The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘She will always be your daughter, whether you approve of her or not,’ said Rosalie firmly, ‘and she will always be a daughter of mine. We lost her once before, I will not turn her away and lose her again.’

  ‘And what’s she doing with that man?’ Emile demanded as if Rosalie hadn’t spoken. ‘A married man bringing her here. Has she no shame? I will not see her.’

  ‘They are at the door,’ Rosalie told him. ‘You may stay in here, Emile, but I shall go and welcome her home. Where’s your charity? Haven’t you heard of the prodigal son?’ And with that she swept out of the room to meet her daughter at the front door.

  As soon as the carriage drew up and the steps were lowered, Rupert sprang out and handed down his bride. Annette jumped down behind them and without a moment’s hesitation disappeared in search of Pierre.

  Rosalie waited for Hélène under the portico, watching as she took Rupert’s arm.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, pausing at the bottom of the steps, ‘may I present my wife, Lady Chalfont?’

  ‘Your wife!’ Rosalie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Indeed, madame, two days ago at the British Embassy, Hélène did me the honour of becoming my wife.’

  ‘But… but I thought you were married,’ stammered Rosalie.

  ‘Perhaps we might come inside, madame,’ Rupert replied smoothly, ‘and we can explain what’s happened.’

  Rosalie looked down at Hélène. So far she’d said nothing, but there was the bloom of happiness on her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes as she stood, her fingers resting on her husband’s arm. Now she said, ‘Rupert and I are married, Maman. I have come home to tell you this and to say that we shall be returning to his home in England in the near future. I wanted to see you all before I went. Can we not come indoors and talk?’

  At that moment Emile appeared beside his wife at the door and stared down at them.

  ‘Well, miss,’ he said. ‘What makes you think you’re welcome in this house?’

  ‘My husband and I have come to visit you before we leave for England,’ Hélène said, apparently unmoved by his anger.

  ‘Your husband!’ snorted Emile. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  ‘No nonsense at all,’ replied Rupert. ‘Hélène is now Lady Chalfont of Pilgrim’s Oak, Somerset, England.’

  ‘I gave no permission for her to marry.’

  ‘And none was asked for,’ answered Rupert, ‘but we are indeed married.’

  ‘And what about Monsieur Barnier, may I ask? Hélène is still engaged to be married to him.’

  ‘Hélène made it clear she had changed her mind about her marriage with him some weeks ago,’ Rupert said.

  ‘And I thought you’d changed your mind about marrying Hélène,’ Emile blustered. ‘What do you say to that, young man? You wrote and told her you were married to someone else, so how can you now be married to her? Answer me that!’

  ‘I did indeed marry someone else,’ admitted Rupert, ‘but unfortunately my wife died. Until the day before yesterday I was a widower; now I am the husband of a woman I’ve never stopped loving from the first day I saw her.’

  ‘Poof, all this love stuff. What about duty? Eh? What about that?’

  ‘Papa,’ Hélène said, her voice clear and strong, ‘I think it very undignified to be discussing all this on the doorstep. If you won’t allow me to cross your threshold, we shall leave at once and we shall not return. It’s your decision.’

  ‘Of course you can come in,’ said Rosalie before Emile could overcome his surprise at the way Hélène had addressed him. ‘We shall go into the drawing room.’ And turning to the butler, who was hovering in the background, she said, ‘Didier, please bring us some refreshment. I’m sure Lady Chalfont is tired after her journey.’

  Outmanoeuvred, Emile turned on his heel and disappeared indoors. Rosalie held out her hands to Hélène, who ran up the steps and into her mother’s embrace.

  ‘My dearest child,’ Rosalie murmured. ‘Thank God you’re safe.’

  ‘I’m sorry I ran away, Maman,’ Hélène said softly, ‘but I couldn’t marry Simon.’

  ‘I know,’ replied her mother as she led her indoors. ‘We can talk later. Don’t worry, your papa will come round to your marriage eventually, but in the meantime the less he knows about your time in Paris, the better. It will be easier for him, for all of us, simply to say that you are now married to Sir Rupert Chalfont and will be moving to his estate in England.’ She turned to Rupert and extended her hand. ‘I’m glad Hélène has come home a respectable married woman, Sir Rupert. It is something my husband will come to accept in time. For my part, I know she will be far happier with you than she would ever have been with Monsieur Barnier.’

  Didier closed the front door behind them and went to the kitchen, where the news of Miss Hélène’s return was already the excitement of the day. Annette and Agathe were closeted in the housekeeper’s room.

