by Adele Whitby
“How are you both?” Madame Colette asked once we were seated. “Marie, it is so good to see you up and about again! I trust your ankle is healing nicely?”
“I am feeling quite well, thank you,” Mama replied. “Dr. Olivier did a masterful job.”
“I hope you will remember to rest whenever you feel the need,” Madame Colette told her. “There is no dessert so important that you must suffer to make it.”
Then, with a twinkle in her pretty green eyes, Madame Colette leaned toward us and whispered loudly, “Though Henri, of course, might disagree!”
We all shared a laugh then, and I found that the longer I was sitting with Madame Colette, the more reassured I felt. Mama was right, I thought. Madame Colette will look after us.
“It has come to my attention that there is a family, displaced by the flood, that needs a place to stay,” Madame Colette continued. “I know that we are filled to capacity already, but when I heard that there were children involved, I didn’t see how I could possibly refuse the request. I know that this will come as something of a shock, but I hope you will understand when I tell you that I think it would be best for them to move into the groundskeeper’s cottage.”
“Of course,” Mama said right away. “It is the perfect solution! The cottage will be just the thing for them. Oh, the poor dears—when I think about the children, struggling without a home of their own these past months!”
Madame Colette placed her smooth, white hand over Mama’s hand, neatly covering the scars and burns from all Mama’s years in the kitchen. “I know, Marie,” she said. “The situation tugs at my heart, as well. Thank you for being so understanding.”
“It is the only thing to do,” Mama said. “Camille and I need no special accommodations, madame. We are grateful just to be here.”
“Not nearly as grateful as we are to you,” Madame Colette said. I looked at her curiously. It seemed so strange that someone like Madame Colette could be grateful to us for anything—but that was just the sort of person she was, always considerate, always kind.
“Now, I’m sure you are wondering about your new lodgings,” Madame Colette continued. “I still need to give the matter some thought before I make a final decision, but you must trust me when I tell you not to worry. Henri and I shall always look out for you.”
“We will be fine wherever you see fit to move us, madame,” Mama said. “Camille and I will pack our belongings today.”
“You will have as much assistance as you require from the staff,” Madame Colette promised her. “I’ll make an announcement at lunch. Thank you again for your flexibility. I knew I could count on you both.”
Mama and I curtsied to her before we left the parlor. As soon as we were safely in the hall, I reached for her arm. “Oh, Mama—” I began.
She quickly shook her head, and I knew that she wanted me to be quiet until we returned to the kitchen. But what I had to say couldn’t wait.
“Can’t I tell her about your ankle?” I said in a whisper. “Please, Mama, all those stairs—”
“No, Camille. We will not make a bother of ourselves to the Rousseaus,” she replied in a hushed voice. “Madame Colette has told us not to worry; she has promised us that she will take care of us, and so we must follow her orders the same way we would if she asked us to make a crème brûlée or a tray of petits fours.”
I bowed my head. Mama was right, of course, and I was ashamed that I hadn’t realized that sooner.
“Chin up, my little butterfly,” Mama said as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “All shall be well.”
I wanted to believe her; truly, I did.
But that was easier said than done.
When it was time for the noonday meal, I took my place at the crowded table in the servants’ common room without any appetite. There was a tureen of creamy carrot soup and a loaf of crusty bread for us to share, but I didn’t think I could swallow a single bite. With so many guests staying in the servants’ quarters, we ate supper in shifts to make sure there was room for everyone at the table, but the midday meal was an exception in which all the servants ate together.
As promised, Madame Colette soon appeared in the doorway. We all stood up at once.
“Please, please, be seated,” she said warmly. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but I have an important announcement to make. Tomorrow we will be joined by a new family, who have endured months of hardship since the flood. They are Bernadette’s relations, and I know that we will all do our best to see that they feel welcome here.”
