by Linda Finlay
But as she picked up her cloth, she saw him frowning at the amber bottles.
23
‘I shall be but a moment, Mademoiselle,’ Monsieur Farrant said a few seconds later. She nodded and watched as he hurried from the room, shiny shoes squeaking on the polished tiles.
Eliza made sure the bottles were polished to perfection, then took advantage of being alone to explore. The perfumery was a delightful place designed to tempt the buyer with its attractive array of merchandise. In fact it had all sorts of things you wouldn’t know you wanted until you saw them. She took great delight in investigating the contents of all the bottles, sniffing the flagons of tester perfumes and squeezing the tops of the atomizing sprays, laughing when they squirted little puffs of air in her face. Compared to the sterile laboratory, this was a paradise of fragrance and she hoped to spend more of her time working in here. She might even secrete Fay’s little black bottle into her apron pocket and compare the faint aroma that still lingered.
When Monsieur Farrant returned he showed Eliza round the stockroom and directed her where he wanted the new bottles to be displayed. She became so entranced with arranging everything, she hardly noticed his presence. It was only when he told her it was time for her to leave that she realized the working day was over.
‘I will escort you to the main hall. I suggest you go straight to your room and study your notes,’ he said. ‘Cook has been asked to leave a light supper in your room so you will not have to interrupt your studying to go to the staff dining room. Tomorrow, I shall not be in the laboratory until late morning, so you can ensure it is cleaned then, non?’
‘Thank you, Monsieur. I have really enjoyed being in the perfumery today. Please can I work here again soon?’
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t answer. Instead, he led the way back down the hallway, past the erotic mural and into the hall. ‘I will see you tomorrow, Mademoiselle, and trust you have your answers ready for my questions,’ he instructed. He smiled but she could feel his eyes boring into her back as she made her way along the corridor. Probably worried I was going to take a sneaky peek upstairs, she thought.
In her room the tray was set on the little table and even before lifting the cloth, she knew what she would find. She spread the bread with the spicy hazelette then settled down to read the notes, determined to be ready for Monsieur’s test the next day. They made fascinating reading and soon she was lost in the world of perfume and its origins. It was only when the shadows were gathering and she could no longer make out the words that she set them aside. Deciding a stroll across the yard to get some fresh air and visit the privy would be a good idea, she took herself outside.
It was a cool night and myriad stars were sparkling in the heavens, like the crystals of the huge chandelier in the hall of the main house. A night for frost, her grampy would have said. She sighed, still missing him after all this time, then impulsively plucked a late bloom from the border, vowing to place it in her box. Pulling her jacket tighter round her, she hurried back towards the staff wing before the door was locked at curfew. Suddenly, the sound of merrymaking drifted her way and, looking up, she saw the silhouettes of three young men outlined in the flickering gaslight. A burst of raucous laughter followed, then Monsieur Farrant snapped the window shut, drew the curtains and all went quiet.
Next morning Eliza was busy putting up her hair when there was an urgent rapping on her door.
‘Come in,’ she called, recognizing Mimi’s knock.
‘Monsieur Farrant says you’re to go straight to the laboratory,’ the little maid panted in the doorway. Eliza was about to ask why, when she saw the girl was agitated.
‘Is something wrong, Mimi?’
‘He said you was to hurry,’ she answered, ignoring her question.
‘Tell him I’m on my way.’
The girl nodded and scuttled off, leaving Eliza wondering what Monsieur Farrant could want of her at this early hour. Hadn’t he said he wouldn’t be in the laboratory until later?
Quickly fixing the net over her bun, she turned to check her reflection, then made her way into the main house. As she passed the dining room, the smell of toasting bread made her stomach rumble and she hoped Monsieur wouldn’t take long.
However, when she opened the door to the laboratory it was an entirely different aroma that assailed her nostrils.
‘Goodness, something smells strong,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. Then she noticed the man in uniform standing beside Monsieur Farrant.
‘Oh, have I interrupted something?’ she asked, looking from one to the other.
Monsieur Farrant shook his head. ‘Indeed you have not.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you have,’ the constable responded at the same time. Bewildered, Eliza stared from one to the other.
‘That was a very good observation, Mademoiselle,’ Monsieur Farrant continued. ‘You are absolutely right, for compared to the delicate fragrances we inhaled in the perfumery yesterday, this is indeed pungent. You see, Constable,’ he said, turning to the police officer, ‘Mademoiselle here is one of my best pupils and I like to set the little tests for her. When I call, she jumps, is that not right, Eliza?’
‘Er, yes,’ she answered. What was going on?
‘Monsieur Farrant, I really must ask you some questions,’ the constable insisted, but again Monsieur ignored him.
‘Today I have lit the incense for Mademoiselle to identify. Now why is incense significant, Eliza?’ His eyes seemed to bore right into her as he waited for her answer.
Eliza gulped and thought back to the notes she’d been reading the previous evening. ‘Because it was the original perfume,’ she said.
He clapped his hands. ‘See, Constable, she is clever, non? Now we will move on to the attarwalla.’
