‘Oh dear.’ Her friend leaned forward and took her hands. ‘Are you absolutely determined to leave La Rosiere?’ she asked, thinking with regret of Corisande’s beautiful little pavilion on the outskirts of the town of Versailles. ‘Is there not some way to raise the necessary funds now?’
Corisande laughed. ‘If you are thinking of Comte Edmond, you can forget it! He hasn’t got a sou either at the moment. Why else would he be dangling after that dreary English girl?’
Madame d’Albret sighed languidly behind her painted fan, but her mind was already working rapidly. ‘I think that I may know of someone who could be interested.’
The other woman gave her a sharp look. ‘The amazingly lumpen Garlands, I expect?’ She sighed and rolled her expressive blue eyes. ‘Well, needs must, I suppose. They may be common but their money isn’t.’ She stood up and brushed cake crumbs from her pale blue silk skirt. ‘Just make sure that they know that Comte Edmond doesn’t come with my house. I may have bowed my head to the inevitable but I don’t have to let it happen beneath my own roof.’
Madame d’Albret did not waste a moment after Corisande had left and immediately hurried to her writing desk in front of the window and quickly wrote a note to Sidonie. ‘I trust that you will be able to persuade Madame Garland of the advisability of this scheme,’ she wrote in her elegant, slanting handwriting. ‘Nothing could be more perfect for her girls than a lovely house in Versailles that most of the eligible young gentlemen in the town are already in the habit of visiting thanks to the popularity of its owner, Madame de Saint Georges. The rent may well be steep but I am confident that she will think the returns are more than worth the expense.’
Sidonie smiled when she read her friend’s note and immediately went to Mrs Garland to propose the scheme to her. As expected, her mistress was initially uncertain as to the benefits of removing to Versailles for the high summer and also daunted by the expense and upheaval involved in such an undertaking but it didn’t take Sidonie long to persuade her that a few months in the relative coolness of the countryside would be to everyone’s advantage.
And so it was that only a few weeks later, they all found themselves in a carriage rolling through an ornate gateway leading to a pretty little pink stone maison that had clearly been modelled on the Queen’s Petit Trianon. ‘Will we all fit?’ Mrs Garland asked dubiously as she looked up at the tiny windows on the third storey. ‘Are the bedrooms in the attics?’
‘There is room for everyone,’ Sidonie soothed. ‘I believe that Madame d’Albert said that there are five bedrooms plus some small chambers for maids.’
‘We don’t need anything more than that!’ Eliza exclaimed, jumping down from the carriage and holding up her white muslin skirt as she ran up to the front door, which was held open by a young footman in pale blue velvet livery. Two large stone pots full of sweetly scented lavender stood on either side of the door and she paused for a moment to crush some buds between her fingers, releasing their spicy sweet scent into the warm summer air before she swept into the house.
Clementine and Sidonie followed her. ‘Well, this is very charming,’ the governess murmured as she looked around the simple pale grey painted hallway with a white marble staircase that ascended to the top of the house. Eliza had already run ahead of them and they could hear her exclamations of delight as she went from room to room.
‘Madame de Saint Georges has exquisite taste,’ Sidonie remarked to Clementine as they walked into a large white panelled salon with raspberry pink brocade curtains and matching sofas and chairs. ‘How sad for her that she was no longer able to live here.’
‘It is only temporary, surely?’ Clementine asked, examining a large portrait by Madame Vigée Lebrun of Corisande de Saint Georges that hung over the grey marble fireplace. The house’s absent owner had chosen to be portrayed as Hebe, with her long fair hair hang loose about her shoulders and gazing pensively into the distance as a large eagle lapped from the large gold chalice that she held on her lap. ‘She is very pretty.’
Sidonie sighed. ‘Yes, very pretty.’ They carried on walking and entered another salon, this one painted a pale pink with large paintings of mythological scenes hanging on the elegantly carved walls and mirrored shutters half pulled up in front of the windows. Huge crystal chandeliers hung overhead, swinging lightly in the breeze as they walked through.
‘Why isn’t Madame de Saint Georges married?’ Clementine asked with a frown, picking up a delicate pale pink Sèvres vase painted with cornflowers and roses then putting it carefully back down again, suddenly terrified that she would break it by accident.
