The Chateau on the Lake

by Charlotte Betts

  I’d made the effort to attend Georgiana’s salon but the political discussions failed to engage me. I’d looked for Mr d’Aubery to thank him for his kindness to me at Mama’s funeral but there was no sign of him. Sophie, her eyes sparkling and her complexion positively glowing, was so entirely taken up by flirting with Mr Fielding that I became quite out of temper and left early, alone.

  One of my pupils drops her book with a thud and I’m startled out of my reverie. I pull my thoughts back to matters in hand and ask Clarissa Gardiner to recite the poem she has supposedly been learning.

  At last the bell rings and I’m thankful that lessons are over for the day.

  I’m crossing the hall after the girls have all gone when Mr Jephcott calls me into Papa’s library. Mrs Jephcott smiles briefly at me from her seat beside the window.

  ‘Ah, Madeleine,’ he says. ‘As a courtesy I thought it time to appraise you of the changes I’m about to instigate in the Academy.’ He peers at me over the top of his glasses.

  It’s strange to see this portly little person seated behind the desk, instead of Papa’s lithe figure. ‘Changes?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course there must be changes,’ he says, a trifle impatiently. ‘I’ve discussed the sad situation of your parents’ passing with the landlord and he is happy for me to take over the rent payments from the next quarter day. Additionally, my purchase of the adjacent property is now complete.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ I say, even though I find it hard to be excited by it.

  ‘So at last we can move forward with the improvements,’ says Mrs Jephcott.

  ‘As you’ll be aware,’ says Mr Jephcott, unrolling a large drawing, ‘I’ve been in consultation with an architect who has produced plans of the new arrangements.’ He beckons me closer and Mrs Jephcott comes to join us.

  ‘There will be new openings here between the two buildings on all four floors,’ he says. ‘The greater space will allow not only for additional classrooms on the ground and first floors but also for dormitories. The kitchens in the basement will be enlarged to serve the girls’ dining room, which will be here.’

  ‘In our drawing room?’

  ‘There’s no need for a drawing room in this side of the house any more since Mrs Jephcott, Lydia and I will have our own spacious private quarters in the new house.’

  ‘I see.’ And where am I to sit in the evenings? I wonder. ‘And the new dormitories?’ I ask.

  Mrs Jephcott points to the second-floor plan. ‘All these large bedrooms on the second floor will comfortably house six girls each.’

  ‘But this one is my own room,’ I say. A flicker of fear or anger, I know not which, kindles in my breast.

  Mr Jephcott smiles. ‘We can charge parents extra for those whose daughters would like a view overlooking Soho Square.’

  ‘So where do you intend me to sleep?’

  ‘The attics will provide a dormitory for twelve of the younger girls and further dormitories for staff and servants. We might squeeze in a partition to allow you some privacy, in respect of your former privileged position with the school.’

  ‘I imagine you would prefer a room of your own, however small?’ says Mrs Jephcott.

  ‘So I’m to be relegated to a poky cupboard in the attics?’ Outrage makes my hands and voice tremble.

  ‘Madeleine, dear,’ says Mrs Jephcott, a steely glint in her eye, ‘you must see that Mr Jephcott will be put to a great deal of expense to make these improvements? It’s essential that we use the space economically and make provision for as many girls as possible to bring in the necessary income. Your own salary depends upon it.’

  I clench my fists and fix Mr Jephcott with a baleful glare. ‘And do I have no say in how matters will be arranged?’

  ‘Your teaching skills are known and acknowledged,’ he says, ‘and we would, of course, be very sorry to lose you.’

  I hear the implied threat in his words and a wave of fear overwhelms my righteous anger, forcing me to drop my gaze. There is nowhere else for me to go.

  Mrs Jephcott sighs. ‘I do hope you aren’t going to be awkward, Madeleine. Changes are often difficult to accept at first but it’s necessary to do what is required for the greater good.’

  I’m too furious and unhappy to answer. I leave the room before I say something I may regret.

