The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘You’re leaving him behind,’ Hélène said as Annette took her seat beside her.

  ‘For now,’ agreed Annette, ‘but not for ever. He’ll wait for me.’

  Hélène hoped that she was right, but thoughts of Rupert’s promise and subsequent desertion were never far away and she didn’t reply.

  They spoke little on the journey. The train was a slow one, stopping at stations all the way to Paris, picking up passengers along the route, working men, mostly, with a few women bringing baskets of produce to market. They had agreed that Pierre should buy them third-class tickets, so that they would not be remembered as first-class passengers. If anyone enquired for them, it would be expected that they were travelling first class. The carriage filled up quickly and the two of them sat side by side in silence, not wishing to be drawn into any conversation. There was a buzz of it around them, but Hélène closed her eyes as if dozing and they were undisturbed.

  When they reached Paris, Annette led them quickly away from the station into the jumble of streets; two unremarkable women in dark coats and respectable hats, nothing cautious or furtive about them. Once clear of the station, they took a public omnibus to Monsieur Colet’s office, where Annette presented Agathe’s letter explaining that she was her niece and was going to live in the Batignolles apartment for a while.

  ‘Very pleased to meet you, Madame Dubois,’ Monsieur Colet said as he handed her the key. ‘I hope you will be very comfortable living there.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ replied Annette, and with the key safely in her pocket she shook his hand and left his office.

  They boarded a second omnibus, which took them to Les Halles, from where Annette was able to lead Hélène to the apartment house with its butcher’s shop at the street level and three storeys above. They were there. Simon Barnier was left behind and Hélène was free.

  It was Annette who continued to take charge. She led the way upstairs, unlocked the apartment and threw open the front door. It smelled musty, and the heavy furniture was still in place, filling the rooms, but they could lock the door on the outside world.

  *

  Rosalie woke that morning with an unaccustomed heaviness in her heart. Hélène had been abnormally quiet at the family dinner last night. Was it prewedding nerves? she wondered. She thought of Hélène’s nightmare two nights ago. Had that been triggered by something Simon had said or done when they were at Gavrineau? Surely nothing could have happened there with Annette in attendance. Simon was surely too cultured, too civilised, to have even mentioned the wedding night, let alone anything that might have sparked the return of the nightmare.

  Thank goodness, Rosalie thought as she sat up in bed drinking the cup of chocolate Lizette had brought her, there had been no repetition of the nightmare last night. It would seem that Hélène had slept through, untroubled by dreams. Should she speak to Hélène again, explain a little more fully and try to get her to understand what her duties as a wife entailed, or was it better to leave it to Simon to teach her the ways of love? Rosalie took her breakfast in her room and considered the matter, but remained undecided.

  She was not really surprised there was no sign of Hélène downstairs when she finally came down herself, but she wanted to be with her on her wedding morning and so she went back upstairs and knocked on the door. There was no reply to her first knock, nor a second one, so she tried the handle. The door, so recently mended, was locked.

  ‘Hélène,’ she called gently. ‘It’s Maman. Let me in, chérie.’

  She knocked again and called more loudly, ‘Hélène, I need to talk to you.’ Still nothing. After one last knock, one further call, Rosalie gave up and went downstairs to find Emile.

  ‘Hélène’s locked herself into her bedroom again,’ she told him. ‘She doesn’t answer and she won’t come out. What are we going to do?’

  ‘I’ll deal with her,’ Emile said. ‘She’ll open the door to me.’ His knock was loud and long and echoed through the house, his voice strident with anger, but there was still no response from inside the bedroom. Frustrated at being defied and being seen to be defied, he turned on Rosalie.

  ‘Get Pierre up here and tell him to bring that crowbar.’

  Moments later Pierre appeared carrying the crowbar and before long, for a second time, he broke the lock so that the door swung open. Emile pushed him aside and strode into the room, only to find it empty, the bed unslept in, the ashes in the fireplace cold. He flung open the wardrobe door as if Hélène might be hiding inside, but all he found was the fur coat and the other clothes she had left behind.

  Rosalie had followed him into the room and guessed with a plummeting heart that she had gone. Hélène had run away.

  ‘Where’s that girl of hers?’ Emile demanded. ‘Let’s get her up here and see what she knows of this.’

  Rosalie could have told him that Annette had gone too, but she said nothing other than telling Pierre to send Annette to her in her parlour.

  ‘It’s better to talk to her in private, Emile,’ she said as she led the way to her room. ‘We don’t want the whole world to know what’s happening.’

  ‘Hmm,’ grunted Emile. ‘They’ll already know we’ve had to break her door down.’

  Pierre was soon back with the news that no one had seen Annette that morning.

  ‘Well, why not?’ demanded Emile. ‘Where is the girl?’

  ‘We don’t know, sir.’

  ‘I imagine she’s gone too,’ Rosalie said.

