by Linda Finlay
‘But yous works in the perfumery, that’s different,’ Mimi stated.
‘You could help decorate the room. I’ve been that busy making the parlour look festive I haven’t had time to do anything in here,’ Mrs Symms suggested.
Glad to be able to help, and remembering she’d seen holly and ivy in the garden, Eliza said, ‘Leave it to me, Mrs Symms. I’ll make this room look cheerful and celebratory. Anything else?’ She turned to Cook. ‘Can I help in the kitchen?’
‘Don’t like people under me feet. Ta for the offer, though.’
‘Better get eating,’ Bertram ordered. ‘His lordship’s decreed it’s to be early doors tonight.’
As Eliza frowned, Mimi whispered, ‘It means we got to be in our rooms by seven ’cos the door’s going to be locked then. See you’re wearing your skirt. Toby thought I looked lovely in it,’ she sighed.
‘I’ll make sure it’s laundered and you can borrow it again next time you see him,’ Eliza promised.
‘I told me mum you’re a good un,’ Mimi smiled.
Next morning, Eliza woke early, determined to make the dining room look as festive as possible, then enjoy the day with these people who had become her friends. Humming under her breath, she was about to make her way to the garden when there was a sharp rap on the door. To her surprise, the butler was standing there looking even more officious than usual.
‘Merry Christmas, Bertram,’ she smiled.
‘Indeed,’ he said gravely, handing her an enormous box tied with a gold bow. ‘Monsieur Farrant sends his greetings and requests you join him in the parlour at noon for pre-luncheon drinkies.’
‘What?’ she asked, wide-eyed.
‘I believe you heard, miss. I shall return at 11.55 a.m. precisely to escort you. He wishes you to wear …’ He sniffed and pointed to the box.
‘But you know I promised to collect greenery to decorate the dining room,’ she explained.
‘I think not, miss. His lordship is most emphatic you do not mingle with the domestic staff. You are to stay here and prepare yourself for festive celebrations in the parlour. As I said, I shall return.’ Then he gave a formal bow and marched away, leaving Eliza staring at him open-mouthed.
What was going on? She threw the box down on the bed. Why would Monsieur send her a present? Surely this didn’t have anything to do with his preposterous suggestion in the perfumery? He wasn’t about to propose officially, was he? Perhaps she could stay here, ignore him and his present.
But the box was too tempting to resist and, tearing open the wrapping, she gasped in amazement. Nestling in the softest tissue, was a shimmering swathe of gold silk and lying alongside, a little amber bottle of Gold Etoile. Remembering its pungent smell, she wrinkled her nose. No way was she wearing that.
She shook out the dress and held it up in front of her. It was absolutely gorgeous. Unable to resist, she tore off her clothes and stepped into it. As the silky folds slithered over her body like a second skin, she shivered in delight, then ran over to the mirror. Was that woman with sparkling eyes and radiant skin really her? She swished this way and that, quite overcome with delight. Realizing her hair spoiled the effect, she coiled it into its customary Cadogan, covered it with the little net and stood back to admire the effect: much better.
Then, as if someone had thrown a large snowball at her, she shivered and slumped down on the chair. Why would Monsieur give her an expensive new dress and perfume? And why had he invited her to luncheon in his parlour? Did this really have anything to do with his outrageous suggestion the previous day? She sat for an age, staring out of the window, trying to make sense of it all.
A sharp knock on the door rudely roused her from her reverie. It couldn’t be that time already, surely? Opening the door, she saw Bertram striding back towards the main house and had no option but to follow. As they passed the staff dining room, she wondered if she should explain why she wouldn’t be joining them but, as if her thoughts had been transmitted, Bertram turned and frowned.
‘May I wish you the season’s greetings, Mademoiselle?’ Monsieur Farrant said, rising to his feet as she was shown into the parlour.
‘Thank you,’ she stammered, staring at the most enormous fir tree that graced the window. It was lit by myriad candles and she couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘Why, that’s beautiful!’
‘Mais oui, but not as beautiful as you, Mademoiselle. I must say, you look enchanting, non?’ he said, gazing at her so intently, she felt uncomfortable and had to look away.
‘Thank you for this dress but I don’t understand why you’ve given it to me.’
‘You don’t like it?’ He frowned.
‘It’s gorgeous but …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘It is my Christmas box to you. I believe it is the custom for an employer to give a token of his appreciation, non?’ He sniffed the air and frowned. ‘But you are not wearing the perfume?’
‘I’m sorry, I was so surprised by your invitation I forgot to put any on,’ she stuttered, not wishing to admit she hated its potent smell.
‘Never mind, you can wear it when we dine together again, non?’ She stared at him in horror. This was going to be repeated? ‘You see, Mademoiselle Eliza, I chose that fragrance because I think it the very epitome of you. It captures your very being, non?’
She shuddered, hoping the overpowering pong was nothing like her.
‘You are cold? Come and sit down nearer the warmth,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the enormous fireplace where logs crackled and snapped. She was just comparing it to the tiny grate and twigs Fay used at the hobble when Bertram appeared offering refreshment.