‘She is a widow, my dear,’ Sidonie said gently. ‘Her husband was very wealthy when they first married but had entirely dissipated his fortune by the time of his death, leaving Madame de Saint Georges with a mountain of debt and no way of repaying it.’
‘So how does she afford all this?’ Clementine asked, going to a window and looking out across a pretty garden that swept down to an elegant white pavilion that looked perfect for tea parties on hot afternoons.
‘She lives by her wits,’ Sidonie said after a moment’s hesitation.
Clementine shot her a sharp look. ‘You mean that she is mistress to rich men?’
‘Clementine!’ Sidonie admonished, trying not to laugh. ‘Where on earth did you hear about such a shocking thing?’ She took her pupil by the hand and led her on to the next room, a pale grey dining room with delicate shimmering grey silk curtains.
‘Eliza and Venetia talk about it all the time,’ Clementine said, looking around the room and paying far too much curious attention to a painting of Danaë receiving Zeus in the form of a lavish, gleaming shower of gold coins. ‘Not about Madame de Saint Georges but other ladies. Venetia says...’
‘Never mind what Venetia says!’ Sidonie interrupted, suddenly alarmed. ‘I see that I will have to speak to those two young ladies about being a bit more careful about what they say in front of you.’
When they had finished exploring the lovely, bright reception rooms they went up the airy staircase to the bedrooms on the upper floor, which were all decorated with cheerful floral wallpapers and matching chintz and toile curtains, which allowed the bright summer sunlight to filter softly through. Eliza had already decided that the largest room, with a lovely pink silk hung lit à la polonaise was to be hers but Clementine didn’t mind claiming the pale primrose yellow room next door for her own.
‘I wish that we could live here forever!’ she exclaimed to Sidonie, as Minette sullenly began unpacked her huge green velvet covered trunks and putting away fluffy piles of white lavender scented linen. ‘It’s just until the end of summer isn’t it?’
Sidonie nodded. ‘Just until the end of summer.’
It did not take them long to settle into La Rosiere and make it their own and as predicted the fashionable young people of Versailles, encouraged by Venetia, wasted not a single moment before beating an elegantly dressed path to their front door, keen to enjoy the vivacious and generous hospitality of Les Filles Anglaises, as they were beginning to be known at court.
Mrs Garland did her best at first to play chaperone to her daughters but in the end threw up her plump hands in defeat and left this task to Sidonie, who was happy to maintain a calmly discreet presence in the corner of the salon. She kept her needlework or a book constantly on her lap as Eliza, Venetia and Clementine, all dressed in matching gowns of fine white muslin with brightly coloured silk sashes around their waists held court in the midst of a crowd of devoted admirers, which more often than not included Comte Edmond who came in defiance of his mistress’ express orders that he stay away.
‘You look after them all so well,’ Mrs Garland whispered to Sidonie, who was now firmly ensconced as the often unwilling repository of all her confidences in the continued absence of her husband. ‘I know that I should stay with them all but I have to confess that all that French, and spoken so quickly too, makes my poor head ache.’
‘You could make your own
friends,’ Sidonie gently reminded her mistress. ‘Madame d’Albret has offered to introduce you to some ladies that she believes you would find most agreeable...’
‘That’s very kind of her,’ Mrs Garland interrupted, fanning her hot red cheeks and looking about wildly for the glass of freshly made lemonade she had just put down on a nearby table, ‘but I don’t wish to put anyone out. To tell you the truth, dear Miss Roche, I am missing my own friends in London and would give anything to hear a good, honest friendly English voice at this moment.’
Mrs Garland would have been well advised to be careful about what she wished for, but Sidonie did not feel it her place to say so. Instead she kept her lips firmly sealed and continued her gentle chaperonage of the occasionally wild gatherings at La Rosiere, where the card tables and bottles of champagne came out as soon as Mrs Garland had retired for her afternoon nap and the party often went on until the early hours.
On the finest days, when it was too hot to stay indoors, the young people would move down to the pretty pavilion at the end of Madame de Saint Georges’ lovely formal garden. There they would all lounge on huge embroidered cushions, greedily eat pastel coloured almond sweet cakes and fan themselves while the more ardent male visitors strummed guitars or read love poetry aloud, much to the young ladies’ fond amusement.