  The proposed building works commence and before long there is enough banging and hammering all day to wake the devil. Sometimes I have to shout over the noise to make myself heard in the classrooms. As I walk downstairs one day, I find two workmen carrying Mama’s favourite chaise-longue out of the drawing room.

  ‘Where are you going with that?’ I demand. I glance through the doorway and see that the carpet is being rolled up too.

  ‘Mrs Jephcott’s orders,’ says one of the men. ‘We’re to strip this room and take the furniture to their new apartments. Excuse me, miss, but we’ve got a job of work to do.’

  I retreat to my bedroom and weep, wondering how long it will be before I lose that too. I’m powerless to fight against the implacable Jephcotts.

  I call upon Sophie several times in the ensuing weeks but rarely find her at home. My loneliness and despair mount and, if I had hoped to find solace in friendship with Lydia, I have been disappointed. One Saturday in November I make another overture towards her.

  ‘It’s a perfect day for a ride in Rotten Row,’ I say. ‘Will you come with me, Lydia?’

  She bites her lip and looks away. I know already that she’ll refuse.

  ‘Why do you always rebuff me?’ I ask.

  Shrugging, she looks at her feet.

  ‘Please tell me!’ My feelings are hurt.

  ‘I can’t,’ she mumbles.

  ‘Have I offended you?’

  Lydia sighs. ‘I can’t look at you without remembering that terrible night when your father died. I want to put it all behind me. I’m sorry, Madeleine, but it’s too uncomfortable for me to be your friend.’

  Feeling miserable, I retire to my lonely bedroom. I must face up to the fact that there is no comfortable position for me in the school any more. I twist my father’s ring around my finger, losing myself in the changing colours of the luminous depths of the moonstone. It used to be said that anyone who looked deep into a moonstone could see into the future but I’m not sure I want to know what is going to happen to me. I do know there must be change ahead.

  The change, when it arrives in early-December, comes in an entirely unexpected way, in the form of a letter. I remove the wax seal and unfold it. It’s a response to Mama’s letter that I posted to her lawyer, Mr Thimbleby.

  Dear Miss Moreau,

  May I offer my sincere condolences for your recent tragic losses? During her last illness your mother, the late Mrs Caroline Moreau, asked me to write to you and explain certain circumstances.

  Upon the death of her parents, Mrs Moreau received an inheritance, which your father did not wish her to accept. The funds were therefore invested for you, to be made available for such time as you might have need of them. My client’s instructions were for ourselves to release some of the trust funds to you immediately. You may find it reassuring to know that there is a sum available to you that is sufficient, if you live frugally, to allow you a modicum of comfort for the next few years.

  Furthermore, when you attain the age of five and twenty you will inherit your grandfather’s home, Maitland Hall. In the meantime, the property is tenanted and the income invested with the remainder of your grandfather’s estate. These funds will in due course allow you to maintain Maitland Hall and enjoy a life of ease.

  Arrangements have been set in train for you to collect an allowance from the Mercantile Bank in Threadneedle Street. Please do not hesitate to write to me should you require further advice.

  I remain your obedient servant,

  Josiah Thimbleby

  Carefully, I fold the letter and put it away in my pocket, only to take it out and read it again a few minutes later. Nothing can bring back my be
loved parents but at least this legacy will bring me a measure of independence. All at once a tiny bubble of hope begins to swell inside me and I long to share it with the only person I know who will be happy for me.

  Ten minutes later I’m buttoning my coat against the chill winter air and hurrying towards Sophie’s house, hoping that for once she will be at home.

  It seems that my wish is to be granted. However, when I’m admitted to the drawing room, I’m shocked to see that one of her eyelids is purple and swollen and there’s a cut on her cheek.

  I turn her face to look at her bruises in the light. ‘Sophie, what happened? Was it Charles?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to talk about it,’ she says.

  ‘But…’

  ‘It’s only been once this week. It’s just that he caught my face this time.’

  ‘Can’t you tell your father?’

  ‘I have,’ she says brusquely. ‘He tells me I should practise being a better wife.’