Eliza gulped. Attar what? But Monsieur Farrant was in his stride.
‘The attarwalla was the perfume seller. He would visit the grand palaces of India and …’ He was interrupted by the constable coughing.
‘This is all very interesting, Monsieur Farrant, but if you insist on ignoring my question, I shall have to report back to my superior. In the meantime, I must caution you that your activities are being watched.’
Again Monsieur Farrant ignored him. ‘It is a shame you cannot stay for more of our lesson, Constable. Another time, perhaps?’ Monsieur Farrant invited.
‘Be sure I shall return with some questions of my own,’ the man said, placing his helmet firmly on his balding head as he strode away. Eliza got the feeling he had every intention of coming back but not for a lesson on the attar whatsit. She wondered what questions he wanted to ask Monsieur Farrant and what activities of his were being watched. He’d been determined to ignore the constable.
‘That showed him, did it not?’ Monsieur Farrant said, butting into her thoughts and giving a supercilious grin. ‘It is always good to show who is master in his own castle. You answered the questions well, Eliza. It is good you read my notes, non?’
‘I don’t remember anything about the attar …’
‘Not to worry,’ he interrupted, waving his hands in the air. ‘Interesting though it is, attarwalla is not really part of the course and the incense was just a smoke screen anyway,’ he chuckled as he looked at the little burning cones.
‘I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early, Monsieur, especially after your party last night.’
Monsieur Farrant’s eyes narrowed to green slits and his moustache bristled.
‘And what party might that be?’ he hissed.
‘The one upstairs. I heard laughter, saw those
young men and …’
‘You saw and heard nothing, Mademoiselle Eliza. Absolutely nothing, understand?’ He leaned towards her and she smelled his own particular smell. It really was peculiar and she much preferred the incense. But Monsieur was still glowering. ‘Clean this place up immediately; it is like a piggery,’ he snapped.
He stormed from the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She knew what she’d seen, all right. Had the constable’s visit had anything to do with the revelry of the previous night?
‘Someone’s up bright and early,’ Amos chirped, breezing into the room. Then he saw the burning incense and looked at Eliza in surprise.
‘Oh, no, this has nothing to do with me,’ she declared, shaking her head then explaining about the constable’s visit.
‘I think it might have something to do with the party Monsieur had last night, although when I mentioned I’d seen young men upstairs, he denied it. Anyway, the constable said he’d be back,’ she said, shrugging.
‘Eliza, there are rumours about … happenings here. Things you’re better off not knowing. Be very careful what you say to Monsieur, and for heaven’s sake never venture upstairs,’ Amos advised.
‘That sounds sinister.’
‘Forewarned is forearmed, isn’t that what they say?’
‘Never could understand why having four arms would help anything,’ she quipped.
‘You are impossible,’ he grinned. ‘Now, Mademoiselle, this place it is a disgrace. We should clean up immediately, non?’ he said, throwing his hands up in the air.
Eliza grinned, pleased they were back to their usual friendly banter.
As she set about disposing of the incense, she spotted a fresh pile of labels along with three pots of different coloured ink. ‘Oh, no, me and my big mouth,’ she cried.
‘What have you put in it this time?’ joked Amos.
‘I suggested to Monsieur the labels on the Christmas perfumes would look more celebratory if they were scripted in colour,’ she cried, pointing to the counter.
‘Well, at least you’ll be too busy to go sleuthing,’ he grinned, then ducked as she threw the cleaning cloth at him.
Knowing she had no choice, Eliza settled down to her task. However, as she pictured the respective titles scripted in gold, green or red she nodded her head in satisfaction. Her idea might mean extra work but she could imagine how festive the little bottles would look, especially if they were grouped in their various colours on the shelves. She picked up her pens and by the time Amos invited her to share his noon piece, the little pile of labels had grown.
‘You’d better be careful,’ he quipped, admiring her handiwork as they munched on the bread his landlady had baked. ‘If you continue having these bright ideas, Monsieur will think you’re making a takeover bid.’
They didn’t see Monsieur for the rest of the day and when the little bell rang, signalling the arrival of a client, it was Amos who went to the perfumery to deal with them. That evening, when Eliza joined the staff in the dining room for supper, they were agog to find out the details of the constable’s visit, which they had all heard about.
‘I don’t really know why he was here,’ Eliza said carefully. ‘He did say he’d be back, though.’ That was enough to set the tongues wagging and speculation was rife for the rest of the meal.
Afterwards, as they sat relaxing over their cups of tea, Mimi turned to Eliza.
‘When I went home on Sunday, Toby asked Father’s permission to become my follower. We’re walking out on my next day off, so if it’s all right with you I’m going to wear your lovely skirt. It washed up a treat,’ she said, hardly able to contain her excitement.
Cook looked up and frowned. ‘I’m sorry, dearie, that’s the last Sunday before Advent, Stir-up Sunday. We’ll be too busy making the Christmas cakes and puddings for you to take that day off,’ she said.
Mimi’s face fell. ‘But I can’t cook so why do you need me?’ she wailed.
