The Wine Widow

by Tessa Barclay

  The last rumour at least seemed to be true. After the capture of the Emperor everyone had expected a peace to be signed, but the war still went on. Paris had refused to surrender: Paris was the symbol of French pride and resistance.

  On the last day of September a gentleman in a small closed carriage drove up to the manor house. The butler announced him as Dr Charles Percival of the Red Cross Ambulance Corps. When he was shown in he proved to be wearing a dark blue uniform braided and frogged with black, and a white armband bearing a red cross.

  ‘Madame de Tramont? Forgive my intrusion. I believe you have your sister, Madame Fournier, staying with you?’

  ‘That’s perfectly correct. Please sit down, doctor. Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  ‘Thank you, a glass of wine and a little something to eat would be very welcome. I’ve been travelling for days now …’ He spoke French with a strong American accent.

  Nicole nodded at the butler to bring food and drink. Dr Percival said: ‘May I see Madame Fournier? I’ve news of her son Robert.’

  Nicole went cold. Her throat seemed to seize up. The doctor, who had taken a chair across from her, sprang up. ‘Madame! Are you ill?’

  ‘No ‒ no ‒ you surprised me ‒ Please, what is the news of Robert? Please tell me! Please!’

  ‘Should the news not be given first to his mother?’

  ‘Is it good news? Is Robert alive?’

  ‘Alive, yes. Otherwise … perhaps the news is not good.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  She bowed her head, put her hands over her face, and for a moment let the hot tears gush between her fingers. Then she straightened, wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands. ‘Please tell me, doctor. My sister is of a very timid disposition. If the news is bad, it has to be broken very gently.’

  ‘I see.’ The American looked a little puzzled but went on: ‘Your nephew was taken prisoner at Sedan with all the others. He was badly wounded ‒ there had been some rashly courageous act to take out a gun-post threatening one of the city gates. My unit was active in the city of Sedan. After the cease-fire we went round collecting the wounded.’

  The butler returned with a silver tray bearing bread and cheese and red wine. The visitor seized the glass eagerly, drank deeply, chewed at the crusty bread. Meanwhile Nicole waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

  ‘News has of course been scanty. You perhaps are aware that one of the conditions of the ceasefire was that the entire French army must go into prison in Germany?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My unit went with the wounded. You understand that we tend both sides dispassionately, cooperating with the army surgeons. Resources on the march into Germany were strained and moreover, disease had taken hold. We lost many to dysentery.’

  ‘And Robert?’

  ‘He is still very ill and weak. His wounds have been slow to heal and I’m afraid …’

  ‘What? Tell me!’

  ‘He may not walk again. He received very severe injuries to the spine. It’s too early yet to tell, but I feel it only honest to give you the facts.’

  Nicole could say nothing. She sat at her desk, staring at the man.

  ‘May I?’ he said, and swallowed bread and cheese voraciously. ‘I’ve been on the roads for seven days. I’ve messages for many a mother still to deliver.’

  ‘The Germans allow you to travel unhindered?’

  ‘Oh yes, I have a laissez-passer signed by Bismarck himself. But it’s the devil! ‒ food’s short, the roads are a quagmire, and often the families have moved from the addresses I’ve been given, due to the excesses of war. Your sister’s house in Strasbourg, for instance ‒ it doesn’t exist any more. The local prefect told me she had probably gone to stay with you, and as I had other families in this direction to visit, I made a slight detour to come here.’

  ‘I’m very grateful,’ Nicole said, keeping her voice steady by a searing effort. ‘I’ll pass on the news to my sister. Do I gather you have yourself spoken to Robert?’

  ‘Robert, yes, he was under my direct care.’ He got a list out of the inner pocket of his uniform jacket to consult it. ‘I see I have no written message ‒ he was too weak to hold a pen.’

  Nicole gave a gasp.

  Percival looked up. ‘I’m sorry, madame, but haste makes one tactless. Your nephew is in a prison camp near Elberfeld. He’s in the camp hospital, of course. In due time an exchange of letters and parcels may be arranged under the auspices of the Red Cross ‒ I will see that you get news of the facility if it is allowed.’

