‘I had to live with the knowledge that when my husband went overseas, he was spending his time with her. When he was in Paris, he became distant from me. I would find him sitting in the armchair by the fire, a faraway look in his eye, and I knew he was thinking of her and not me.
‘I saw Genevieve only once or twice after that. She stayed well clear of me. No more visits. Things went downhill rapidly. Saul had invested in a tea plantation in another part of Ceylon but it didn’t produce anywhere near enough tea to cover its costs. He began to sell things, including our beautiful apartment. The day I moved in here, he promised me it wouldn’t be forever. I rather suspect I am going to be here forever now, because my husband is gone and I guarantee you Genevieve is with him. The business continues to limp along, and Valois sends me a little money every week and for that I stay in Paris. But we do not live as we once did, and none of my family back in England will help. They are all angry that so much of my father’s money was sunk into Saul’s businesses, and that Saul mismanaged it so badly.’ She spread her hands, and her voice was weary. ‘What am I to do? I have a daughter to introduce to the world, but I am too far from anyone who can help us find her a husband, and too poor to make her attractive anyway. I rather fear she will have to work for her living. She is so young and so tender, and I despair for her future.
‘Not that Genevieve ever thought about my daughter’s future. She simply took what she wanted. That is the kind of woman she is.’
Rashmi paused here and Agnes took a few moments to let the details sink in, forming her own opinions in the shadow of Rashmi’s. Finally, she said, ‘Where is she now?’
‘So, I have not convinced you that you are better off without her in your life?’
Agnes shook her head.
‘Very well,’ Rashmi said. ‘She is in Ceylon. Either at the plantation at Kandy, or in the house in Colombo. I can give you the addresses.’
Agnes’s heart sank. She had feared this answer. ‘So, she is not in Paris?’
‘She wouldn’t dare show her face here again, just as Saul hasn’t in several years. I imagine they are living a merry life over there, and good luck to them. No, she is not in Paris.’ Rashmi smiled bitterly. ‘How far are you prepared to go to find her?’
CHAPTER 13
How far are you prepared to go to find her?
Agnes turned this question over and over in her mind as she lay in her bed. She had peeled off her wet clothes and drawn on a dry nightdress, but she still felt cold and shivery in her belly. The rain eased and light began to glow from beyond the window, and she considered her answer.
Her heart leapt to say, Any distance! To tell her that even meek and simple Gracie Badger was in Calcutta. But she was also full of doubt. Gracie had Cole to provide for her and protect her, but such a distant journey alone might be too risky for Agnes. So far she had been from York to London and then to Paris and, if she were honest, had barely survived it. How was she to find a passage to the warm middle of the world? How was she to feed herself and shelter herself if she got there? And if she did all this, and still didn’t find Genevieve, what then?
Genevieve. With every story told to her, Agnes’s picture of her mother became more detailed. Rashmi had no kind words to say about Genevieve, of course, but why would she? She believed that Genevieve had destroyed her marriage, when it was clear her wretched husband was to blame. He had borrowed too much money, he drank too much claret, he treated the world as though it were his and had been ruined when he found it wasn’t. Was it not always the way, that the woman was to blame for the particular, even when it was evident the man was responsible for the whole?
In fact, Genevieve’s story rose in the cracks of Rashmi’s account. Having run away from London and her oppressive husband, she had found work with a tea merchant and turned around their fortunes, tried to be a good companion to her employer’s wife and child, travelled across the seas to use her mind and her will in the public world – as women were so rarely allowed to do – and perhaps she did fall in love with Saul Valentine, but surely a heart could not be turned that was not already turning away. Perhaps it was more than business that kept Saul apart from Rashmi.
Once again, beneath the condemnations of Genevieve, Agnes found small truths that indicated some good in her mother; larger truths that indicated Genevieve resisted every attempt to shape and control her. Whatever else happened, it seemed, Genevieve remained Genevieve. That was something worth admiring. Poor Marianna, whose life had been the opposite: shut in deeper and deeper, while Genevieve’s life expanded.