‘A glass of lemonade would be nice,’ she said, smiling at the butler, who sniffed and turned away.
‘You would perhaps prefer a glass of champagne instead?’ Monsieur Farrant asked.
Eliza shook her head and he sighed, then took a sip of his own. The bubbles fizzing in his glass seemed extraordinarily loud but his next words took all thought of their drinks from her mind.
‘I expect you are deliriously delighted I have invited you to join me today but you would not be a woman if you were not wondering why, eh?’
Not sure what to say she merely nodded.
‘It is simple, dear Eliza. I thought after my proposal in the perfumery yesterday we should get to know each other better,’ he said, placing his glass on the table beside him.
‘But surely you weren’t serious?’ she stuttered, her stomach churning.
‘You were surprised, non? Mais, you are a beautiful woman and I’m a handsome man so …’ he shrugged, leaning forward so the smell of him wafted her way. NO! she wanted to shout, instinctively pulling away. ‘Now, before we eat, I think we should get one thing straight, yes?’ He paused and her stomach tied itself in knots as she wondered what was coming next.
‘When we are alone, I shall call you Eliza and you may call me Charles,’ he said, smiling as though he were bestowing a great honour. She was saved from answering by the dinner gong.
‘Luncheon is served,’ Bertram intoned, appearing in the doorway.
Monsieur Farrant rose to his feet and held out his hand.
‘Allow me to escort you to the table, Eliza,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her all of eight paces to the table that was set on the other side of the room.
‘May I sit beside the tree?’ she asked, thinking the smell of pine might mask the smell of him, though how she was going to eat she couldn’t think. She gazed at the ornate, and no doubt expensive, decorations smothering every branch of t
he tree and couldn’t help thinking less would be more tasteful. In her mind, Christmas should be about family, sharing and warmth, not possessions and shows of ostentation.
‘Ah, you like it, oui?’ he smiled, mistaking her look. Bertram hurried over and pulled out her chair, then shook out a snowy white serviette and placed it over her lap. She just had time to take in the flickering candles in the silver candelabra and the holly adorning the picture rails, when a dish was slapped down in front of her. Startled, she looked up only to be met with the glacial look of the housekeeper.
‘Hope it chokes you, I’m sure,’ the woman hissed.
‘Oh, Mrs Symms, I was going to help but …’ Eliza gasped, hurt that the woman had misunderstood her reasons for dining here rather than with the people she would prefer to be with, but the woman stuck her nose in the air and hurried away. Eliza stared down at the green gloop and gulped. Oblivious, Charles began to eat, making little slurping noises that, had she been hungry, would quite have put her off. Luckily he was so engrossed he failed to notice Eliza surreptitiously spooning her soup into the poinsettia. When the empty bowls had been cleared, he turned to her and smiled.
‘Tell me, Eliza, I have been perusing Fay’s receipts. They are most interesting. Did you perchance find any more?’ he asked, staring at her intently.
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said quickly. Then anxious to change the subject, added. ‘You have a delightful garden, Monsieur. I was hoping to take another walk around it later.’
He sighed. ‘Alas, by the time we have finished the meal today, it will be dark, non?’ Eliza’s eyes widened in amazement; how long could it take to eat Christmas luncheon?
‘Ah,’ he said, looking up as Mrs Symms reappeared. She was carrying an enormous salver on which lay the cooked goose, an apple adorning its neck end and a little white frill covering its behind.
‘Cook said she’s cooked it à la française,’ she sniffed, as Mimi bustled in with dishes of vegetables. Eliza looked at her and smiled but the little maid seemed too busy to notice.
Monsieur Farrant made an elaborate show of carving but luckily left Eliza to help herself. As the meal dragged on, she made a pretence of eating, spreading the food around the plate, wishing her ordeal over. As the room grew hotter, the smell of Monsieur got stronger and she turned towards the tree, inhaling deeply. But the freshness of the pine reminded her of Duncan and his beloved woods. What she wouldn’t give to be walking in them now.
‘Would you care for dessert?’ Charles asked, breaking into her thoughts.
‘Goodness me, I couldn’t eat another thing. As it is still light, a walk in the garden would be nice,’ she ventured.
He glanced out of the window. ‘Alas, it is raining,’ he said with a shrug.
‘I don’t mind, in fact it would be quite refreshing,’ she said.
‘Non. However, Charles, he has been thinking. He has been very remiss.’
‘He has? I mean you have?’
‘Oui. All the time you have been here, you have been cooped up like a chicken, yes?’
‘Well I …’
‘Non, it is true,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow, we shall ride out in my carriage so I can show off my future wife to all the people of Follytown.’ Eliza was stunned into silence. Show her off? Surely he wasn’t serious?
‘It will be a joy, oui?’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Now, I thank you for the pleasure of your company, but alas, being a busy man, even at Christmas I have things to attend to. I will meet you in the hall tomorrow at two o’clock. Sleep well, ma petite.’
Realizing she was being dismissed, Eliza got to her feet.
‘Thank you for a lovely meal,’ she stammered, remembering her manners as she hurriedly took her leave.
