“I can trim the threads and rebind the cuff for you in a trice, monsieur.” It was a pity she couldn’t take longer at the task or contrive a reason to have him return, but it violated her sense of industry to take longer at a task than she had to—or to keep a customer waiting more than necessary.
“Would you mind if I wait then?” Gabrielle thought she saw a spark of hope in Monsieur Savard’s eyes, but convinced herself it was of her own invention.
“Of course you may.” Gabrielle gestured to the seat next to the one she preferred and selected the closest matching thread for the breeches from her stores.
They sat in silence as she repaired the cuff, Gabrielle trying not to be unnerved as he watched her stitch. A half dozen times she tried to start up a conversation, but stopped the words before they plunged off her tongue. He’s educated, well traveled, refined. Nothing I have to say would interest him.
His throat cleared and she looked up from the brown silk. Say something, please. She met his eyes for a few moments, but he didn’t open up the gates of conversation.
“Does this meet with your approval, monsieur?” The cuff was repaired and there was no sense in dragging out the uncomfortable silence any longer.
“It’s sturdier than when I bought it, madame. You’re as skilled a seamstress as ever I’ve seen.” His fingers traced the minuscule stitches against the fine fabric, eyeing them with genuine appreciation.
“Thank you, monsieur. It’s always a little thrill to work on good fabrics.” And he couldn’t care less about what fabrics you enjoy sewing on, you fool.
“I can imagine. Like a carpenter who comes across a stock of fine mahogany when he must so often craft his goods from soft pine.” The deputy placed his carefully folded breeches back in his satchel but made no move to leave the shop.
“Well said, monsieur. For a man born to your sphere, you seem to understand the heart of the craftsman.”
“I do try to. As the governor’s interests in commerce are keen, it’s my duty to understand it as best I can.” Business, Gabrielle. It’s not about you.
“Of course.” Gabrielle stood, replaced her thread in its case, and took back up the chemise she’d put aside.
“I must confess, Madame Patenaude, the mending wasn’t the chief reason for my visit this afternoon.”
Gabrielle could feel the blood rushing in her ears. What could he possibly want? A new suit? Perhaps he wants to surprise his wife with a gown. . . . It must be something of that nature.
“Seigneur Robichaux is having a small party at his home in a few days. The governor is the guest of honor and so I’ll be in attendance. I was hoping you might have been invited as well.”
“I’m sorry, Monsieur Savard, but while I’m friendly with Madame Robichaux, I’m not exactly part of the same social circle.” She looked down briefly at her plain dress and smudged apron. Me? Dine with the governor? Perhaps he’s a bit addled by the aroma of the spring wildflowers in the air.
“You must think our settlement grand indeed if you think there is more than one social circle.” Claudine’s voice tinkled with laughter from the entrance of the shop.
“I didn’t hear you enter, Claudine—Madame Robichaux,” Gabrielle said, correcting herself for the deputy’s benefit.
“Claudine as always,” Claudine responded, scoffing at the formality as she set her basket of mending on Gabrielle’s workbench. “And of course you should come. It was thoughtless of me not to include you.”
“Very well.” Gabrielle drew in her breath and forced herself not to scold Claudine in front of the deputy.
“Wonderful. Madame Savard is in Trois-Rivières visiting friends and I was worried I might feel out of place, so to speak.” Savard looked anxiously at the door and his usually confident demeanor seemed ruffled. Claudine’s presence, perhaps? But he is used to socializing with people of her rank.
“I’ll be sure to seat our Madame Patenaude next to you at dinner, monsieur.” Claudine smiled graciously. “We want you to have a pleasant evening, naturally.”
“How terribly kind of you. I’ll be looking forward to it.” He bowed slightly with a harried “Mesdames” as he left the shop.
“Madame Robichaux? Really, Gabrielle? When have you ever referred to me as madame?” Claudine set to work unfolding her mending.
“You’ve only been married a few months; I haven’t much had the chance to use the title. I supposed you’d prefer it when we were in the company of the deputy.” Gabrielle looked over Claudine’s shoulder to inspect the job in store for her. A couple of torn hems and some missing buttons. Quick work.