  As a tray of refreshments was being prepared for the drawing room, a horseman came galloping up the drive. As he reached the front door he flung himself from the saddle and, running up the steps, pounded on the door. Moments later Didier, opening in answer to the knock, was pushed aside as Simon Barnier strode into the hall and walked straight through the open drawing room door to confront the family gathered there.

  ‘Well,’ he cried, ‘I thought at first my eyes must have deceived me when I saw your daughter, my fiancée, driving into St Etienne with that man. Flaunting herself after she ran away to live with him in Paris.’

  ‘Monsieur Barnier,’ Rupert interrupted his tirade. ‘May I present my wife, Lady Chalfont?’

  ‘You can’t have married her, as you’re married already,’ snapped Simon. ‘Living in sin with her, more like, with the pretence of marriage.’ He turned on Rosalie. ‘I found out where she’s been living, in a poky little apartment in Batignolles, above a butcher’s shop, of all things, while he’ – he jabbed a finger at Rupert – ‘he has been staying in the Hotel Montreux, entertaining her and who knows who else there. An adulterous English “milor” whose wife is safely out of the way in England. Well, “milor”, you’re welcome to her. I wouldn’t touch such soiled goods. No one of good character will want her now, when they hear how she’s been living. And when you move on she’ll be left with her reputation in tatters and it will be too late, far too late, to retrieve it. I wish you joy of her!’

  To Rosalie’s amazement, Rupert smiled, and though his smile didn’t reach his eyes he made Simon a small bow and said, ‘Thank you, Monsieur Barnier, we are delighted to have your blessing on our union.’ He reached for Hélène’s hand and added, ‘It means so much to us both!’

  Simon glared at him. ‘Well, it will be interesting to see how well you’re received into society, for you can have no doubt that this whole sordid affair will soon be common knowledge, and I, for one, will never associate with anyone from this family again! Dross from the gutter!’ And with that Simon turned and strode out of the room.

  Rupert followed him into the hall and stayed him with a hand on his arm. ‘A moment, Monsieur Barnier.’

  Simon shook his hand away as if it were a wasp. ‘I have nothing to say to you, sir.’

  ‘Well, I have something to say to you, monsieur, and I’d be obliged if you would listen. It is to your advantage. I’ve a message for you from a certain Mademoiselle Angélique.’ Simon’s eyes widened but he said nothing. ‘She says to tell you how much she and her young ladies are looking forward to entertaining you again, next time you’re in Paris and staying at the Pension Marguerite. She asks that you recommend her to all your friends when they’re visiting the city.’

  Simon froze and then gave an awkward laugh. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Haven’t you? Well, never mind, but I’ll deliver the second part of her message anyway. She said something about a dead child? She said to tell you she will keep her mouth shut… if you do. That mean anything to you?’

  For
a moment Simon gave him a look of pure hatred and then he flung open the door and disappeared down the steps.

  Rupert watched him go with a faint smile and thought, Well done, Jeannot.

  *

  Rupert and Hélène spent that night at Le Coq d’Argent, but the next day they moved into Belair.

  ‘For what will everyone think,’ asked Rosalie, ‘if you continue to stay there? Let us give the gossips nothing to chew on. And anyway, I’m sure you’d be more comfortable here.’

  She was right, and as Emile got used to seeing his daughter and Rupert together every day, he found it more and more difficult to maintain his disapproval.

  Once the couple had clearly been accepted at Belair, the Barrineaux, despite some reluctance on the part of Suzanne, followed their example and Hélène was able to be reunited with Clarice and Lucas and meet her brand-new niece, Céleste.

  Rupert, remembering his promise to Madame Barrineau senior, took the opportunity to pay her a second visit. When he was shown into her apartment, she was seated by the window. She did not get up, but greeted him with a smile and said, ‘Well, now, I hear you got yourself into another scrape, young man.’

  Rupert returned her smile and replied, ‘And got myself out of it again, madame.’

  ‘So I heard, and a good thing too. Young Hélène St Clair deserved better of you.’ She fixed him with an eagle eye for a moment and added, ‘Let us hope there will be no more scrapes in the future, monsieur.’

  ‘That I can assure you, madame,’ answered Rupert. ‘My love and my life are hers from now on.’

  Recognising he spoke with complete sincerity, Madame Barrineau nodded and replied, ‘Just as it should be. What has gone before will be a nine days’ wonder and soon forgotten.’

  The old lady was right, and over the next three weeks Hélène was accepted back into society as the respectable wife of an English baronet. There was, of course, speculation, whispers behind hands, nods and winks, but Hélène behaved with the same dignity as before. She walked into receiving rooms, this time on her husband’s arm, with a smile on her lips, her chin held high, and together they faced down anyone who might suggest that there had been anything improper in her being away. No one mentioned Simon Barnier, who had returned to Paris and not been home since.