  I’m appalled that Charles Levesque beats his wife and there is nothing in law that she can do.

  ‘Never mind that. I have something to show you.’ Sophie takes me by the hand upstairs to her bedroom and points to the large painting hanging over the bed. ‘What do you think?’

  I draw in my breath. I have to admit that Jack Fielding has talent. His portrait of Sophie shows her languorously reclining on a chaise-longue, her form draped in almost transparent gauze. He’s captured her mischievous expression and enigmatic smile but also imbued her with a brooding sensuality.

  ‘It’s wonderful! You look…’

  Sophie smiles faintly. ‘Charles says it makes me look wanton and wouldn’t let me hang it downstairs.’

  Privately I agree with him.

  We return to the drawing room and after Sophie has called for tea I tell her my own news. ‘So now that I have an income,’ I say, barely able to take my gaze off her bruised face, ‘I thought we might go on a trip together. We’ll take Henry with us and go to Bath, to drink the waters and visit the Assembly Rooms.’

  The smile fades from Sophie’s face. ‘Ordinarily I’d be delighted but my diary is too full for me to leave town at present. I’m so sorry, Maddy.’

  ‘I can’t go unaccompanied.’

  ‘And I’ve neglected you shamefully of late, haven’t I? Perhaps Lydia would go with you?’

  I shake my head. ‘Sophie, I’m so miserable, I can’t stay at Soho Square much longer!’

  She bites her lip but still doesn’t offer to accompany me to Bath. I try not to let my disappointment show but my pleasure at the exciting news has faded.

  It is a few days before Christmas and the Academy is closed. The rain has pelted down all day and I have no inclination to walk through the downpour to visit Georgiana’s salon. Instead, I remain by the fire in my bedroom since I cannot intrude upon the Jephcotts in their new apartment. I stare into the flames, wondering if I should leave the school and rent a room somewhere, but such a course of action would do my reputation no good. In three years I shall have more independence but how am I to endure living with the Jephcotts until I inherit Maitland Hall? Sighing, I pick up my book.

  I’m dozing over Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France when I hear the grandfather clock strike eleven and then a carriage draws up outside in the street. Within a few moments I hear a staccato knock on the front door.

  Curious, I go downstairs and see that Sarah has opened the door to a visitor.

  ‘Mr d’Aubery!’ I say. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

  ‘I apologise for arriving at such a late hour but it’s Mrs Levesque.’ Rainwater drips off his hat and on to the floor.

  ‘What has happened?’ I ask, alarmed.

  Mr d’Aubery hurries outside again and returns a moment later carrying Sophie in his arms. Silently, he places her on the hall chair and wipes raindrops from his eyes.

  ‘Sophie, what is it?’ I’m distressed to see that her face is contorted by sobs and she’s quite unable to respond to my question.

  ‘Perhaps it would be advisable to put Mrs Levesque to bed?’ says Mr d’Aubery.

  I can only agree. ‘Sarah, bring a hot brick and a clean nightdress to my bedroom.’ I attempt to pull Sophie to her feet but she’s half-fainting from exhaustion.

  ‘Permit me,’ says Mr d’Aubery. He swings her into his arms as if she were no heavier than a child and makes for the stairs.

  Once he has deposited Sophie upon the bed in my room he retreats and I peel off her damp clothing. Aghast, I study the livid bruising on her arms and stomach.

  Her eyes are shocked and her mouth trembles so much that I don’t ask her if her husband has done this.

  Sarah brings towels, one of my nightgowns and hot bricks wrapped in flannel. I rub Sophie dry and slip the nightgown over her head. Once she’s in bed and the blankets are tucked under her chin, she closes her eyes and a moment later she’s asleep.

  Downstairs, Mr d’Aubery is in the library with Mr and Mrs Jephcott.

  ‘Mr d’Aubery, please tell me what has happened,’ I say.

  ‘Mr d’Aubery found your friend in a distressed state,’ Mrs Jephcott intervenes, lips tight with disapproval.

  ‘She’s overwrought so I’ve put her to bed.’

