Monique had come ashore with us. She might have been expected to come with her husband but the Captain was not yet ready to leave the ship and naturally Monique was eager to see her mother. I was surprised that she had not come to meet the ship. There was no one but an old coachman, who stood there in tattered trousers, open grimy shirt, grinning and saying: “So you come home, Missy Monique.”
“Jacques!” she cried. “I’m here. And this is my little Edward—grown since you last saw him but still my baby.”
Edward scowled and was about to protest at being called a baby but I gripped his shoulder and I suppose he too was feeling bewildered, for he was silent.
Jacques was studying us curiously and Monique said: “It’s the nurse and Edward’s governess.”
Jacques said nothing; and at that moment, a young girl came up and threw garlands of flowers about our necks. Nothing could have looked more incongruous than those red highly scented flowers on my plain tailored blouse and skirt. But Chantel looked charming in a mauve garland. She grimaced at me, and I wondered if she were feeling as apprehensive as I was.
“We shall have to get ourselves suitably attired,” she whispered.
We climbed into the open carriage. There was just room for the four of us. I noticed that the woodwork of the carriage was scratched, the upholstery dusty, and the two horses which drew it were thin and ungroomed.
“Soon home, Missy Monique,” said Jacques.
“It can’t be too soon for me,” said Chantel, “and I’m sure I speak for Missy Monique. This heat is going to take a bit of getting used to.”
Jacques whipped up the horses and we rattled along; children stood back to gaze at us with wide solemn eyes as we turned away from the sea and took an unmade road, on either side of which glistening green foliage grew in abundance. Enormous blue butterflies flitted about us and a gorgeously colored dragonfly settled on the side of the carriage for a second or two.
Edward directed our attention to it with delight.
“You will have to be careful,” said Monique with a certain gleeful malevolence. “Mosquitoes and other deadly insects will be thirsting for your fresh English blood.”
“‘Fe, fi, fo, fum,’” cried Edward. “‘I smell the blood of an Englishman.’”
“That’s right,” said Monique. “You see it’s thick for a cold climate and therefore more tasty.”
Edward studied his hand intently and Chantel said: “I shall be here to take care of all bites and stings. Remember I’m the nurse.”
We had turned again and were now riding parallel with the sea. Before us was a sight of great beauty—the Island in its natural state, unlike the waterfront, which was spoiled by the little mud and wattle huts, and all that went with a not very affluent human habitation. Now we could see the curve of the bay, the coral reef, the luscious palms which grew close to the water; the pellucid sea clear blue, with here and there what looked like pools of peridot green.
“It’s safe for bathing where the water’s green,” said Monique. “The sharks never go into green water, so they say. It’s true is it not, Jacques?”
“That’s true, Missy Monique,” said Jacques.
“Sharks,” cried Edward. “They bite off your legs and eat them. Why do they like legs?”
“I am sure they find arms equally delectable,” said Chantel.
Edward was staring in fascination at the blue water. But I noticed that he moved closer to me. Did he feel this repulsion which was gradually creeping over me? I felt touched that it was to me he should instinctively move for comfort.
Monique had leaned forward, her eyes glistening. “Oh, you are going to find it very exciting here.”
There was a note of hysteria in her voice. Chantel had noticed it. She took her arm and held her gently back in her seat—the efficient nurse, mindful of her duties even when trundling over an unmade road into what even she must believe might well be a very trying situation.
We turned up a path and went through a pair of wrought iron gates into a wilderness of growth through which there was a path so narrow that the branches scraped against the sides of the carriage as we rode. We rounded a bend and there was the house. It was long, of three stories, and made of some kind of stucco, but little of this was visible because the walls were covered with climbing plants. There was a porch and an open balcony on the lower floor, and balconies at several of the upper windows and where the stucco was visible it was dilapidated and breaking away.
There was a stretch of grass before it which might have been called a lawn if it had not been so overgrown. On it were two large trees which must have darkened the house considerably. But my attention was caught by the woman who was standing on the porch. She was fat as I imagined the natives of the island would be as they grew older. She was tall too and wearing the flower-patterned robe which seemed to be the island costume; her heavy black hair—turning gray—was skewered up on the top of her head by pins with enormous heads; around her neck were rows of beads made of cowrie shells; and her dangling earrings were made from these too.
She screamed: “Jacques! You’ve brought her, then. You’ve brought Missy Monique.”
“I’m here, Suka,” said Monique.
And she scrambled out of the carriage and threw herself into the arms of big Suka.
Chantel and I alighted and I helped Edward out.
“And here is my baby,” said Monique.
Suka’s enormous black eyes, slightly bloodshot, were on Edward. She had picked him up and cried: “My baby’s baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” said Edward. “I’ve sailed the sea with Captain Stretton.”
“There now,” said Suka.
Chantel and I might not have existed, and as I saw a certain mischievous look in Monique’s eyes I knew that this was how she intended it to be. She was the mistress here. We were the servants. I wondered what Chantel was thinking. I soon realized.