  ‘Will he ‒ can he be allowed home soon?’

  ‘Negotiations for the exchange of wounded are taking place, but I must tell you your nephew is not in a condition to travel again.’ The doctor put the paper back in his pocket, shaking his head. ‘I tell you, madame, I served in our Civil War back home and I never saw wounded worse than those I’ve had to deal with in this war. Those damned modern guns …’

  ‘Is there anything we can do at present? Any representations we can make?’

  ‘I hardly think so. While the Republicans remain so obdurate and Paris holds out, there cannot be a peace. Meanwhile the Prussians ‒ quite understandably ‒ refuse to negotiate lesser matters. I assure you, the wounded are receiving good care, but it’s not the same as having them in a city hospital with a full nursing staff.’

  She pressed him to stay overnight, but he pleaded other business. ‘I hope to make Château Thierry by nightfall. Thank you for the food ‒ much appreciated.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Nicole said with fervour as she shook hands.

  She didn’t at once tell Paulette and Delphine. She needed time to accustom herself to the news before she shared it with anyone else. She snatched up a shawl and went out, to walk by the lake where she used to take her daughters when they were children.

  It was greatly changed, from a swampy pond restored to a handsome stretch of water where the leaves of water-lilies still floated. The water-birds came up as usual to be fed. She had brought nothing for them, so they paraded reproachfully in front of her on the dark grey surface.

  ‘Robert is alive!’ she whispered to them. ‘He’s alive!’

  Later, when she nerved herself to convey what she had learned, the reaction wasn’t what she expected. Paulette didn’t break down in tears. At first, when Nicole warned that she had news of Robert that wasn’t entirely good, she threw out a hand in terror. But Delphine caught it and held it tight. She heard her sister out in silence, motionless.

  ‘I knew it,’ Delphine murmured, ‘I sensed he was still alive. If he’d been killed, something would have told me.’

  ‘You must understand that the American doctor says he’s still very sick.’

  ‘Because of being dragged all the way to a prison camp in Germany.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘I hate them!’ Delphine burst out. ‘I hate them! They march into our country, destroy our village, take our men ‒!’

  ‘Delphine ‒’

  ‘I hate them! It’s their fault that Robert is a cripple! Oh, if I were only a man ‒ I’d show them how much I hate them!’

  Nicole shook her head. ‘My dear, don’t take it like this! Be thankful instead ‒ Robert is still alive ‒’

  ‘Oh yes,’ whispered her sister, stars in her eyes. ‘I thank God for it. I promised Him, you know ‒ that if only He would save my son for me, I’d give every penny I possess to repair the roof of Strasbourg Cathedral …’

  Nicole nodded at Delphine to lead her aunt upstairs to her room. Perhaps in its privacy Paulette gave way to tears, but for once Nicole was spared the need to comfort her.

  But, as the days went by, it seemed Delphine really meant what she said. She refused to talk to the German troops, although she spoke their language fluently. The mayor of Calmady, charged with numerous duties by the occupation force, had relied on her to act as interpreter; she now refused this office. Whenever a Badish infantryman crossed her path on the Tramont estate, she tu
rned her back.

  ‘Delphine, what good does it do?’ Nicole begged. ‘We have to live with them ‒’

  ‘Oh yes, and sell them our wine ‒ that’s all that matters, isn’t it!’

  Winter came. It was one of the worst in living memory. The cold was so great that the trunks of oak trees in Tramont’s park burst asunder. There were problems with fuel supplies for the machinery of the wine-making processes, but Nicole comforted herself with the thought that this was in any case the resting period for the wine ‒ not that it mattered much, for the cuvée was uninspired to say the least. She made the blend with the newly promoted chief cellarman, Compiain’s assistant, Rodrigue. He was nervous and uncertain: she had to make all the major decisions alone ‒ but once again it hardly mattered, for nothing she could do would make this a great wine.

  At last news came from Paris, by an extremely round-about means. A balloonist managed to fly out of the beleaguered city, bringing with him sacks of despatches and letters. The letters then went south; some were delivered easily in the unoccupied territories. A letter from Edmond to his mother went by way of London to Le Havre and at last, under the safe-conduct of the British Embassy, reached Paulette at Tramont.