‘How perfect life is,’ Venetia sighed on one such afternoon, throwing herself back against a pile of soft green and blue taffeta and brocade cushions and sniffing rapturously at a full, blooming pink rose that her greatest admirer, Comte Eugène d’Aigueville had blushingly presented her with upon his arrival. ‘I wish that every day could be like this one.’ She smiled languorously at Comte Eugène and blew him a kiss.
‘My God.’ Eliza peered at the house, raising her hand to shade her eyes from the sunlight. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What is it?’ Venetia sat up and followed her friend’s astonished gaze to see a female figure dressed in pale pink silk and carrying a green satin parasol hurrying across the lawn towards them. ‘Is that..?’
‘Phoebe Knowles,’ Eliza muttered. ‘What on earth is she doing here?’
Chapter Seventeen
‘If only you could see your faces!’ Phoebe said with a laugh as she threw herself down on the cushions in between Venetia and Eliza. ‘Anyone would think that you aren’t pleased to see me!’ She picked up a cherry cake and popped it into her mouth. None of them could ever have guessed from her supremely confident composure that she had felt sick with dread during the carriage ride from Paris to Versailles.
Eliza was the first to recover her composure. ‘Of course we are pleased to see you, Phoebe!’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s just a shock! Last time you wrote to me, you were in Bath and said nothing at all about coming to France.’
Phoebe laughed and licked the sweet, sticky crumbs from her finger tips. ‘That was until my dear sister, Matilda managed to snare herself a rich husband,’ she replied as the other girls gaped at her in surprise. ‘I know. Incredible isn’t it? I always thought that she was far too round shouldered to ever attract a wealthy man, but there’s no accounting for taste is there?’
Venetia burst out laughing. ‘I suppose not,’ she agreed. ‘Good God, Matilda married! How infuriating that must be for you.’
Phoebe sighed. ‘Oh, it is! She wore bright pink! Can you imagine how that looked, with her sallow complexion? And he was suffering from gout on their wedding day so had to sit with his leg out in front of him in the church! And oh he wheezed and wheezed. I couldn’t stop laughing and Matilda was looking daggers at me the whole time.’ She helped herself to another cake. ‘Mama is beside herself of course and talks of nothing else but the wedding with one breath and my dismal failure with the next. In the end I suggested we come to Paris just to shut her up.’ She laughed. ‘I brought her with me and left her with your mother in the salon. Do you know, they looked almost delighted to see each other again? It was most peculiar.’
‘Mama is homesick for London,’ Clementine said. ‘She will be thrilled to have someone to talk to in English.’
‘Oh dear.’ Phoebe looked around the gathered company as if she had only just realised that they were not alone. ‘Oh my goodness, have I interrupted a party?’
Eliza laughed. ‘Not at all, these are our friends.’ She quickly introduced Phoebe to everyone present, hesitating only slightly when she said Comte Edmond’s name and then feeling sick with chagrin when Phoebe immediately offered him her hand and he kissed it in what seemed to be a very lingering manner.
‘So you are Comte Jules’ brother?’ Phoebe asked with a smile. ‘And to think that I once pretended to be your sister.’
Edmond laughed, still holding her hand. ‘May I say, mademoiselle, that I am extremely pleased that you are not really my sister.’
‘Where is Jules?’ Phoebe asked Venetia, raising one elegantly plucked and pencilled eyebrow.
Venetia sighed then shrugged her shoulders. ‘How would I know?’
‘He is in Paris,’ Edmond said with a yawn before standing up and smiling down at the ladies. ‘It’s too hot to just sit here and roast. Anyone care to walk with me?’
Before Eliza could say anything, Phoebe had leaped to her feet and taken his arm, flashing a smile down at her friends. ‘It is very hot isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Would you believe that it was raining when I left England?’
‘Doesn’t it always rain in England?’ Edmond asked with a confused look as they walked down the pavilion steps together. ‘I have only been to London once and seem to recall howling gales and monsoons on a daily basis.’