“Nonsense. Perhaps in the presence of the governor himself at a formal function, just as I would call you Madame Patenaude.”
“Lord, how I loathe being called that. If only I could take back Giroux. At least my brother brings happy associations with the name if my father didn’t.”
Claudine rubbed Gabrielle’s arm, her eyes wide with sympathy. “With any luck, you’ll cast off the name Patenaude when you find someone new. Someone worthy.”
“I’m not sure I want to marry again.” Gabrielle busied her hands with a bodice whose boning needed to be re-cased. She couldn’t bear to see the judgment on Claudine’s face.
“I can imagine you wouldn’t.” Claudine tucked some coins into the tin where Gabrielle kept her payments. Claudine always overpaid and would never allow her to return the overage. Gabrielle had stopped trying to persuade Claudine to pay what she charged everyone else. The truth was that she couldn’t afford to refuse her generosity.
“You—you needn’t have invited me. If it was just to please the deputy, I can come up with an excuse if you like.”
“Nonsense. I’m only ashamed at myself for not having thought to invite you.” Claudine gathered up her basket and checked her reflection fleetingly in Gabrielle’s small mirror. “We’d love to have you.”
“I’m the widow of a poor fur trapper. I have no business at a dinner with the governor,” Gabrielle said. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“I’m the daughter of a farmer whose land was depleted and only has a roof over his head because my brother-in-law was good enough to save us all from starving.” Claudine placed both her hands on Gabrielle’s shoulders, forcing her away from tidying the already-immaculate workbench. “I’m no grander than you, no matter whom I married or what idiocy I said in the past.”
After Claudine took her leave, Gabrielle sat down with the frayed bodice in hand and resumed her work. She wanted to believe Claudine’s pronouncement, but couldn’t bring herself to own it. Claudine was a lady now with fine things, a solid stone house, a staff, and a doting husband. She’d announce her pregnancy any day and the town would celebrate for them. No one, save the Beaumonts and their inner circle, would have noticed if Gabrielle had died alongside her husband.
* * *
By the time Claudine had her stuffed into a corset, dressed, powdered, and fitted with shoes that pinched her feet, Gabrielle was ready to crawl into the warmth of her bed and hide from the world for a week.
“I look ridiculous.” Gabrielle studied her reflection and sighed. I don’t know who that woman is or if I want anything to do with her. The ivory gown she had borrowed from Claudine was so delicate, the golden embroidery so fine, Gabrielle was certain she would spoil the dress simply by breathing.
“You speak nonsense. You look beautiful.” Manon kissed her cheek and patted Gabrielle’s tamed curls.
“Indeed. It’s quite bad taste to look better than the hostess, you know, but I suppose I can ignore it this once. We old matrons can’t hope to compete with the lovely unmarried ladies like yourself.” Claudine pinched Gabrielle’s arm playfully. “Madame Savard will have to be careful or the deputy will be swept away by your charms.”
Gabrielle felt herself choke as if a breath had caught sideways in her throat, though the flippant remark was made with the obvious twinkle of mirth in Claudine’s brown eyes. It was a harmless jest, but it wouldn’t be harmless i
f it fell on the wrong ears.
“Don’t say such things.” Gabrielle swallowed, forcing the air back into her lungs.
“She’s right, Claudine, she’s nervous enough as it is. Don’t tease.” Manon, beautifully dressed and hair styled in an elaborate knot, looked at herself in the mirror and sighed at the reflection. “I can’t say I love these dinners any more than you do, but with Pascal’s position, I can’t very well refuse.”
“I expect not,” Gabrielle mumbled, turning away from the mirror. “Are you sure people won’t think me ridiculous? I’m a seamstress. I have no reason to be here.”
“Yes, you do. I invited you. Now enough balking and let’s go downstairs before Laurent sees us all flogged for leaving him alone in company. There’s nothing he hates more.”
Chuckling at the preposterous notion that the kindly Seigneur Robichaux would ever threaten violence, the three women were able to descend with ready smiles for the assembly. The guests had congregated downstairs, sipping champagne. From the landing, their chatter might sound like the shrill chirping of birds as their words bounced off the hardwood of the floors and walls. The candlelight cast a welcoming glow over the foyer that prevented even Gabrielle from feeling completely ill at ease.