‘To stone the fruit, grease and line the tins, then wash up all the pots and pans.’
‘But …’ the little maid spluttered.
‘Perhaps it would be possible for Mimi to take her day off a little earlier?’ suggested Eliza, feeling sorry for the little maid.
‘Well, I don’t see why not. What do you think, Mrs Symms?’ Cook asked, deferring to the housekeeper.
‘Wouldn’t do no harm to take the Saturday, I suppose,’ the woman sniffed.
Mimi brightened. ‘I’ll ask Amos to pop a note through me mum’s door on his way home tomorrow.’
‘Will you be spending Christmas here with us, Eliza?’ Dawkins asked.
Eliza stared at him in surprise. ‘I hadn’t given it any thought but I don’t have anywhere else to go …’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered the terrible events of the previous year.
‘We have a lovely time, don’t we, Mrs Symms?’
The housekeeper nodded, becoming quite animated for once. ‘We do indeed. Cook always does us proud and we even have a glass or two of elderflower bubbly.’
‘Of course, some imbibe more than others,’ Bertram commented, staring pointedly at the housekeeper.
‘Do join us, Eliza. Monsieur Farrant takes himself away for the festivities so we are able to eat what we want,’ Cook intervened.
‘It sounds fun. You must let me know what I can do to help,’ Eliza offered, happy to be accepted again. Of course she’d rather be celebrating with Fay and Duncan but this was her new life now and she had to move on, didn’t she?
Bertram got to his feet and stared pointedly at his pocket watch. Immediately the conversation ceased and everyone began tidying away. Then, calling goodnight to the butler, they scurried to their rooms before he locked the main door.
As Eliza lay in her bed reflecting on the events of the day, her thoughts turned to Fay. She wondered how the woman was. Now she’d begun learning she would send her that letter. After all, she wanted to thank her for her amazing generosity and let her know how she was getting on with her apprenticeship. Monsieur Farrant would have her address, wouldn’t he?
Eliza arrived in the laboratory the next morning to find Monsieur inspecting the bottles Amos was filling. She was relieved to see he was back to his charming self and when he complimented her on the good job she’d made of the labels, she took the opportunity of asking for Fay’s address.
‘Why would you want that?’ he asked, peering at her suspiciously.
‘I thought I’d let her know about things here?’ she said.
‘What things here exactly?’ he asked, his voice ominously quiet.
‘How I’m getting on with my apprenticeship, what it’s like in the perfumery, that kind of thing.’
‘Ah, yes, I see.’ He stood there stroking his moustache for a moment. ‘However, would it not be better to wait until you’ve have made some perfume? Now that would be exciting to tell her, non?’
She nodded. ‘But when will that be, Monsieur? I’m really disappointed not to have begun making some by now. Why, I haven’t even seen anything made in those,’ she cried, pointing to the stills.
‘Patience, Mademoiselle. Have I not told you it is the lead-in to Christmas? We have to have everything prepared for our clients so the perfume, it is already made. When Amos here has finished decanting it into the bottles, you, my dear Eliza, are to be given the prestigious job of placing the festive labels on the bottles. It was a good idea I had to use the colourful inks, non?’ As she stared at him in astonishment, she heard Amos snort, then quickly turn it into a cough when Monsieur turned his way.
‘Except it was my …’ Eliza began, but Monsieur Farrant cut her short.
‘Amos, I am out to see a client. Please show Eliza how I like my labels to be placed on the bottles. Remember, they are to be dead centre or …?’
‘I’m dead,’ he answered.
‘Oui, precisely, Amos,’ the man chortled.
‘Well!’ Eliza exploded, as soon as the door had closed behind him.
‘It’s no good getting upset, Eliza, Monsieur’s ways are simple. Come up with a good idea and he takes the credit. Come up with a bad one, you get the blame. Stop frowning and I’ll show you how to place your beautiful labels dead in the centre so that you are not …’ He pretended to cut his throat, looking so comical with his tongue lolling and eyes popping out, she couldn’t help but laugh.
But each time she slapped on a label she imagined it was Monsieur Farrant’s supercilious grin she was smacking.
24
The following weeks passed in a frenzy of activity as they dealt with the ever-growing number of clients to the perfumery. The staff was busy preparing the Christmas fare as well as carrying out their normal duties.
In the perfumery Eliza was tasked with wrapping the purchases and scripting personal greetings if the clients desired. Monsieur was emphatic she keep both the shop and stockroom clean and tidy at all times. It was also her job to replenish the shelves, and with the seemingly endless demand, Amos was back and forth to the laboratory on the other side of the house, filling little amber bottles from the flagons.
‘I’ll be needing new boots if I carry on like this,’ he muttered, placing yet another full box on the stockroom table.
‘Never mind, Monsieur has locked the shop and gone out for an hour so we can have a rest.’ Eliza gave a sigh of relief and collapsed onto a chair. Her hands were sore from spending the morning cutting paper and tying ribbons, while all the traipsing from the perfumery to the stockroom and back had made her limp more pronounced.