  Emile ordered the house to be searched, but no one really expected either of the missing women to be discovered. Rosalie returned to Hélène’s bedroom and looked through what she had left behind. The cherrywood box was standing on the table. She knew what it usually contained, but when she opened it, it was empty. A sudden dreadful thought struck her. Surely Hélène hadn’t gone to find Rupert Chalfont! He was married to someone else and she was about to be. There was no point in her going to find him. Rosalie was well aware that, despite his desertion, Hélène had never stopped loving Rupert. She had been persuaded to marry Simon, but she would never love him. Her heart, once given, belonged to Rupert. Rosalie sighed and cursed the day that Lucas Barrineau had, on a whim, invited the Englishman to his wedding.

  Rosalie went down to find Emile in his study, where he had retreated once the search of the house had proved fruitless.

  ‘I think we have to accept that she’s run away,’ Rosalie told him. ‘Rather than marry Simon, she’s run away.’ She handed him the engagement ring that she’d found lying on Hélène’s dressing table. ‘She left this. I think the message is clear.’

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ stated Emile. ‘What’s wrong with her? He’s an excellent match.’

  ‘He may be an excellent match, but she doesn’t love him!’

  ‘Love him? What romantic twaddle is that?’

  ‘Emile, whatever the reason, she’s run away.’

  Emile gave an exasperated sigh. ‘But where would she go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Rosalie, ‘but she’s gone… and Annette has gone with her.’

  ‘Well, that girl has been nothing but trouble since you decided to take her in. I told you at the time that was a mistake and so it has proved. Dead babies, and now this!’ He glowered at his wife. ‘And what are we going to tell Barnier, eh? Tell him Hélène has changed her mind and run off somewhere? Do we know that’s what’s happened?’

  ‘Well, unpleasant as that will be,’ said Rosalie, ‘it seems to be the truth… though perhaps it may not be as bad as we think. Perhaps she just needs a little more time.’

  ‘More time!’ expostulated Emile. ‘She’s had plenty of time if she wasn’t sure – several weeks. How can she simply disappear, leaving no message?’

  A new thought struck Rosalie and she said, ‘Perhaps she’s gone to the Avenue Ste Anne. She might have, Emile, just to get away for a while.’

  ‘And expect us to come running after her?’

  ‘Well, we can find out, you know. W
e can telegraph Georges and ask him to go and see. At least we can tell Simon that’s what we’ve done. We can make it clear that we’re doing all we can to find her.’

  ‘Better get Pierre to send the telegram, then,’ grumbled Emile. ‘But before he does that he must take a letter to Gavrineau to tell Barnier what’s happened. I’ll write it now. Please tell him to come to me at once to collect it. We can hardly leave the poor man and his family standing outside the Mairie, can we?’

  Rosalie reluctantly agreed they could not, and though the engagement ring suggested otherwise, she was still hoping against hope that Hélène had simply gone out somewhere and would soon be back. ‘And in the meantime,’ she said, ‘I’ll have a word with Madame Sauze. I’ll see her in my parlour.’

  She was anxious to speak to Agathe Sauze without Emile’s presence. It was quite possible that she might know where Annette and Hélène had gone. After all, she was the one who had come to her about Annette’s plight in the first place. Everyone at Belair, Emile included, believed that Agathe and Annette were aunt and niece. Though Rosalie knew they were not, she had seen there was definite affection between them.

  Her interview with Agathe was, however, postponed when Louise came downstairs to find out what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Lizette says Hélène’s run away,’ she announced. ‘Has she, Maman? Has she run away? Where’s she gone?’

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to the servants’ gossip,’ said her mother repressively. ‘We don’t know quite where she is.’

  ‘So she has run away,’ said Louise. ‘But why?’

  ‘Louise, all these questions are not helpful. I suggest if you have nothing better to do that you go back to your own room for the time being.’

  ‘All right,’ Louise said, ‘if you want me to, but I thought you might like to hear what I saw in the middle of the night.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, child,’ exclaimed her mother. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose it was the middle of the night,’ answered Louise, ‘not really, but it was still almost dark. I got up and was looking out of the window and I saw them. Well, I saw somebody, in the stable yard, but when I looked again there was no one there.’

  ‘So you didn’t really see anything.’

  ‘I did,’ asserted Louise, ‘and it must have been Hélène and Annette leaving. But when the moon came out they’d gone. They must have gone out into the field.’

  ‘Into the field,’ echoed Rosalie, and then she realised what that must mean. ‘Louise, please wait upstairs, chérie. I have to go and speak to your father.’

  With a disgruntled sigh at being sent to her room just like a child, Louise went back upstairs and Rosalie returned to Emile’s study to tell him what Louise had said.

  ‘They took the path across the fields to the village.’

  ‘But where would they go when they got there?’ snapped Emile. ‘Who in the village would take them in?’

  ‘I doubt if they went to anyone there, but they could have gone to the station and caught a train. I believe there’s an early one to Paris. So perhaps they really have gone to the Avenue Ste Anne.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Emile grunted. ‘Well, I suppose when Pierre gets back he’d better go and make enquiries at the station.’

  ‘I think he’s back already,’ Rosalie said. ‘I’ll go and find him and send him to ask.’ She left Emile sitting at his desk in his study and went down the passageway to the servants’ quarters in search of Pierre.