“Deputy Savard, we knew you were counting on our enchanting Madame Patenaude to keep you company this evening as your lovely bride is out of town. You’ll promise to take good care of her for me tonight, won’t you?” Claudine all but purred like a well-fed barn cat as she passed Gabrielle over to the deputy.
“ ‘Enchanting’ is the precise word I would use, Madame Robichaux. I shall, to the best of my ability.”
As she was the sister of the best hostess in all of New France, Claudine’s efforts could be no less than exemplary. Platters with delicately prepared pigeon haloed by sprigs of dried herbs . . . mounds of golden rice . . . an array of vegetables such as Gabrielle had never seen. Deputy Savard kept up a flow of charming conversation as course after course was presented in a perfectly choreographed dance by an impeccably trained wait staff. Servants from the Robichaux and Lefebvre households worked along with a few more engaged especially for the evening. The temporary staff hoped to gain notice of the families and to land a regular place in one of their households. It was steady, well-paid work. More dependable income than farming. Gabrielle could see the appeal, and couldn’t help but notice the barely concealed nerves of a few. Their families had likely instilled in them the importance of the opportunity before them, and they were desperate to impress.
“Ah, your friend has paid a king’s ransom for this meal’s capstone,” Deputy Savard proclaimed as the waiters sashayed about with the silver trays laden with delicate glass goblets filled with what appeared to be a pudding or sweet cream of sorts. His eyes sparkled in anticipation, but Gabrielle looked askance at the foamy concoction placed before her.
“I’ve never seen a brown pudding before,” Gabrielle confessed, eyeing the dessert with distrust, waiting for the others to sample the dish before she did.
“You wouldn’t have, as you were born here,” the deputy explained. “I expect the governor gave this supply of chocolate to the Robichauxes himself. It’s worth more than its weight in gold, especially overseas.”
“So this is chocolate. Elisabeth has described it so many times; I thought I would recognize it. She never described the color.... I expected it to shimmer. When she spoke of the taste I always imagined pink silk.”
“You’ve the heart of a seamstress, despite your training as a baker. But ignore its drab color and appreciate the taste, my dear Madame Patenaude. You won’t be disappointed.”
Not wanting to affront the deputy or her hostess, Gabrielle dipped her small spoon into the sugary brown foam, took a minuscule dollop on the end of it, and placed it to her lips. Bitter yet sweet, the texture was somehow creamy, yet lighter than air, having been whipped into a frothy cloud by an expert chef. She took pains to remember every detail of the confection; Elisabeth would want a full account of it.
“Your thoughts, madame? You look like a woman falling in love.”
Gabrielle felt the heat rise to her cheeks. The mousse, you fool.
“I-It’s remarkable, monsieur. Truly,” Gabrielle stammered.
The deputy seemed to recognize her momentary misinterpretation, the color in his face rising to match her own. “You will make a young man very happy one day, as I am sure Monsieur Patenaude was.”
Gabrielle forced the sip of sweet wine to descend her throat without sputtering. It had been weeks since she’d given her late husband a lucid thought outside of her nightmares. Does that make me a bad person? A bad wife, surely, not to mourn for a husband, no matter how cruel. I would much rather spend my time thinking about your blond curls and blue eyes, but of course that would be wicked.
“I cannot speak for the dead, Deputy Savard, but I genuinely hope I gave him happiness in the short time we were married.” Gabrielle did not look the deputy in the face, but took another spoonful of the decadent mousse. It’s too dear to waste, and I may never have the chance to sample it again.
“How thoughtless of me. I am sure the mention of your late husband is still very painful. Forgive my lapse in tact, please.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, monsieur le député. You find me in a pensive mood this evening.” Gabrielle looked at him and gave him a smile that went only as deep as her lips.
“Then I am remiss in my duty to you as a companion this evening. On a night such as this, one’s thoughts should be of naught but the fine food, the pleasant company, and of course the dancing.”