  ‘This is a disgraceful state of affairs,’ says Mr Jephcott, ‘and I sincerely hope none of the pupils’ parents come to hear of it. You will remove Mrs Levesque from my school first thing in the morning and she will not be admitted here again.’

  My school, he’d said! Hatred washes over me in a scarlet tide.

  ‘It’s late,’ says Mr d’Aubery, standing up and saving me from making an unseemly and unprofitable outburst.

  ‘I shall see Mr d’Aubery out,’ I tell the Jephcotts through gritted teeth.

  ‘What really happened?’ I ask as soon as the library door closes behind us.

  Mr d’Aubery shrugs. ‘I was at Lady Woodhouse’s salon this evening when I saw Mrs Levesque talking to Mr Fielding. The tone of the conversation was… heated. I thought nothing of it at the time but later, when I left the house, I found your friend collapsed against the railings along the street. I went to assist her but she talked so wildly of drowning herself in the river that I dared not leave her.’

  ‘Oh, poor Sophie! And thank you. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t rescued her.’

  ‘I shall call upon the Levesque household tonight to convey the news that she is safely in your care. A twisted ankle might suffice as a suitable excuse, I believe? Besides,’ says Mr d’Aubery, his mouth curving in an ironic smile, ‘I wish to avoid Levesque challenging me to a duel if he discovers I have run away with his wife.’

  Chapter 6

  The following morning when Sophie awakes she stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then sits up.

  ‘Oh, Madeleine!’ she says, eyes tragic. She covers her face with her hands. ‘I’ve been so foolish!’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It would never have happened if Charles weren’t so cruel…’

  ‘I saw your bruises.’

  ‘Madeleine, it’s unendurable! A few months ago I told him I knew about his mistress. Do you know what he said? “What business is it of yours?” And then yawned in my face. So I slapped him.’ The corners of Sophie’s mouth lift in a wan smile. ‘For one moment I felt so powerful. But then he began to hit me. Since then he beats me all the time for the slightest thing and I’m so frightened he’ll kill me.’

  A hot rush of anger races through my veins. Sophie’s position is even more intolerable than my own.

  ‘So when Jack Fielding began to flatter me I lapped it up,’ she continues. ‘He told me I was beautiful, and the way he looked at me made me feel beautiful. All those afternoons when he was painting my portrait his eyes ran over my skin like a warm caress.’ Her own eyes are defiant. ‘I fell in love with him, Maddy, and he said he loved me, too.’

  It’s worse than I had realised. ‘What does he think of the way Charles beats
you?’ I say carefully.

  She shrugs. ‘I think in some strange way it excites him.’

  ‘Does Charles know about Jack?’ Anxiety makes me bite my lip. If Charles Levesque knows, Sophie will certainly risk losing her son.

  But she shakes her head. ‘It would be certain death for me if he did.’

  ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘Yesterday I discovered from that odious gossip Mrs Hill that Charles has set up his mistress in a town house in King Street.’ Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. ‘Still, I didn’t care because I knew that Jack would be waiting for me at Georgiana’s salon last night. You see, we’d talked about running away to Italy and setting up home together.’

  ‘You hadn’t!’

  ‘I thought that if I took Henry, then I’d be free from Charles for ever.’

  ‘But you argued with Jack last night,’ I say, remembering what Mr d’Aubery told me.

  ‘I saw him flirting with Laetitia Bowes, persuading her to have her portrait painted. Hard words were exchanged between us. And then he told me he’d never loved me after all.’ Tears well up in Sophie’s brown eyes. ‘He laughed and said he’d never had any intention of running away with me. He said…’ She breaks off and gulps for breath. ‘He said he makes love to all the ladies he paints because then their skin glows and their eyes shine.’

  I rock her in my arms as she sobs, and reflect on the cruelty of men and the foolishness of women.

  ‘I’ll put your box here, miss.’ The workman hefts the box containing all my worldly possessions off his shoulder, crashes it to the bare floorboards. ‘Shall I close the door?’