by Anne Bennett
‘Go for the doctor and tell him it’s urgent,’ he said to Yvette, as he lifted Mariette in his arms. ‘And you,’ he said to Gabrielle, ‘come with me and attend to your mother.’
Gabrielle went gladly and she was sitting by Mariette’s side, wiping her face with tepid water, when the doctor, walked in. Dr Fournier was a replacement for Dr Gilbert, and a much older man. He knew little of the Jobert family, for they did not often need his service, but he was shocked at Mariette’s appearance. He guessed she had been ill for some time and she verified this as he examined her. She was very thin and he could feel the tumour in her stomach. When their eyes met Mariette said, ‘I thought it was indigestion at first, but then I knew.’ She shrugged and went on, ‘I nursed my mother with a growth like this. I hoped I was wrong.’
‘You have reached the crisis point,’ the doctor said gently. ‘I believe that it has ruptured inside you. Anyway, as you probably know, there is no cure.’
‘I know,’ Mariette said with a sigh. ‘I know what I face.’
‘I can keep the pain at bay.’
‘Well, I’ll be grateful for that,’ Mariette said. ‘My own mother suffered terribly towards the end. But I would like a little more time. Yvette is just a child yet and I would have liked to have seen Bridgette grow up.’ Her voice broke and tears seeped from between her lashes and she wiped them away impatiently. ‘This is not the time to cry,’ she said. ‘I imagine the girls will do enough of that, and I must be strong for them.’ She looked the doctor straight in the face and said, ‘I haven’t long, have I?’
‘It’s impossible to be specific.’
‘Come, come, Doctor, I am not a child,’ Mariette said sharply. ‘At this stage I deserve the truth, surely?’
‘You do, of course,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m sorry. In my opinion you have only weeks to live.’
‘Well, Easter is passed. Will I make it to Whitsun?’
The doctor avoided her eyes. ‘You may do.’
‘Look at me, Doctor,’ Mariette commanded. ‘You don’t think so, do you?’
The doctor shook his head sadly and said again, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you for your honesty, Doctor,’ Mariette said. ‘Will you tell the girls and Pierre for me? I don’t feel up to that yet.’
‘Of course,’ the doctor said. ‘And if one of the girls could come to the pharmacy later today I will have medication made up for you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. I will be glad of it.’
Gabrielle and Yvette were both distraught and stunned when the doctor told them they were soon to lose their mother, but when a weeping Gabrielle went to see her later, she knew that the doctor spoke the truth. She castigated herself for not noticing before that her mother was so ill, and now there was so little time left.
‘Oh, Maman,’ she cried, ‘I can hardly bear to lose you.’
Mariette’s eyes were very bright and she took Gabrielle’s face between her hands, and said, ‘You must bear it, ma petite, for I must. I am looking to you to care for Yvette and your father as well as Bridgette. It will be up to you now.’
‘I will look after them, Maman, don’t doubt it,’ Gabrielle said sadly. ‘But it is you that I will miss. Oh, Maman, I’m heartbroken.’
‘I too would like to have had longer,’ Mariette said.
Gabrielle heard the slur in her mother’s voice and guessed that that was probably the result of her medication, so she got to her feet. ‘Sleep now, Maman,’ she said, and she kissed her gently on her cheek as her eyes fluttered shut, and she turned the lamp down low as she left the room.
The whole ethos of the house changed with the illness of Mariette. Gabrielle knew that she would be bereft when her mother breathed her last, but she tried to lift the burden of sadness for the sake of her little daughter and her sister Yvette too, who was often awash with tears.
As the news filtered through the town, people came to offer not only their condolences but practical help too, though there was little that they could do. The priest called every few days as well, and he was deeply troubled to see how ill Mariette was.
Sometimes, Gabrielle sat with her mother, or read to her if she had the time to spare, or sometimes Yvette would do this. Mariette ate very little, and was sometimes sick, and had lost so much weight her cheeks were sunken, and her paper-thin skin was tightly stretched across the bones of her ashen face.
This was the Mariette Raoul and Bernadette saw when they had been summoned from Paris. They were shocked to the core, Bernadette dreadfully upset, and yet Gabrielle was glad they were there. Her uncle, she thought, was looking quite frail himself.
‘Has Uncle Raoul been unwell?’ she asked her aunt.
‘No, my dear. He’s just getting old, like the rest of us,’ Bernadette said. ‘And the winter was a hard one. If the next one is as bad, we might spend the worst of it with friends who moved out of Paris and are now living just outside Marseille. But that is a possibility only, and for the future. Just now our place is with you. You have a heavy load placed on your shoulders.’
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I know Maman has very little time left and it will break my heart when she dies.’
‘And mine,’ Bernadette said. ‘But you have looked after your mother so well, you will at least have nothing to reproach yourself for when the time comes.’
Pierre, on the other hand, thought that there was plenty for Gabrielle to feel guilty about.
That night he said to her, ‘I asked the doctor today what caused this disease that is eating away at your mother. He said there are many factors; that we all have the potential to have such a disease and anything could start it off. Some think even a shock or an upset might do it. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you hadn’t made your mother worse with the shock that you gave her when you said you were pregnant and with a soldier’s baby.’