Agnes closed her eyes and thought about Ceylon. All she knew about it she had learned in her lessons at Perdita Hall. Cinnamon and snakes.
She drifted off as the sun moved into the sky.
•
At mid-morning, the little grey-haired dressmaker who had helped her choose fabrics flounced in with an armful of dresses.
‘Mademoiselle Agnes,’ she said. ‘Are you ready?’
Until lunchtime, Agnes tried on dresses and allowed the dressmaker to gather and pin while she stood, still as a statue. Her other troubles were temporarily forgotten in her luxurious immersion in silk, satin and lace. One was a red silk basque that sat long over a frilly white underskirt; another, a pale pink taffeta and lace with a narrow skirt to be worn over a frilled bustle; and yet another, a striped grey-and-black travel dress. There were dresses for the house and one startling sapphire blue evening gown that sat just on the edge of her shoulders and gathered there with bows and lace, with a train gathered in soft folds that fell gently behind her. There were also bonnets and gloves and even pairs of shoes to choose from. The dressmaker pulled petticoats and dresses off and on Agnes, tutting and muttering in French. She left four of the dresses behind, declaring they were a ‘perfect fit’, and said she would have the rest to Agnes by the end of the week.
Alone at last, Agnes wriggled into a soft blue summer dress of Czech silk and cotton. Her own dresses had been plain and cheaply made; now she could feel the weight of good fabric, and could appreciate the tiny, neat stitching. She walked from one side of the room to the other, noticing her ankle felt much worse after her night-time outing and clambering, and wondered if she looked as elegant as she felt. When Julius sent a message for her that afternoon, asking her to dress for an evening out in Paris, she lovingly withdrew the sapphire gown from the wardrobe.
•
As Julius handed her up into the carriage that evening, he noticed her favouring her ankle.
‘What have you done?’ he asked, somewhere between irritation and fondness.
‘It’s a little swollen again. Aye, don’t look so mithered.’
‘I’m not mithered. At least I don’t think so as I’m not sure what it means.’ He climbed into the carriage and sat next to her. ‘Do you want me to examine it?’
‘You can hardly do that in an open carriage in the middle of traffic,’ she laughed, batting him with her fan. ‘Besides, I was rather hoping you’d notice my bonny new gown rather than my wobbly ankle.’
The carriage jolted forward and joined the traffic on the wide boulevard. Julius met her gaze evenly. ‘Of course I noticed,’ he said. ‘But I hadn’t words to express how beautiful you look in it.’
Agnes glanced away, hiding a smile.
The rain had cleared and the streets of Paris were bursting. The long summer evening was not yet growing dark.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked Julius.
‘To an early performance of the opera, and then to dinner. I trust you are happy with that?’
‘I’ve never seen an opera,’ she said.
‘Then I am very pleased to be the man who opens a door to that world for you,’ he said.
They made their way through the streets of Paris, down boulevards, past shops and cafes and hotels. Eventually, they arrived outside a theatre in the second arrondissement, and Julius helped her down, taking care with her injured ankle. They joined a queue of well-dressed folk, slowly making
their way under a huge arch and into the building. Julius guided her with his hand on her elbow, towards a set of stairs. ‘Up here,’ he said. ‘The pit is no place for a lady.’
The foyer of the theatre was dim, brass fittings gleaming softly in the lamp-light. They queued again through another door, and then were inside the theatre itself.
Agnes gasped. The vaulted ceiling was the colour of cream, and covered in patterns of gold. They were on the topmost level of the theatre, and Agnes could see down over layers of balconies, each decorated in gold carvings, all the way to the pit at the bottom. She took her seat, soft and richly upholstered in crimson fabric, and gazed at the decoration over the proscenium arch. An angel either side, perhaps ten feet tall with wings spread, appeared to hold up part of the arch. Between them a curtain of richly embroidered gold fell to the stage floor. Gas lamps lit each balcony, glowing against the deep red wallpaper. She felt very small in comparison to such grandeur, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Rather, she was glad that such things existed in the world.