I looked over at Bernadette, along with the rest of the servants. She seemed positively gleeful to hear the news announced officially. The servants knew better than to grumble in front of Madame Colette and Bernadette, but I saw worried glances pass among several of them.
“Happily, I expect that this addition will help to lessen your workload—not increase it,” continued Madame Colette. “Bernadette’s cousin and his son will be taking on all groundskeeper responsibilities, while I am told that the wife is a fine cook who will be glad to oversee the preparation of meals for you and your families, freeing the kitchen staff so that they may return to their usual tasks.”
Now all eyes turned toward Mama and me. I’m sure they were all wondering the same thing: If a new groundskeeper had been hired, where would we go?
“Marie and Camille have graciously agreed to vacate the groundskeeper’s cottage first thing tomorrow morning to make room for our new arrivals,” Madame Colette said. “I trust that you will give them every assistance they require. To that end, Jacques and Maurice, I would ask you to move their personal belongs to the three unused rooms on the second floor of the West Wing. Josephine and Renée, please see that those rooms are aired out today. They shouldn’t need more than a light dusting to make them suitable.”
The second floor? I thought. Of the West Wing?
Surely I had misheard her.
Madame Colette hadn’t just announced that Mama and I would be moved to the second floor of Rousseau Manor.
Had she?
Such a thing would be impossible!
To live in Rousseau Manor! I thought, overcome with glee. On the second floor, no less! Why, the Rousseaus themselves had their private chambers on the second floor of the East Wing! It would feel like we were family!
Of course, that was a silly thought, and I immediately pushed it out of my mind. I was just a servant—just a servant’s daughter, really—and it was important for me to remember my place. But when I glanced around the table, I saw that Mama looked as amazed—and as astonished—as I felt. Just as quickly, though, Mama composed herself, sitting beside me as calm and collected as if Madame Colette had merely remarked on the weather. I quickly tried to follow her example. There would be plenty of time later to celebrate when I wrote all about it in my journal, when no one was watching.
At that moment, I had the most peculiar feeling that someone was watching me. I rubbed the back of my neck, which had gone all prickly and cold. My gaze traveled the length of the table until I saw her: Bernadette, staring directly at Mama and me, with a look of absolute loathing on her face. Our eyes met for the briefest instant—just long enough for me to see how dark hers had grown. A heavy feeling of unease settled over me.
Oh, no, I thought. What have I done now?
Jacques and Maurice arrived at our cottage before dawn the next morning so that they could move us into Rousseau Manor without disrupting Monsieur Henri and Madame Colette. Mama and I were dressed and ready, with our belongings packed into three small boxes and a carpetbag. Almost everything would stay in the cottage—the comfortable armchair where I loved to curl up with a book on rainy Sunday afternoons, the washstand with its porcelain bowl and pitcher, the heavy oaken table where Mama and I had shared so many breakfasts. All the other servants dined together in the common room, but since we were lucky enough to have our own kitchen in the cottage, Mama and I always rose early enough so that we could eat breakfast together in the mornings.
Our meals were plain, of course—boiled eggs or porridge—but those quiet moments with Mama, just the two of us, were something I would always treasure. Especially, I realized with a pang, since they were now a thing of the past. Without a kitchen in our new rooms, Mama and I would be eating all our meals with everyone else.
Shame, I thought to myself sternly. It is a privilege to move into Rousseau Manor. It is a privilege to be given three meals a day.
“Ready to go, Marie?” asked Maurice as he lifted the largest box.
“Yes, Maurice. Thank you so much,” Mama replied. “Camille and I are so grateful for your help!”
“I suppose these two boxes belong to you, Miss Fancy,” Jacques teased me as he lifted the smaller boxes, one on top of the other. My face started to grow hot. Jacques was the youngest footman. He’d been at Rousseau Manor for only six months. Most of the staff thought that he was friendly and fun; he was certainly the most popular of all the servants. But Jacques had a knack for teasing that always embarrassed me, as though he knew just what I was most sensitive about—or what was most likely to catch Mama’s attention. And sure enough, I caught a warning glance from her.