She said: “We should introduce ourselves. Miss Anna Brett and Nurse Loman.”
“The governess and the nurse,” said Monique.
Suka nodded and the great black eyes were turned on us momentarily. Her expression implied that she did not think much of us.
“Come in to your Maman,” said Suka to Monique. “She waits for you.”
“Should we come?” asked Chantel sarcastically. “Or go by way of the back door.”
“You should come,” said Monique smirking.
As we stepped up onto the porch, I saw a creature like a lizard dart between the piles and it occurred to me that the houses were built a foot or so from the ground as a protection against insects.
We stepped into the hall. The difference in temperature was apparent. It must have fallen twenty degrees. In our present state we could only be glad of this. How dark it was. It was a second or so before my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. At the one window the green shutters were closed—again I supposed to keep out unwelcome insects—but this was the reason for the dimness of the hall. There were mats in brilliant colors—native work I imagined—on a floor which at home it would have been thought necessary to polish. It was rough and some of the floorboards were broken.
At the far end of the hall was a bead curtain in place of a door and on a table was a bronze figure with an incredibly ugly face, naked but for a loin cloth and beside it a stick in bronze or copper. I gathered it was a dinner gong.
We were taken up a flight of stairs which were carpeted with a strip of red, leaving the side of the stairs bare. They had not been painted or polished for a long time I guessed, and the carpet was dusty.
We reached a landing and there was a door which Suka threw open.
“Missy Monique is here,” she announced; and she went into the room.
Again we were faced with that gloom, but my eyes had grown accustomed to it. Edward was gripping my hand and I held his firmly.
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br /> It was a strange room, full of heavy furniture. There were brass ornaments, a small brass table, heavy chairs, and pictures on the wall. Here too the green shutters kept out the heat and the insects.
Seated in a chair was Madame de Laudé, Monique’s mother.
“My dear Monique!” she said.
Monique ran to her and knelt at her feet burying her face in her lap. I realized that she was an invalid and that was presumably why she had not come to greet her daughter.
“Maman…I am here. At last I am home.”
“And let me look at you, my little one. Ah, it is well you have come home. And Edward?”
She held out a thin hand with the blue veins standing out on it; it was adorned with rings and on her wrists were several bracelets.
Edward went forward uncertainly and was embraced in his turn.
“It is so long,” she said. “So long.”
She had raised her eyes and was looking at Chantel and me.
“You are the nurse and the governess. Which is which, please?”
“I am Nurse Loman,” said Chantel. “This is Miss Anna Brett.”
“I have heard that you have taken good care of my daughter and grandson. Welcome to Carrément House. I hope you will be happy here. You are a little fatigued. I will have mint tea sent to your rooms. It will refresh you and after I will see you both.” She reached out and picked up a brass figure of a girl in a long robe which hid a bell. She moved it in a languid gesture and immediately a young woman arrived. She was not more than fifteen I imagined, but fifteen was mature on the Island. Her feet were bare and she wore the long colored gown, not very clean, which most of the women seemed to wear.
“Pero,” she said, “take Nurse Loman and Miss Brett to their rooms and then make mint tea for them. I will see you later,” she said to us. She smiled almost apologetically. “At first I wish to be with my daughter and grandson.”
As we followed Pero, Edward ran after us and gripped my skirt.
“Edward will stay,” said Madame de Laudé.
Edward was about to protest so I gave him a little push away from me.
“Come along, Edward,” said Monique. “We want you to stay.”
He obeyed but reluctantly.
Along the creaky corridor we went; up a flight of stairs with banisters beautifully carved but inlaid with dust.
Our rooms were on the same corridor, for which we were thankful. We both felt that we did not want to be far apart in this house. Mine was large with a wooden floor that looked as though it had been attacked by woodworm or some such pest. There were the inevitable shuttered windows—two in this case; the bed was covered with a brilliantly colored counterpane; the carved armchair, its seat upholstered with gold damask, was definitely Louis XV. There was a delightful console table—gilt rococo with a central carved motif. Its marble top rested on a frieze decorated with ivy leaves. It was enchanting—and genuine. The other chairs were crude, made of unpolished wood and looked as though they had been nailed together by some unskilled carpenter.
I wondered how anyone could have allowed the armchair and the console table to remain in this room with the rest of the furniture.
Chantel, having inspected her room, came back to mine.
“Well?” she said.
“It’s very peculiar.”
“I do so agree. Anna, what do you make of it? It’s such an odd place. So this is her home! It looks to me as if it will fall about our heads one stormy night. What do you think of the house?”
“That a good spring clean would not come amiss.”
“It hasn’t had that for years. If it did, it would probably fall apart. How are we going to endure two months in this place?”
“I can only face it because you’re here,” I shivered. “When I think that you might have left us at Sydney. At least that was what I thought when you didn’t appear to have returned.”
“I was on board all the time, so your fears were without foundation. But we’re here now and we have to stay here for two months.”