The room was suddenly very still. Gabrielle was looking at her father with terrified eyes. Only Bridgette, in the highchair beside her mother, seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere and continued to bang her wooden spoon on the table. Pierre continued, ‘How does it feel to be responsible for your mother’s death?’
Bernadette and Raoul immediately leaped to their niece’s defence, ‘Don’t be silly,’ Bernadette said. ‘Mariette has suffered for years. Our mother had the same complaint.’
‘That’s right,’ Raoul said. ‘I remember that well. None of this can be blamed on Gabrielle.’
‘Well, I think it can,’ Pierre said firmly, and he turned to face his daughter. ‘You will die with your mother’s death on your conscience.’
Gabrielle said nothing. It was true her mother had had the condition for years, though it had just rumbled on, giving her pain now and again, and it might have gone on that way for years more.
She, however, remembered the look on her mother’s face when she had gone into the room after Bernadette had broken the news of her pregnancy. Maman had been more than upset—she had been distraught—and that shock to her system could have caused the tumour eventually to swell so much that it had ruptured inside her. Her father was right: she had made her mother’s condition worse, and she knew that she would blame herself to the day she died. First thing tomorrow, she vowed, she would beg her mother’s forgiveness.
However, Gabrielle was not able to do that. By morning Mariette had lapsed into a coma and she died three days later. Gabrielle was almost inconsolable, and also filled with guilt. She knew she should be caring for her woebegone sister and her bereaved aunt, but she was wearied by all she had to do and those dependent on her for emotional support.
The funeral was well attended, and Gabrielle was gratified to see how well liked her mother was. She got more than one glowering look from her father, but she was well able to cope with that and she was just glad that he didn’t blurt out that it had been her wickedness and the shock to her mother’s system that had shortened her life.
When she said this to Bernadette the morning she wa
s leaving, she took Gabrielle by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Listen to me, Gabrielle,’ she said. You are not responsible for what happened to your mother. Your father is not the only one to speak to the doctor and he told me that this had probably been festering for years and that this eruption could have happened any time. Your mother, my dear girl, was like a walking time bomb. Don’t let your father bully you or lay guilt upon you.’
‘Oh, Aunt Bernadette…’
‘Courage, my dear girl,’ she said, and she put her arms around Gabrielle. ‘If you want me, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you,’ Gabrielle said, but inwardly she sighed because she knew that she would miss her aunt and uncle greatly.
Gabrielle found that each day it seemed to get harder rather than easier to live without her mother, but her father gave her no time to grieve. He told her he had had enough of her lying around the house and she had to get back to the bakery and earn her keep. Gabrielle didn’t bother complaining: it would have done no good.
Bridgette had to come with her, strapped into the big pram with things to amuse her, but Pierre resented any time that she spent seeing to the child. She also undertook the bulk of the washing and cooking, and as the spring gave way to summer she felt very melancholy. The loss of her mother was like a big black hole in her life that seemed one long drudge, and all she saw ahead of her was more years of the same with nothing to look forward to.
Bridgette reached her first birthday and Gabrielle would have liked to mark it in some way. She risked her father’s displeasure by asking if he would bake the baby a small cake, but she got a curt refusal and as neither she or Yvette received wages there was nothing that they could do about it. Though there were cards and presents from Paris, the girls could provide little in the way of celebration in the bakery.
‘It won’t always be like this,’ Yvette told her crestfallen sister.
‘How will it be different?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘For you it may, because you’ll probably marry, but I never shall.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ Gabrielle said firmly. ‘Anyway, I could hardly leave Papa to fend for himself.’
‘There’s always Monsieur Legrand,’ Yvette said with an impish smile. ‘He can’t seem to keep his eyes off you.’
Yvette was right. The man was staring at her before and after Mass each Sunday in a way that was barely decent.
‘He is wasting his time,’ Gabrielle told her sister. ‘I gave my heart to Finn Sullivan. There’s nothing left for anyone else, and certainly not for Robert Legrand.’ She gave a slight shudder. ‘No, I could never marry a man like that.’
Six months after Mariette’s death, and a Sunday, Pierre faced his daughter over the dinner table and told her that Robert Legrand would be calling to see her that afternoon.
‘You remember that I spoke about it before? He has waited this long out of deference to your mother.’
Gabrielle stared at him. ‘But I told you then that I don’t wish to have anything to do with Robert Legrand—or anyone else either.’
‘Just who do you think you are that you can dictate to me?’ Pierre asked. ‘You will do as I say while you are living under my roof, or you and the brat can leave and just as soon as you want.’
Gabrielle looked at her father’s malevolent eyes and felt a cold shiver run all through her. She had never received a penny piece from him and everything she and the baby owned had been paid for by her father, often reluctantly, though he would not let either her or Bridgette go to Mass badly dressed, for that would reflect on him. But however was she to provide for herself and her child without money?
Her thoughts flew to her aunt in Paris, but just a couple of weeks before, she had written to say that Raoul had been taken to hospital and was seriously ill with pneumonia and she was very concerned about him.