“Oh, Jacques, you mustn’t tease the poor girl,” she chided him. “Everyone can see that there’s nothing fancy about Camille.”
Jacques’s grin was full of mischief. “No, not in her dress, I suppose,” he agreed. “But by the way she talks, she belongs in the West Wing. Or at least she thinks she does!”
“That’s enough, now,” Maurice told him, but it was too late for me; I was already blushing miserably. Monsieur Henri and Madame Colette had shown me so much favor over the years that I really did speak more like them than the other servants—especially since they had arranged for a private tutor to come to the house twice a week to instruct me in writing, grammar, arithmetic, and manners. When my lessons began, Mama had warned me about this very thing. She had said that if I wasn’t careful, people might think I was putting on airs. Remembering to speak one way for the Rousseaus and my tutor and another way for my fellow servants was a challenge, even after years of practice. But it was clear from what Maurice was saying that I had to try harder. It simply wasn’t right for me to give off the impression that I think I am above any of the other servants. I know I’m not.
I snapped out of my thoughts when I saw Mama lifting the carpetbag. “No, Mama. Let me carry it!” I exclaimed. Dr. Olivier had told her not to tax herself since her fall, but she was determined to do everything just as she had before.
“All right, Camille,” Mama said. Then she leaned close to my head and whispered, “Pay no mind to Jacques’s little jokes.”
I smiled at her in response as we followed Maurice and Jacques into the dawn. I paused, just briefly, to look over my shoulder one last time at the little cottage. It had been home for so long, but by tomorrow a new family would be living there. I hope they love it as much as Mama and I did, I thought.
Then I turned around to face Rousseau Manor—and our future! Ever since Madame Colette’s announcement, I had longed to sneak into the West Wing to see our new rooms for myself. But I knew better than to do that, especially with the housemaids preparing them. I would hate for anyone to think that I was gloating about our wonderful new situation. So instead I had busied myself in the cottage, daydreaming about what our new rooms might be like while I packed all our belongings so that Mama could finish making the croquembouche.
There was already a tremendous bustle downstairs at Rousseau Manor; the kitchen staff was hard at work preparing breakfast while the housemaids began their daily tasks. But upstairs, Madame Colette and Monsieur Henri were still in bed; it was as silent as a tomb. We slipped up the servants’ staircase as quietly as we could, not wanting to disrupt their rest. The whole way, I tried to temper my expectations. These were spare rooms, little used and never needed. They were sure to be simple and plain.
But my imagination could never have prepared me for what I saw when Maurice opened the door.
“Do you need anything else?” Maurice whispered as he gently set our boxes in the entryway.
“No. Thank you very much,” Mama said.
“See you downstairs, then,” he replied.
Jacques gave me a sly smile. “Enjoy your new lodgings, Miss Fancy,” he said in a low voice. Then he disappeared behind Maurice, and Mama quietly closed the door behind him.
“Oh, Mama!” I exclaimed in delight the moment we were alone. “It’s so—so—so—”
“I know,” she said as she reached out and hugged me.
“It’s so grand!” I cried as I ran from room to room. There were three rooms, just for us! We had our very own sitting room with a full set of comfortable furniture, and there was a large gray bedroom for Mama with a luxurious four-poster bed. And just beside it was a room for me. I knew it had to be mine, because there was a darling plush bear perched on the bed, as if he were trying to welcome me to my new room. Madame Colette was always spoiling me!
I rushed over to the bear and gave him a hug. His arms and legs were jointed so that it almost seemed as if he could hug me back! And his velvety fur felt so real and soft.
“Mama, can you believe it?” I marveled. “My very own bear! It’s too much. All of it is too much!”
When she didn’t answer, I ventured into the gray room, where I saw Mama trying on a smart new hat. So Madame Colette had left a welcoming present for her, too!
“What a beautiful hat,” I said. “Oh, Mama, you look so elegant!”