“Of course,” I said, “we are passing judgment rather hastily.”
“And that is not your way, I know. I am the impulsive one.” She went to the window and opened the shutter. Framed in the window was a view so lovely that it looked like a painting on the wall—deep blue sea, palm trees, golden sands, and the exquisite curve of the bay.
Chantel looked down at her hands; they were grimy where she had touched the window.
“Are there no servants here?” she said.
“We’ve seen Jacques and Pero.”
“Not forgetting Nurse who came out to greet her Missy Monique on arrival.”
“Jacques has his horses and carriage to care for. He probably does the garden.”
Chantel snorted. “What I’ve seen doesn’t exactly suggest he overworks in that direction. Unless he has such green fingers that everything he touches sprouts up several feet overnight.”
“That’s the sun and the humid climate, I daresay.”
“Well, suppose he does work outside. There’s still Pero in the house and what’s that other creature doing all day when she has no Missy Monique to croon over.”
“The climate would not be conducive to hard labor.”
“I must say I agree with that. I feel quite limp.”
“That mint tea should revive us if it ever comes.”
It did come almost immediately. The girl brought it in very timidly on a metal tray on which flowers in red and Prussian blue had been rather crudely painted. The tea was in tall glasses in which were long spoons with stems shaped like a hoof. I recognized them as valuable. Aunt Charlotte had bought some like it and they were known as Pied de Biche.
What struck me afresh was the strange contrasts in the house. Valuable pieces of period furniture were side by side with things which were not only worthless but tasteless and crude.
“I hope this tea is to your liking,” said Pero.
She was shy and young and gave covert glances at us—particularly at Chantel, who was well worth looking at by any standards.
I thought we might learn something from the girl and I knew Chantel was thinking the same.
Chantel said to her: “You have been expecting us?”
“Yes,” she said. She spoke rather halting English. “We know, we hear that the ship will be coming and bringing the two ladies…one for Missy Monique; one for Master Edward.”
“They don’t mind our coming?” I asked. “I mean did they think there might be people here who could do what we are doing?”
The girl’s face was solemn. “Oh, but the lady over the water…she send you. You are hers. Madame is very poor. She cannot pay. But the lady over the water is very rich and Missy Monique will be rich because she is married to the Captain.” She closed her mouth firmly and was clearly wondering whether she had said too much.
We sipped the tea. It was tepid; but the flavor of mint was refreshing.
We heard steps in the corridor and old Jacques appeared at the door. He looked severely at Pero who vanished, then he indicated the bags.
“Those are mine,” I said. “Thank you.”
He brought them in without a word and then took Chantel’s to her room.
Chantel sat on my bed. I sat on the damask Louis XV chair—reverently I must admit—and we looked at each other.
“This is a strange household we’ve come to,” said Chantel.
“Didn’t you expect it to be?”
“Not quite so strange. They seem to resent us.”
“The old nurse would, I suppose. After all you’re looking after her darling Missy and I’ve got Edward. She would consider them hers.”
“She looks as if she’ll cast a spell over us at any minute.”
“Perhaps she’ll make wax images of us and stick in pins.”
Chantel went along to unpack and I did the same. I found water and a hip bath in a cupboard which was fitted with a basin and ewer. I washed and changed into a light linen dress and felt much better.
As I was doing my hair there was a light tap on the door. I opened it and there was Pero.
Madame de Laudé would like to see me, she told me. She would also like to see Nurse Loman. But not together. If I were ready she would take me down to her now, as Nurse Loman was not yet ready.
I hastily pinned up my hair and followed her downstairs. I sensed she was extremely in awe of her mistress.
Madame de Laudé said: “Pray sit down, Miss Brett. I’m afraid I dismissed you rather hastily. It is so long since I had seen my daughter and my grandchild. They are now with their old nurse so you need not concern yourself on Edward’s account.”
I inclined my head.
“This must be very strange to you, coming from England.”
I admitted it was rather different.
“I have never been to England although I am English. My husband was French. I have lived in this house since my marriage. Before that I lived on the other side of the island. When my husband was alive we were rich, very rich by island standards, but he has been dead for twenty years, and I have become ill. You may wonder why I tell you this, for you have come here to teach Edward and you may think it is not your concern, but I think you should know how matters are here.”
“It is kind of you to put me in the picture, as it were.”
She inclined her head. “You are not employed by me. You know this. It is Lady Crediton who employs you.”
“Yes, I did know that.”
“I could not afford to employ you. Things have changed here. Once it was very different. Then we entertained, lavishly, people who came to the Island from France, from England. My husband was a great gentleman, and the sugar plantation flourished. But now that is gone and we are poor. We have to be very careful. We do not waste in this house. We can do nothing. We are very, very poor.”
I thought this was a very strange way to talk to one in my position, but I realized that she was warning me that I must not expect much service. Doubtless I would have to wait on myself, clean my own room. I liked frank speaking and I asked if this was what she meant.
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