Dancing. The strains of the music wafted into the dining room like the enticing aroma of the roasted chickens coming from the kitchen. The blood drained completely from Gabrielle’s face and she looked for Claudine or Manon to help her make an exit.
The deputy stood and, offering Gabrielle his hand, said, “Come, let us dance away those sobering thoughts of yours.”
Gabrielle accepted his hand, but took a step back once she found her feet. “I’m terribly sorry, Monsieur Savard, but I don’t dance.”
“Nonsense, there’s nothing to it. Just follow my lead and listen to the music.” He smiled broadly, his eyes danced. She could not refuse him.
She nodded her assent and he led her to the dance floor, where they joined seven or eight other couples who had already begun twirling in time with the music.
“Just breathe and look into my eyes. Don’t worry about your feet.” He took her in his arms expertly and she found immediately that he was right. All that mattered was his arms and the music. All else had vanished.
“You truly are enchanting, Madame Patenaude.” Savard murmured his words a little too close to her ear to be completely decorous. She thought for a moment she’d felt his soft lips brush against her skin, but dismissed it as her imagination. A married man would not be so bold. Not in public.
“As are you, I’m afraid,” Gabrielle whispered at a slightly greater distance.
“Afraid? Do I frighten you, madame?” There was a twinkle of mischief in Savard’s eye that made Gabrielle’s heart stir. She’d never seen the slightest glimmer of mirth in Patenaude.
“More than I should let on, monsieur,” Gabrielle said, her green eyes wide with sincerity.
CHAPTER 27
Claudine
July 1679
“The green suits you beautifully, but I’m not sure if the reddish-pink isn’t better with your skin.” Gabrielle held the fabric up to Claudine’s face, alternating between the two shades of precious silk that Laurent had procured. She’d been given first choice of the lot, but the rest would be sold to the other ladies of standing in the settlement. She wouldn’t need more than one fine gown that year and the other women would never speak to her if she monopolized such a fine shipment. Claudine had come to admit that she preferred her woolen jackets and sturdy skirts to the frills of evening wear most days. Still, it was always a joy to know she had a few delicate pieces when th
e need arose.
And it’s not like the wool I wear is the coarse homespun I wore as a child, either. A little money can procure much softer stuff. She looked over at the lovely length of navy blue wool that Laurent had secured for her jacket and skirt for cold weather. Though the July sun warmed her now, there was comfort to know that she’d have new, warm clothes for winter.
“The pink,” Claudine agreed. “If the green were darker, I wouldn’t be able to resist, but the soft green would much better suit someone fairer. Like Elisabeth or you.”
Gabrielle bit her lip as she set the green silk back in a lined basket with the same care she’d use for an infant. “I don’t think Elisabeth or I have any call for a silk gown, but thank you for the compliment.”
Neither the occasion nor the means, you thoughtless ninny.
“It’s a shame, really.” Claudine decided that apologizing might only make her blunder worse. “Your lovely red hair begs for a green dress. You looked so beautiful dressed up for the ball.”
Gabrielle proceeded without acknowledging Claudine’s words and draped the silk artfully over Claudine’s frame. “To get a feel for the fabric, to see how the sheen catches the light. How it wants to drape and fold,” Gabrielle had once explained, speaking as though the fabric were a living thing. Claudine had once thought the process of dressmaking dull and mindless work. A few hours paying attention to Gabrielle and her craft cured her of any delusion that her friend was anything less than an artist. After a quarter of an hour, Gabrielle seemed satisfied and placed the silk in the basket she designated for Claudine’s projects and mending.
“Nicole will want the yellow, I’m certain of it,” Claudine said as she looked over the selection, careful not to soil the delicate fabrics with the oils from her fingers. “She was to have been here more than a half hour ago. It’s not like her to be late.”
“No, it isn’t,” Gabrielle said, her brow furrowed. Almost as soon as Gabrielle spoke, Nicole emerged into the shop, Pascal hard on her heels.
“Gabrielle, I’m afraid I can’t stay for a fitting.” Nicole gasped her words, panting like she’d run from the Lefebvre house all the way to the shop in the hot July sun. “Papa is ill, Claudine. Stay here if you wish, but Maman asked Pascal to fetch me. She says she won’t leave him.”
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