  ‘Dearest Mother, I hope this letter reaches you. Much has happened since I last wrote. I intended to join a student corps but everything was such a muddle that we never left Paris. The blockade is severe and food is very short but, thank God, the enemy haven’t as yet used their guns ‒ I dread to think of the results of cannon-fire in Paris’s great blocks of houses.

  ‘For the moment I am staying with Old Madame, at her invitation. The cold has been very hard on her. I fear she is feeling the effects of her age. I asked her the other day how old she was to which she said, with some of her usual spirit, “None of your business, young man!” But in general she is quiet and has a bad cough. She is depressed because she expected the monarchists to make some coup when our great Emperor was led off to prison. She was greatly disappointed when the new Republic was proclaimed.

  ‘Dear Mother, I hope you are well and safe ‒ we heard Strasbourg had been destroyed but there are so many lying rumours it’s impossible to know what to believe. What news of Robert? I got your letter telling me he had joined up, but since then, nothing. I hope he is fit and well ‒ he would be too recently trained to be sent to the front.

  ‘Give my love to Aunt Nicole and Delphine. I hope you can read this ‒ I have had to use the thinnest paper possible so as to lighten the load of the balloonist who is taking the mail out. I don’t expect a reply although there is now some talk of a truce to allow the Red Cross Corps to move out some sick and wounded. Your loving son Edmond.’

  Paulette was in seventh heaven as she pressed the letter to her breast. ‘Oh, how lucky I am! Oh, I thank God! Both my sons are alive! Nicole, I am the luckiest woman in the world!’

  ‘Yes, my dear,’ agreed Nicole, hugging her. It was good news indeed, and all the more welcome because life in the Champagne region was so grim ‒ the harvest almost a disaster, German uniforms everywhere, food scarce, the cold bitter and unrelenting.

  Christmas was not a time for celebration that year. There was the usual midnight mass in the wrecked church of Calmady, Ste Anne’s. There were carols sung by the children ‒ thin, white-faced, large-eyed children who didn’t receive the usual bon-bons and candied fruits. There were carols also by the German troops, unexpectedly beautiful: ‘There is a rose new-born, Within a stable laid …’ Nicole, hearing the strong, tuneful harmony, laid her head on her office desk and wept.

  She was impelled to go out later to thank them for their singing. An officer in the spiked helmet and highly-polished boots of the Uhlans was coming out of the stables as she approached. ‘Good afternoon, Madame de Tramont.’

  ‘Why, it’s Lieutenant von Kraven…’ She sought for his name.

  ‘Von Kravensfeldt.’ He gave his little bow and salute, with a click of the heels. ‘How flattering that you remember me!’

  ‘I’m never likely to forget you! You were the first enemy soldier I ever saw!’

  ‘Madame,’ he said in reproach. ‘The German army is not an enemy to civilians.’

  She could have asked him how he explained the siege of Paris in that case, but had learned to guard her tongue. Instead she said, ‘What are you doing here, lieutenant? I thought you had gone on to Versailles.’

  ‘Quite so. But I have been sent with a small detachment to the headquarters of Count Walderne at Rheims. At the moment I am visiting my men.’

  ‘Yours? But you are a cavalryman ‒?’

  ‘Quite so. I have been given the role of welfare officer to the local occupation force. I am here just to check that the men have had an agreeable Christmas. They tell me they have nothing to complain of here.’

  She understood that this was a compliment so she smiled and nodded. It was cold in the stableyard. She turned to go back to the house. He accompanied her.

  ‘Do you remember that I was here to requisition your house last time we met?’

  ‘I do indeed. Nothing came of that.’

  ‘No, events moved so rapidly.’ He pulled his cloak about him. ‘By heaven, it’s cold! In Prussia we call this iron-fist ‒ the earth is grasped by a frost as hard as iron.’

  He had reached the back door. The early dark was gathering. She heard the clatter of his escort in the driveway beyond the house. She felt an impulse of sympathy ‒ a long ride home in the bitter weather before they could have anything.