  Once they had settled in at Belair, Rosalie invited Hélène into her parlour for a long talk. She accepted that Hélène had fled because she was truly afraid, but when she had heard Simon’s description of the apartment where Hélène had lived, she had been horrified.

  ‘How did you come to be living in such a place?’ she asked. ‘Who looked after you?’

  Hélène ignored the first question but answered the second readily enough. ‘We looked after ourselves, Maman. Annette taught me to cook and to iron and take care of the place. She found work in the market and brought me sewing from a nearby dressmaker.’

  ‘You took in sewing!’ cried Rosalie.

  ‘It’s the only thing of any use that I knew how to do,’ pointed out Hélène. ‘Annette was far more use.’

  ‘But taking in sewing!’

  ‘We had to earn enough to keep us, Maman.’

  ‘But how did you find the apartment?’ persisted Rosalie.

  ‘Annette knew of it from a friend,’ was all Hélène would answer.

  Of the actual escape she would say nothing more than, ‘We went to the station and caught the early train.’

  It was clear to Rosalie that Hélène was going to tell her nothing more and she decided to leave things at that. Christine Bertram had been right. Rosalie was just grateful that Hélène was safely home, respectably married. The least said about her time in Paris was the soonest forgotten. What she suspected and what she knew were two different things, and she shared neither of them with her husband.

  There was a stir in the servants’ quarters when Pierre announced that he and Annette were going to be married. Emile had been for turning Annette out into the street for the part she had played in Hélène’s disgrace, but when Rupert gently pointed out that as Hélène’s personal maid she worked for him now, there was nothing he could do. Emile had no wish to lose Pierre as his coachman – he had been in their employ for more than ten years – so he had to accept that either Annette remained as Pierre’s wife, or he would be looking for a new coachman.

  ‘They could have the empty cottage on the home farm,’ suggested Rosalie. ‘Pierre could come in daily, as could Annette if she wanted to work here. If they’re getting married she won’t be going with Hélène and Rupert when they go to England.’

  ‘Hmm,’ grunted Emile. He’d been outmanoeuvred again. ‘If that’s what you think best,’ he said and returned to his study.

  Hélène also spent some time with Madame Sauze, taking coffee with her in the housekeeper’s parlour.

  ‘I wanted to thank you,’ Hélène said. ‘Without your apartment I could never have gone. I’d be married to Simon Barnier by now.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Agathe told her, ‘though it would be better for me if your parents did not know.’

  ‘They’ll hear nothing from me,’ promised Hélène. ‘I owe you so much. It’s the second time you’ve rescued me.’

  ‘You owe me nothing. Your family gave Annette shelter when she needed it and took us both in when we had nowhere else to go. That is something that can never be repaid. And now she and Pierre are going to be married, Annette’s future will be a happy one.’ She looked at Hélène, sitting comfortably in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. How will she manage at this place, Pilgrim’s Oak? she wondered. ‘Will you mind her staying here, rather than going to England with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I shall miss her, of course. I couldn’t have had a better friend these last months, but her place is here with Pierre. He’s her future, not me. I shall see them married before we leave and wish them both every happiness together. They deserve it.’

  *

  The day they set out for England at last, the whole family had gathered to bid them farewell. Georges and Sylvie and their children had come from Versailles, Lucas and Clarice from Montmichel with the baby, Céleste. Hélène hugged them each in turn. But when she had done, she climbed, without a backward glance, into the carriage that was waiting to take them back to Paris. As they were driven down the drive, Rupert reached for her hand and Hélène gripped his tightly. It wasn’t easy leaving Belair and it wouldn’t be easy arriving at Pilgrim’s Oak either. Rupert had written of his marriage and his sister Frances had replied to say that she was moving herself and her mother into the Dower House, leaving Pilgrim’s Oak for them alone.

  Hélène knew she would miss her family. She would miss Annette, who was now married to Pierre and installed in the cottage on the estate. And she would miss Madame Sauze, who for the second time had come to her aid when she was in trouble.

  Hélène had unshed tears in her eyes as she left Belair behind, but she knew that whatever the future held for them, Rupert and she had each other and with Rupert she would be safe.

  Epilogue

  The Times newspaper

  Births

  Chalfont

  On 31st January 1879 to Hélène (née St Clair) and Sir Rupert Chalfont Bt, a son, Justin Philip.

  About the Author

  DINEY COSTELOE is the author of twenty-five novels, several short stories, and many articles and poems. She has three children and seven grandchildren, so when she isn’t writing, she’s busy with family. She and her husband divide their time between Somerset and West Cork.

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