‘Well, it doesn’t take Miss Knowles long to make herself at home,’ Eliza remarked a little sourly as Phoebe stood on tiptoe and whispered something into Edmond’s ear, making him throw his handsome head back and laugh with delight. She watched enviously as the couple sauntered slowly together down one of the shady paths leading away from the pavilion to a small summer house.
Venetia gave her friend a quick hug. ‘He is a terrible flirt,’ she whispered, kissing Eliza’s warm cheek. ‘Don’t let them upset you. I will talk to Phoebe later and tell her to let him be.’
‘No, don’t.’ Eliza shook her head proudly. ‘I am not so desperate for admirers that I can’t afford to lose one to Phoebe Knowles.’
Venetia shrugged and picked up a chocolate cake. ‘As you wish, darling, but I thought you liked Edmond?’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ Eliza snapped furiously. ‘I couldn’t care less about him.’ She stood up and brushed the cake crumbs from her pale yellow muslin dress. ‘I have a headache so I’m going back to the house.’
Clementine and Venetia watched her as she stomped up the lawn to La Rosiere, then turned to each other. ‘To be honest, I think it is a good thing that Phoebe has come to Paris,’ Venetia confided in a low voice. ‘It’s hard on Eliza but will definitely shake things up a bit.’
Clementine, always loyal to her sister, frowned. ‘But Eliza is really upset about Edmond,’ she replied. ‘How could Phoebe have been so insensitive? I thought they were friends.’
Venetia hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘Sweetheart, you must know by now that Phoebe always does exactly as she pleases?’ She shook her head as with one final wistful look back over her shoulder, Eliza flounced into the house. ‘I will talk to them both later about the need to keep up a united front. We must all work together if we’re going to take Paris by storm.’
‘How long do you think Phoebe plans to stay here for?’ Clementine whispered as that enterprising young lady and Comte Edmond strolled back into view again. Phoebe was twirling her silk parasol and looking up at the Comte in the most flirtatious manner but he, Clementine was pleased to notice, was looking back at the house with a frown between his dark eyes.
Venetia also watched them, a thoughtful look on her lovely face. ‘I expect that Miss Knowles intends to remain here for as long as it takes,’ she said at last.
Sidonie had continued quietly sewing in a co
rner while all this excitement was going on, but quickly raised her eyes from her work at Venetia’s words and followed her gaze towards Phoebe and Comte Edmond. That pretty Miss Knowles had instantly identified the most eligible man present and then determined to captivate him was obvious but to Sidonie’s relief, he appeared to be more curious and flattered than enraptured.
‘It’s going to be a long summer,’ Venetia said sagely with a little laugh. ‘All this fuss over young men makes me glad that I am already married, even if my husband would appear to have forgotten the fact.’ She looked back mischievously over her shoulder at Comte Eugène. ‘Although of course not all young men are worthless...’
Sidonie sighed and returned to her sewing. Oh yes, it was definitely going to be a long summer...
Chapter Eighteen
‘We might as well have stayed in London,’ Mrs Garland complained a few weeks later with an aggrieved sigh as she peered between the drawn curtains of their salon at La Rosiere at the dry parched lawn. The air was hot and heavy and shimmered in the sunlight and there was not a single breeze troubling the crisp, dry leaves of the trees that edged the garden. ‘I’ve never been so hot in all my life.’
‘Oh Mama, please stop going on,’ Clementine complained from the sofa, where she had arranged herself with a carafe of water, an apple and a book. She felt the heat terribly and the dry, hot weather had considerably worsened her hay fever so she spent her days complaining about headaches, sneezing and miserably rubbing her eyes. ‘It could be worse - there are riots in Paris again.’
Mrs Garland sniffed and turned away from the window, impatiently casting her useless fan aside onto a table already covered with fashion journals, English newspapers and a few political pamphlets that Clementine had insisted upon reading. ‘I don’t see what that has got to do with us,’ she remarked, eyeing the pamphlets with loathing.
‘Of course it concerns us,’ Clementine exclaimed, struggling to sit up. ‘The people are rioting because the drought has destroyed their harvest and so bread and food have become too expensive for most to be able to afford. You would be taking to the streets and making a fuss if you couldn’t afford to feed us, wouldn’t you?’
Before the Storm Page 13