  Moments later, there was a crash of the knocker on the front door, and before Didier could go in answer to its summons, Simon Barnier pushed it open and strode into the hallway. Handing his coat, hat and cane to Didier, he demanded, ‘Where will I find Monsieur St Clair?’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ replied Didier diplomatically. ‘Monsieur St Clair is in his study, if you wish me to announce you.’

  Simon gave a curt nod and Didier led the way to Emile’s study and, tapping on the door, gave Simon’s name. Emile looked up and knew he needed Rosalie at his side.

  ‘Please ask Madame to join us in here, Didier,’ he said, and with an inclination of his head, the butler went in search of her.

  The next half hour was not one that Rosalie would willingly repeat. Simon’s anger at Hélène’s disappearance was explosive. He blamed them for not keeping her under lock and key overnight.

  ‘You seem to have no control over your daughter,’ he raged. ‘I will not have a disobedient wife. She needs discipline to make her understand her place. And that she’ll get from me!’

  If that is how you have been speaking to her, Rosalie thought, I’m not surprised she’s run away. But she kept this thought to herself; there was no point in enraging Simon Barnier any further. Even Emile had no idea how to handle his furious future son-in-law. He had more sympathy with him than Rosalie did, but he had no more idea of where Hélène had gone than she had.

  ‘We have telegraphed our son to ask him to visit our Paris house,’ he explained, ‘to see if she has taken refuge there.’

  ‘Refuge?’ Simon’s voice was icy.

  ‘Or whether she has gone to visit her brother,’ Rosalie put in smoothly.

  Simon rounded on her. ‘Wherever she has gone, madame,’ he said fiercely, ‘she has put me in an intolerable position.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rosalie reluctantly. ‘I’m afraid she has… and us too.’

  ‘I hardly think the two are comparable,’ said Simon, getting to his feet. ‘You will please contact me the moment you hear from her. Her desertion, for I can only call it that, will be general knowledge within twenty-four hours and I shall be a laughing stock! I will, of course, forbid my servants to speak of it on pain of dismissal, and I trust you will do the same, but you know what servants are for gossiping about their betters, a hint here, a wink there. It will not be contained for long and I want her to be back and married before this scandal breaks wide open.’

  ‘Perhaps, Monsieur Barnier,’ Rosalie said, ‘you would favour me with a few minutes of your time – there is something I should explain to you.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘I think we might go into my parlour, where we could talk in private?’

  With an exaggerated sigh, Simon followed her into her sitting room. Rosalie sat down and invited him to do the same, but he did not. He remained standing, impatiently drumming his fingers on the table.

  For a long moment neither of them spoke and then Rosalie, having taken a decision, said, ‘I think this is a case of prewedding nerves. Hélène is afraid of the physical side of marriage.’

  Simon made no reply, simply staring at her stony-faced as if daring her to continue.

  ‘When Hélène was a child…’ Rosalie began and then hesitated. Should she be telling Simon this? He was her fiancé and perhaps he should know, but on the other hand she had kept the secret of Hélène’s abduction from becoming general knowledge when she had been rescued at the end of the siege. She had done so to protect Hélène and to allow the enormity of her experience to fade into the recesses of her mind. The nightmares had continued for several months. The doctor had warned Rosalie that this might be the case. ‘But,’ he had said, ‘given time, her mind will heal and she will forget. Past hurts will be buried if they are allowed to remain unexplored. A wound doesn’t heal if you keep picking at the scab. In my opinion it is the same with the mind. The unpleasant memories will scab over and gradually heal from underneath until the scab falls off of its own accord and they are buried for ever.’

  ‘When Hélène was a child,’ she began again, ‘she was abducted, and for many days we didn’t know where she was or what had happened to her. The army was besieging the Communards in Paris and Hélène was trapped in the city. She was kidnapped from our house in the Avenue Ste Anne – indeed, one of our servants was killed trying to protect her, but she was carried off by some deserter from the army. He kept her prisoner thinking to sell her on, or to use her for his own pleasure, but she manag
ed to escape.’

  ‘You mean your daughter is damaged goods,’ Simon said icily, ‘and you tried to foist her on me.’

  ‘She is no such thing and we did no such thing,’ retorted Rosalie. ‘She was kidnapped by a man and kept prisoner for a few days, but she escaped. Obviously this experience was terrifying and for some time she had nightmares. Gradually these became fewer and fewer until she was only haunted by them very occasionally. Indeed I can’t remember when she last had one, until the night before last, that is, the night after she had been to the Garden House with you, but for years she was afraid of any man she didn’t know. Eventually things faded from her mind and she was able to move quite naturally in society.’ Rosalie got to her feet, so that she could look Simon Barnier in the eye. ‘I don’t know what happened at the Garden House the other day, but I think you must have frightened her in some way, monsieur, and in her fear she has run away.’

  ‘You should be grateful, madame, that despite your revelations I am still prepared to marry Hélène if she returns before the scandal becomes well known.’ Simon got to his feet and walked to the door. ‘I bid you good day, madame, and expect to have news of Hélène just as soon as you have any yourselves.’