  ‘Would you care to come in for some hot punch?’

  ‘Oh, thank you, but my men ‒’

  ‘I’ll send some out to them ‒ in fact I could send it to the stables as a thank-you to your troops for their singing. They could all drink it in the warm.’

  ‘That is most kind, madame. Thank you.’

  He followed her indoors, looking about with curiosity. The last time he was here, the place had been covered in dust. Now, the house was warm with the burning of pine logs, scented with their resin, bright with polish.

  In the hall she rang for the butler. ‘Tell Cook to make a big bowl of rum punch and have Jacques take it out to the escort. Tell him to send them to the stables with it.’

  ‘Yes, madame.’

  ‘And bring some into the drawing-room.’

  ‘Yes, madame.’

  Delphine was reading by the light of one of their precious candles: gaslight had still not been restored. She turned her head idly at her mother’s entry, then sprang up at the sight of the uniform. ‘Mama!’

  ‘I want you to meet Lieutenant von Kravensfeldt. This is my daughter, Delphine.’

  ‘My respects, mademoiselle.’

  ‘The lieutenant is here to see to the welfare of the men. I’ve asked him in for a hot drink.’

  Delphine was stricken to silence. Her eyes carried a message of angry reproach.

  Lenhardt von Kravensfeldt began a stilted conversation about the weather. He got very little response from this startlingly pretty young lady. She sat with her eyes bent upon her book, as if that was the most important thing in the world. Only Nicole replied to his remarks.

  The hot punch was quickly brought, providing a new topic of conversation. Delphine got up. ‘I won’t have any, thank you, Mama. You’ll excuse me ‒’

  ‘Delphine, please sit down and have some punch with our guest.’

  ‘No, Mama, you know I don’t care for rum.’

  ‘Delphine, it’s Christmas. Sit down and drink some punch.’

  The butler offered the glass. Delphine accepted it, set it by on a table beside her chair.

  ‘We should have a toast,’ suggested Lenhardt, eager to bring about some relaxation of the tension he could feel in the air. ‘What shall we drink to?’

  ‘To peace and goodwill,’ offered Nicole, with a frown at Delphine.

  ‘Excellent! To peace and goodwill!’ He raised the glass in its little silver holder. He waited politely until Delphine did likewise.

  They
all drank simultaneously. Delphine made a startled sound, slapped down her glass so that it spilled half its contents. ‘Oh, I’ve burnt my mouth!’ she cried.

  With that excuse she leaped up and ran out.

  ‘Oh, mademoiselle ‒’ began Lenhardt.

  Nicole gestured to him to sit down. ‘It’s nothing, she’ll see to it in a moment. Tell me, lieutenant, where is your home?’

  He talked to her comfortably for ten minutes about Trakehnen, where his family owned large tracts of land on which they raised ‘the finest horses in Prussia’. They had always had connections with the cavalry regiments: his father had been in the personal bodyguard of the King. His mother seemed to play only a small part in his life but then he was the youngest of a large family brought up mainly by nursemaids.

  When the punch in the glass had sunk to a mere spoonful he rose to go. ‘Thank you, madame, for a most enjoyable interlude,’ he said. She was about to ring for the butler to show him out when he added, rather sadly, ‘We seldom have such friendly contacts, alas.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said, going with him into the hall. ‘You must realise ‒ it takes time to see that enemies are merely men …’

  ‘May I hope to see you and your family when I visit this detachment again?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  He bowed and saluted.

  Strange to say, his duties as welfare officer brought him back only three days later. Nicole was amused when he was shown into her office, having asked for her. ‘Well, lieutenant, are you here to buy my wine?’

  ‘That might not be a bad idea,’ he said. ‘But that would be the duty of the commissariat. I’ve been looking at the bedding my men use. I’ve decided they need extra blankets.’

  Those infantrymen were going to have a very agreeable increase in comforts for the foreseeable future, thought Nicole. She wasn’t the least surprised when Lenhardt said, ‘Is your daughter indoors?’

  ‘She’s taken a walk to the lake ‒ the poor birds suffer greatly when it is iced over.’