‘I have never seen such a beautiful thing,’ she said to Julius.
‘Wait until you’ve seen the opera,’ he replied. ‘Even more sublime than the view.’
But the opera was the least interesting thing about her visit to the theatre. Agnes quite liked the costumes, but could hardly bear the warbling voices and the deafening crescendos. She spent most of the performance looking at other people in the other stalls, imagining who they might be and what they might do. Julius clearly loved the music. His eyes shone as he glanced from the stage to her and back again. At one point, during a slow melodious song, he reached for her wrist and lay his fingers there a moment, a look of transport on his face. The hot touch of his skin against hers transported her too, but for different reasons. She might have sat like that forever, but then her belly started to rumble with hunger and although she felt the cold on her wrist when he withdrew his hand, she was glad that the opera was over.
They queued again to leave, but not for long, because patrons of the upper levels were allowed to leave first. They emerged into the fresh air and evening dark. All the gas lamps were lit, and the streets were nearly as bright as day. Agnes could smell food cooking, and swallowed hard over her hunger.
‘Is it far to where we are going to eat?’ she asked.
Julius pointed across the road. ‘Just over there,’ he said. ‘Do you think you will survive it?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, smiling.
They waited for a break in the traffic then picked their way across the road, and opened the door to a restaurant with high ceilings and walls covered in pretty murals. A small counter stood near the entryway, with a lamp glowing brightly on top. Here, a gentleman greeted Julius in French and then showed them to a table near the back corner of the room. Here it was a little dimmer and quieter. Agnes took the seat against the wall, on a long upholstered bench, and Julius sat opposite on a chair. A waiter came for their order, and Agnes allowed Julius to order for her. Her French was so bad she had no idea what was on offer anyway.
They talked about the opera and the theatre, and about Paris and how different and shining and merry it was, compared to London. Their food arrived and Agnes tasted the most tender beef she had ever eaten. They were brought a bottle of wine, and Julius was astonished that Agnes had never tasted it. After her first sip she was quite happy to keep it that way.
Finally, they left the restaurant and climbed into their waiting carriage.
‘I propose a carriage ride around Paris by gas-light,’ Julius said as they settled next to each other. ‘I would have suggested a walk, but your ankle is clearly in need of more rest.’ He leaned forward and told the driver to drive on, then returned his attention to Agnes. ‘You haven’t told me how you hurt it again.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Agnes. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘I understand you well enough to know that to care for you is to worry about you,’ he said.
Agnes turned his words over in her head. To care for you. To care for you. She had known, of course, but to have him state it so boldly gave her a sweet, hard feeling that she did not know how to name.
Julius was still looking at her expectantly, his knees turned towards her and his back turned to the Paris cityscape flashing past in a whirl of light and colour.
‘I went back to see Madame Valentine.’
‘When?’
‘Early this morning. Around three.’
‘Agnes! It poured all night!’
‘Aye, it was siling down. I was sodden, but she let me in and she told me where Genevieve is now.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Ceylon.’
Julius pressed his lips together tightly. Agnes waited. At length he said, ‘You are not thinking of going to Ceylon?’
‘Well, it’s obvious I am thinking of going to Ceylon. According to Rashmi – that’s Madame Valentine’s name – Genevieve is living with Saul Valentine, either at the tea plantation or in his house in Colombo.’
Julius grew agitated. ‘This is nonsense! How would you get there? What would you do to support yourself or keep yourself safe? Agnes, you must remove this idea from your head immediately. I forbid you from even considering it.’
Confronted with this demand, Agnes’s intention to take the journey was immediately cemented. ‘Who are you to forbid me from owt?’ she said quickly, lightly.
Instantly, his demeanour changed. He grasped her hands and drew them up against his chest. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me, Agnes. I had no right to speak to you so sharply. I simply cannot bear the thought of you travelling such a great distance.’
‘As for how I would support myself and keep myself safe; well, I would take a position on a ship and seek the protection of the captain and his crew. I am not afraid of menial work, as Madame Beaulieu would have to admit.’