Pierre watched his daughter’s face and knew she was thinking of alternatives. He also knew that there were none, and she would come to realise that eventually, and so he went on, ‘As the day is a fine one, you may walk out with him.’
Gabrielle knew there was no way to change her father’s mind once he decided something. He didn’t listen to any arguments. The only alternative that she could see was to agree to go out with Legrand, which would appease her father, and she would explain to her suitor that she could never love another man after Finn. Surely he would see her point of view. No man liked to be thought of as second-best, and so she nodded her head and said, ‘Very well then.’
Yvette was surprised by Gabrielle’s decision until she told her what her father had threatened. Then she understood her sister’s dilemma and readily agreed to look after Bridgette. Gabrielle waited for Legrand with her stomach knotted in apprehension and yet when he did arrive she was pleasantly surprised both by his smart appearance and his manner. She stopped only to kiss the baby in Yvette’s arms before stepping out into the street beside Robert. She didn’t object when he took her arm, though she was aware of the curious glances the two had from many of the townspeople.
‘Did you not see the people looking at us as we passed?’ Gabrielle asked as they reached the canal.
Legrand had been well aware of them, but he said, ‘What about them?’
‘It’s just that they assume, don’t they?’ Gabrielle said. ‘They’ll have us married off by the time we return.’
‘You could do worse,’ Legrand said.
Gabrielle was taken aback. ‘Robert, I—’
‘That can’t have come as a total surprise,’ Legrand said. ‘I had mentioned it to your father before, when your mother became ill that time.’
Gabrielle thought she had to put Robert right about the impossibility of her marrying him or anyone, but while she was still forming the words he spoke again.
‘I am most incredibly fond of you, Gabrielle and you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.’
Gabrielle, not used to such praise, coloured. ‘Please, Robert…’
‘What? Surely you have been told this before. Didn’t your husband tell you how beautiful you are?’
‘Yes, he did. And that’s it, you see. I still love Finn. I gave him all of my heart. There is none left for anyone else, not in that way.’
‘There is a lot of nonsense spoken about love,’ Legrand said dismissively. ‘We just need to get to know each other better. And with or without love, I want to marry you.’
‘No. I’ve told you.’
‘That’s a real pity because your father is all for it.’
‘It really is nothing to do with him,’ Gabrielle said heatedly. ‘He can’t force me to marry anyone.’
Legrand told Gabrielle’s father what she had said about her first husband as they sat in the bar the following Saturday evening. Pierre could hardly believe his ears.
‘You mean the stupid girl still fancies herself in love with that dead and useless soldier who married her only because he had been forced to?’ he asked incredulously.
‘That’s what she said,’ Legrand said resignedly.
Rage burned within Pierre and he said between clenched teeth, ‘Leave her to me. When you come tomorrow she will be a changed girl, believe me. Let’s have another drink, for we’ve other things to discuss.’
Later that night, Gabrielle heard her father come home, but she was in bed and preparing to settle down for the night. She heard him stumbling around the kitchen and was glad that it was Saturday and there were no ovens to light in the morning.
She was surprised, though, to hear him call to her to get up. He had never done such a thing before, but she knew better than to defy him, especially when he had been drinking. She slipped out of bed, and checked that Yvette and the baby were fast asleep, before pulling her robe around her.
Her father, she saw, was very drunk and angry, though for the life of her she couldn’t think what she had done to annoy him. He left her little time to wonder, though, for he launched into her straightaway.
‘I have
been drinking with Legrand tonight—’ he said—‘Robert Legrand, who you went walking out with last week—and he was telling me a strange tale.’
Gabrielle was silent. She guessed what was coming.
With a sneer her father went on, ‘Are you not interested in hearing it? No matter, I will relate it to you anyway. It appears that this man asked the father’s permission to walk out with his daughter and the father agreed, and then he finds that the daughter tells him that her heart belongs to a man who never did her a moment’s good in her life. You fancy yourself in love with a ghost, while Legrand is offering you marriage.’
Gabrielle felt as if there were a tight band around her chest, restricting her breathing, so afraid was she of the irascible look in her father’s eyes. ‘I can’t help it,’ she cried desperately. ‘It’s how I feel. I thought it best to be honest. I can’t marry Robert Legrand, really I can’t.’
‘Now you listen to me,’ Pierre growled. ‘Tomorrow you will either welcome Robert as a woman welcomes the man she is going to marry, or you will pack your bags and be gone from here. Do I make myself clear?’
Gabrielle gasped in shock. She saw her father meant every word and she was unable to keep the repugnance out of her face and her voice as she said through gritted teeth, ‘Abundantly so.’
She was unprepared for the two punches her father levelled at her face, which knocked her to the ground. ‘You are in no position to be clever with me,’ he said. ‘You brought shame on the whole family and in doing so hastened your own mother’s death, and don’t you forget it. Now get to your bed and think on my words.’
Gabrielle got to her feet gingerly and, trying to stanch the blood streaming from her nose with a handkerchief she had found in the pocket of her robe, she made for the stairs and the relative safety of her room. Once there, she was too agitated to rest, and crossing to the window she let the tears fall from her eyes.
‘Gabrielle, what’s the matter?’ Yvette whispered from the bed.