were allowed to walk out into the hall for a chaste farewell kiss. As Simon raised her hand to his lips, he murmured, ‘Ah, my Hélène! Tomorrow you’ll be mine and you’ll learn what it means to be married!’ He looked down into her frightened eyes as he squeezed her hand a little more tightly and added, ‘And tomorrow there’ll be no more screams!’

  As the door closed behind him she realised that his final words had made her decision for her. He was right. Tomorrow there would be no more screams. Tomorrow she would not be here. Tomorrow she would be on her way to Paris before they’d even realised she’d gone.

  Annette was waiting for her in the bedroom, and as soon as she’d shut the door, Hélène turned to her and said, ‘I’ll go.’

  Chapter 41

  When Annette left, Hélène locked the door behind her. She wanted no unexpected intrusions as she prepared to make her escape. Annette had been good as her word and had packed a small valise with some essentials, but Hélène moved quietly round the room adding a few trinkets and the only money she could find, just a few francs at the back of a drawer. Before she closed the bag she went to the cupboard and lifted down her cherrywood box. She had not destroyed the few letters she had received from Rupert, not even the one telling her of his marriage, but she was certainly not going to leave them here for anyone else to find and read. She couldn’t take the box, it was too cumbersome, but she took out the letters and pushed them into her bag. Lastly she removed the engagement ring Simon had given her and laid it on the dressing table.

  Preparations made, she did not undress, but lay fully clothed on her bed. Her fur coat remained in the wardrobe – it was far too conspicuous – but she had set her plain black winter coat, her hat and bag ready on the chair. Once she drifted off to sleep, but the nightmare pounced and she struggled to force herself awake again, shivering, the cold sweat of fear lying on her skin. She dared not close her eyes again, simply waited for Annette’s tap on the door. As she lay there she wondered what they were going to do for money. Annette said she had money for their tickets and she had her few francs, but that wouldn’t last them long. She thought of the inheritance that she would have had on her marriage, received from her grandmother’s will. She would never marry now, so she would never inherit. She was going to have to make her own way in life, cut off from her family, at least for the foreseeable future. Her heart ached at leaving with no goodbye, no explanat
ion except the obvious one, but now all she wanted was to get away, to vanish into thin air and never see Simon again.

  At last she heard the faintest of knocks and went to open the door. Annette slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Ready?’ she murmured.

  ‘Ready,’ replied Hélène, and putting on her coat and hat, she picked up her bag.

  They doused the lamp and waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness before they stepped out onto the landing, locking the door behind them and keeping the key. Annette took Hélène’s hand and led her along the landing towards the back stairs. As they passed Emile’s door there was a long burst of coughing from within, and for a moment they froze. Hélène realised there was a line of light under the door; was her father awake? Annette gave Hélène’s hand a sharp jerk and they set off again along the landing. Once down the stairs they felt safer. It was unlikely any of the family would see them now and even the servants wouldn’t be down this early. They had decided that Madame Sauze must not be involved in their actual escape, so that when it was discovered she could say with perfect truth that she had heard nothing during the night.

  Once through the kitchen, Annette unlocked the back door and they hurried across the stable yard to the field gate, where Pierre was waiting. Neither of them looked back at the dark windows of the house, neither of them saw the face at a bedroom window, where Louise, awakened by the need to use the chamber pot, thought she saw two shadows in the yard. No more than moving shapes in the darkness, they disappeared and were gone. She rubbed her eyes, but could now see nothing and, unsure she had really seen anything, she decided it must have been a trick of the light. A pale moon sailed out from behind a cloud and lit the empty stable yard. Shivering, Louise went back to bed and back to sleep, thinking no more of what she might have seen until the morning.

  Pierre waited as promised in the field. He took Hélène’s bag, and the one that Annette had picked up from the scullery, and led them out onto the footpath. There was no sign of the dawn, but it was not totally dark; a quarter moon drifted in and out of scudding clouds, allowing them fitful light as they made their way along the familiar path through the meadow. Once they reached the village it was easier going. The square was empty, but early lamps from some of the houses threw patches of light onto the cobbles. There was no one to see them hurrying towards the station. The platform was lit by a gas lamp, giving it an eerie green glow, and there were already several passengers standing waiting for the arrival of the early train. The girls waited in the shadows while Pierre, hat pulled down to shade his face, bought two tickets from a sleepy clerk in the ticket office. It was only a few moments later that the train steamed into the station, and Pierre opened a carriage door for them to get in, Hélène first, taking her bag. She turned back to take Annette’s bag and saw she was in Pierre’s arms, sharing a last kiss before the guard blew his whistle and she scrambled up into the carriage. Even as the train began to draw away from the platform, she saw that Pierre had disappeared into the shadows.