At the mention of the bordello he winced.
‘You cannot stop me, Julius.’
He gently returned her hands to her lap and withdrew his own. ‘I am coming to understand this better every minute I know you,’ he conceded. ‘Will you listen to any reason?’
‘Maybe.’
‘When Genevieve wrote me letters, she included only the return address of the tea merchant. I presume she did not live there.’
‘No. Rashmi told me she had an apartment on Rue du Temple.’
Julius nodded. ‘And yet, she did not send her letters from that address.’
‘I don’t know what you are implying,’ Agnes said, though she thought she might and she didn’t like it.
‘Genevieve didn’t want to be found. Not by me. Not by anyone, perhaps. The facts as they stand are that she abandoned you, she abandoned me, she hasn’t written to me for years, and even those letters concealed her location. If you go to Colombo, you must accept that Genevieve desires no reunion with you.’
Agnes shook her head. ‘She left the button with me when she surrendered me to Perdita Hall. She would not have left that clue if she didn’t, somewhere in her soul, desire to know me one day.’ In that heated moment she believed it more powerfully than she ever had, and she was prepared to go on a ship to Ceylon to prove it to Julius and show him how wrong he was.
Julius looked at Agnes, and Agnes at Julius. Over the noises of hoof falls and carriage wheels, church bells rang out in the distance.
‘Well,’ Julius said at last, ‘this evening turned out quite differently from how I’d hoped.’
‘What did you hope for?’ she asked.
‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘I can’t let you go to Ceylon in the bowels of steerage. It would not do, if you are indeed my … family.’
‘Don’t tell me—’
‘Agnes, shush and listen. We will … I will cover all of your costs. I will send you by steamer, which is faster, through the Suez Canal, which is also faster. You will have a first-class cabin and you will be safe.’
Agnes’s heart sped with excitement. ‘I cannot agree to such g
enerosity.’
‘I’m afraid I will not, under any persuasions, withdraw my offer. If you must go, you go for both of us. And for that, I will ensure you go on a good British ship and have a return passage so that you are not so long away from … from us.’
Relief surged through her. ‘I will accept your offer then, with warmest regard.’
‘Yes, I’d rather hoped you’d say that,’ he replied, glancing away. ‘Sometime tonight, in any case.’
She watched him for a few moments, puzzled; he soon returned his attention to her and said, ‘It’s decided then. We will return to London tomorrow so that I may book your passage. I think it best we do not go back to Belgrave Place yet, as Marianna will have too many questions and it would upset her to lose you twice. But can I extract from you a promise that, on your return from Ceylon, you will come directly to our house? I will ensure you money for the train.’
‘Aye, by my word. I’ll be longing to see Marianna by then, and I will have so much to tell you, Julius.’
He nodded once. ‘Very well,’ he said, and leaned forward to tell the driver to take them back to Hotel Londres.
•
Their plans unfolded quickly after that, too quickly for Agnes to ponder whether she ought to change her mind. Of course it had occurred to her that the journey might be fruitless, but now the excitement of going on a ship out into the ocean had gripped her and all her imagination was fixed on it.
The dressmaker called in with her new clothes, which Agnes lovingly folded into her leather trunks. The porter then conveyed them out to the carriage for her. She and Julius chatted on the short ride to the station, and then boarded for London. The first-class experience of train travel was certainly different from her earlier journey: comfortable seats, food in the dining car, and patterned carpet on the floor. She and Julius drank coffee and played cards under the lamp on the little table between them. From the train, they boarded the ferry. The ride was tempestuous and Julius grew a little green, but Agnes didn’t feel in the slightest indisposed and presumed from this that she would have no trouble on the open ocean. The train from Dover to London was next, and then Agnes was compelled to wait in the busy concourse of Victoria Station, on account of her still-healing ankle, while Julius organised and paid for their onward journeys and her passage to Ceylon. After the clean, bright streets of Paris, London looked quite grim.
Stars Across the Ocean Page 21