Mama smiled at me in the mirror. “We are very fortunate to work for such a generous family,” she said. “You must write a thank-you note today—even before you unpack.”
“Of course,” I replied.
Mama glanced at the ticking clock on the table. “We should go downstairs for breakfast with the others,” she said. “We don’t want to be late. But afterward, Camille, you may spend the morning up here.”
“Don’t you need my help in the kitchen?” I asked.
“No, not today, dear one,” Mama replied. “After such a rich dessert last night, I think that Monsieur Henri and Madame Colette will favor something lighter—and easier to prepare!”
The servants’ breakfast was far more rushed than I expected. Of course, the servants never dawdled over leisurely meals; but by the time they ate dinner, they were usually relaxed enough to enjoy a bit of chatting while they ate. At breakfast, though, everyone gulped down their coffee and porridge as if they were in a race. People came and went from the table, too, leaving abruptly as soon as they’d finished. It was easy to imagine that we were strangers in a restaurant or at a busy train station, instead of familiar people eating together at a common table.
As a result, I was back in our new rooms in no time; in fact, it felt as if I had hardly left. The very first thing I did was find my writing paper, ink pot, and pen. I had a fine blotter for my desk—Monsieur Henri had picked it out himself in Paris when I began my lessons—and I always took extra care so that I wouldn’t spill the bottle of India ink he’d given me. When I sat down to write my thank-you note, the words poured out of me. I was so grateful to Madame Colette that I had no trouble thinking of what to say!
When I finished my note, I set it aside so that the ink could dry without being smudged. I still felt like writing, though, and I’d packed my journal in the same box. I’ll just write a page, I thought as I reached for it. Two at the most.
Then I stopped myself. Wouldn’t Mama be pleased to return this evening and find that everything had been unpacked? I thought. What a wonderful surprise that would be!
After all, I could always write in my journal later. But getting our rooms entirely ready so that Mama could sit and rest when she finished in the kitchen would have to come first.
I decided to start in the gray room that belonged to Mama. Madame Colette had seen to it that Mama would have everything she needed in her new room: There was a comfortable bed and a nightstand, a dresser with a shiny mirror hanging over it, a coatrac
k, and a hat rack. I opened the carpetbag to unpack Mama’s clothes. She didn’t have much—a spare work dress, a Sunday dress, and a coat. Three extra aprons, two nightgowns, and her underclothes. I had them put away in no time.
On Mama’s dresser, I carefully spread out the lace doily that Mama had tatted when she was a girl. Then I arranged the hairbrush that had belonged to her own mother alongside a packet of hairpins. Finally, I placed the photo of Mama and Papa from their wedding day. It was the only photo we had of Papa—which made it Mama’s most treasured possession.
It had been seven long years since Papa had died of influenza, but I could still remember so much about him—the way he let me help him in the gardens even though Mama protested that the sun-drenched work would give me freckles (she was right). The way he carried me on his shoulders when my little legs grew too tired to walk. The way Mama and I laughed as we plucked grass clippings from his fine blond hair before we all sat down to supper. Mama’s hair was even lighter than his, the color of wheat just as it begins to turn golden at the height of summer. In the photo, they looked so young and so much in love. How cruel that Papa had died just five years later.
I returned the photo to its special place and took a long look around Mama’s room. Then, satisfied that it was ready for her, I went to my own room to unpack. It seemed dreadfully unfair that I should have so many more belongings than Mama, but the truth was that Madame Colette and Monsieur Henri spoiled me terribly. Monsieur Henri always remembered me when he traveled, returning with sweets and picture postcards and scenes for my stereoscope. I even had a globe of the world that spun around with just a flick of my finger—and now my very own bear!
By the time I had finished arranging my room, though, it was nearly lunchtime. Even though I longed to write in my journal, it would simply have to wait—because there was nothing that could stand in my way when it came to Tuesday luncheons!