Passing the dining room, she could hear the staff making merry. How she’d love to be in there with them. She would join them now, she thought, reaching for the handle. Then she remembered the housekeeper’s glare, Mimi ignoring her, and carried on walking. They wouldn’t welcome her for it was obvious they thought she’d chosen to spend the day with Monsieur Farrant.
What a day it had been, she thought, carefully removing the shimmering dress and hanging it in the closet. Although it was still early, the events of this strange day had caught up with her and she climbed into bed. It appeared Monsieur Farrant was serious about her becoming his wife after all. But why? He was heaps older than her, smelled vile and had the table manners of a pig. As for riding out in his carriage, she really didn’t want to be seen with him. And it didn’t form part of her apprenticeship agreement, did it, so she’d spend the next day in her room. If she ignored his proposal perhaps he would too, she thought, falling into a dreamless asleep.
However, despite her resolve, just after two o’clock, there was a sharp rap on her door.
‘Monsieur Farrant is waiting in the main hall,’ Bertram sniffed and, as on the previous day, he marched off, leaving her to follow.
Their ride around the town square would have been enjoyable if Monsieur Farrant hadn’t insisted on waving to everyone they passed. The little place was thronging with people taking their Boxing Day constitutional. He couldn’t have picked a busier time if he’d tried, Eliza thought.
‘Wave, Eliza,’ he encouraged. She did as he ordered but couldn’t help noticing the surprised look on all their faces and the nudging that ensued. Meanwhile, Monsieur beamed and preened, acting as if he were royalty. It was embarrassing and Eliza was glad this was the only time she’d have to witness such behaviour.
Finally, they pulled up outside the house and Eliza gave a sigh of relief that her ordeal was over. Monsieur Farrant smiled as he helped her down from the carriage.
‘That was most enjoyable, Eliza, and I shall look forward to our ride out again next Sunday.’
She stared at him in surprise. ‘Next Sunday? But I thought we’d be riding out just the once.’
His smile widened. ‘We shall make it a date each Sunday afternoon. I want everyone to take a good look at my future wife, Eliza.’
‘But, Monsieur Farrant …’
‘You are wondering at my generosity, non?’ he beamed, but before she could say what was bothering her, he’d snapped into tutor mode. ‘Right, festivities are over. I will see you in the laboratory first thing tomorrow. I suggest you study your notes to be ready for my little test. Supper will be sent to your room in future as I do not wish you to mingle with the staff in the dining room.’
Her heart sank. Surely he didn’t intend keeping her away from everyone else?
‘But …’ she was about to protest, then realized she had no choice in the matter.
26
When Eliza arrived in the laboratory the next morning, she was overjoyed to find Amos already there.
‘Why, there’s a sight for sore eyes,’ he chirped. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Not really, how about you?’
‘Got spoiled rotten by Father and fussed over by Mother. Hey, what’s up?’ he asked, seeing her frown.
‘I was just thinking how lucky you are to have such caring parents,’ she sighed.
‘I know. They are the tops and I shouldn’t make light of them. Still, you have the staff here and they’re all right, aren’t they? Well, aren’t they?’ he asked when she didn’t answer.
‘They’re not talking to me or, as Mimi informed me, I’ve been sent to Doventry, wherever that is.’
‘I think she means Coventry, but why?’
‘Oh, Amos, I’ve had the most awful time,’ she wailed. And like water released from a dam, everything burst out of
her as she told him what had gone on whilst he’d been away. ‘So you see, the staff ignore me, I have to eat in my room and Monsieur insists he is marrying me.’
Amos stared at her in horror. ‘That can’t be right. I mean he can’t force you to …’
‘Bonjour, mes enfants,’ Monsieur Farrant said, breezing into the room. ‘We have all had a good Christmas, non? Now I have exciting news for whilst you have been chitting and chatting the morning away, I have been devising the new perfumes.’
‘We’re making perfume today?’ Eliza asked, brightening at the thought.
‘Non, Mademoiselle, I shall be making perfume while you and Amos pack away the Christmas merchandise and prepare the perfumery for the new stock. We are in the lead-up to spring and summer and must prepare, non?’
Seeing Eliza’s face, Charles said, ‘You think you are not learning that way, but everything you touch, see and smell is a lesson in itself. And,’ he paused dramatically, ‘when my perfumes are ready, you may assist Amos in measuring them into the amber bottles, oui? Now, have you been studying your notes?’ As his green eyes bored into her, she nodded. ‘Bon, then you will be ready with your mathematics, non?’
Mathematics? What had sums got to do with anything? But Monsieur was waving them away.
‘Amos, you know what needs to be done so you will instruct Eliza. Here are the keys to the perfumery. Make sure it is locked each night before you leave.’
‘Yes, Monsieur Farrant,’ he said, catching them and snatching up his lunch tin.
‘What are you looking so happy about?’ she asked as they made their way towards the perfumery.
‘A bit of freedom, that’s what. We will be able to talk while we work without being overheard.’
Although they worked hard, Amos’s cheery banter soon raised Eliza’s spirits. He was right, she thought. Nobody could make her marry against her wishes. If Monsieur mentioned it again she’d let him think she was going along with it until she’d completed her apprenticeship.