Spring House

by Taylor, Mary Ellen

  Madame Herbert’s lips curled into a sly grin. “You are a clever girl. I’ve always known this since I first laid eyes on you.”

  Diane dropped her gaze to her sister’s beautiful handwriting. “I can write a note to Claire. She should be in London.”

  Madame slurped her coffee, pleased with herself. “Ah, this could be very good for us all. Gilbert sells Calvados, you see your sister, and the farm perhaps gets a little richer.”

  Diane wrote to Claire that morning, and Madame had one of the local boys post the letter later that day. Diane did not have long to wait before she heard back from Claire, and soon the two had a date to meet at a café not far from Max’s shop. Madame lent Diane a red scarf that she had kept wrapped in paper in her dresser drawer, as well as a wide-brimmed hat and gloves to match.

  Nervous excitement raced through Diane the day Gilbert pulled his motortruck in front of the château. His expression was somber—as it had been since the day Madame Herbert had announced her plan.

  Diane, wearing Madame Herbert’s scarf, hat, and gloves, hugged her and scratched Oscar between the ears before she climbed into the truck. She was excited but also worried about seeing Claire. She had changed so much in the last nine years, and surely Claire had as well. As she smoothed her hand over the fresh calluses from the harvest, she wished the cloth of her dress were a little finer.

  Gilbert started the engine, and they set out on the drive to Le Havre. By the time they had arrived at the inn around the corner from Max’s shop, it was late afternoon. As she climbed out of the truck, she looked around at the tall gray buildings that had not changed since the day Madame LeBlanc had been murdered and they had fled moments ahead of the police.

  Tension rippled through her as she looked around at the faces of the men and women on the streets. She did not recognize any, but the same types of characters—including shop owners, rough men, even the girls on the streets—remained. What had become of Pierre? Had the police discovered what he had done, or had he escaped?

  “He’s not here,” Gilbert said.

  She looked up at his brooding features, searching for an explanation. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen men like him before. Like a cockroach, they scamper away when there is trouble. And Max would have told me if he’d surfaced.”

  “He may have returned. Madame LeBlanc said once he was from this area.”

  “Even if he did, you have changed too much for him to recognize you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. Go to your room and sleep. I’ll meet you down here in the morning and escort you to the café and to your sister. And while you visit, I will inquire with Max about Pierre Laurent.”

  She had every reason to trust Gilbert. Whereas she was letting fear drive her, he relied on logic. Still, despite his assurances, Diane’s sleep that night was deeply troubled. She dreamed of Pierre, his hands tightening around Madame’s neck and then her own.

  Diane woke early and took extra time washing her face and styling her hair as she had seen some of the women in the city wearing theirs yesterday. She wrapped the red scarf around her neck and positioned the hat carefully on her head. When she inspected herself in the small mirror, she saw a young woman looking back at her.

  Gilbert was waiting when she came downstairs, and when he saw her, his stern expression soured.

  “Do you think I look nice?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he growled. “You look as if you belong in the city.”

  Ignoring the tension in his tone, she accepted his arm, and the two walked through the city to the café. They stood on the street corner as she searched the crowd for Claire. Intent on finding the girl she had left at the depot in Cape Hudson, she missed the lovely young woman who approached her.

  “Diane?”

  Diane recognized the voice instantly and turned toward the young woman wearing a burgundy jacket and skirt trimmed in brocade. Her sister’s skin reminded her of peaches covered in cream, and her eyes were sharp and direct, just like their father’s. Her face was lean, her cheekbones angled, and her lips full and smiling. If not for the auburn highlights in her hair and her eyes, Diane might have overlooked her altogether.

  “Claire?” Diane said as she stepped away from Gilbert.

  Claire closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around her. “Those eyes will always give you away, no matter how old you are.”

  Diane raised her arms and hugged her sister tightly. Emotions she had long locked away roiled up inside her, welling in her eyes and spilling down each cheek. She had not touched anything remotely like home since she had left nine years ago, and to be this close to what she’d once had was so pleasurable it ached.

  “You don’t smell like the bay,” Diane said.

  “I’ve not been to Cape Hudson in quite some time, but Lord, how I miss it. You smell like the ocean.”

  “There is a hill above the apple orchard that overlooks the sea. The land is far too rugged to be like home, but the ocean is close, and it smells exactly the same.”

  Claire drew back and gently brushed a tear from her cheek and then one from Diane’s. “That was so long ago.”

  “Right now it feels like yesterday.” Remembering Gilbert standing behind them, she said, “May I present Monsieur Gilbert Bernard. He owns the orchard where I work.” And then in French, Diane said, “Gilbert, this is my sister Claire.”

  Claire extended her hand to Gilbert, but her smile was not as quick as it had been for Diane. Her older sister scrutinized the man as if she were a dowager inspecting a footman. Gilbert held her gaze as if he expected and even welcomed such scrutiny.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Claire said in French. “Diane speaks very kindly of you, Madame Herbert, and Oscar.”

  Mention of the dog prompted a small smile from Gilbert as he nodded slightly. “She runs the house and most of the estate now. We would be lost without her.” Gilbert straightened his shoulders. “I think it is time for you two to visit.”

  “Would you like to join us at the café?” Claire asked.

  “I think this is your time to catch up,” he said. “Diane, when should I return?”

  “I’m not sure,” Diane said.

  “I shall take good care of her, Monsieur Bernard,” Claire said. “I shall deliver her back to your inn before the end of the day.”

  He hesitated and looked to Diane as if he did not like the idea of leaving her. But finally he nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thank you, Gilbert,” Diane said.

  Very formally, he touched the brim of his hat, turned on his heel, and left them alone. For a moment, she felt a sense of loss, but it was quickly overshadowed by excitement when Claire brushed a stray curl back just as their mother had done when Diane was little.

  “You are so grown-up,” Claire said in disbelief.

  Diane glanced quickly in the direction where Gilbert had strode off, but he had vanished into the crowd.

  “So much time has been lost. Mama never wanted it to be this way.” Sadness passed over Claire’s eyes, like clouds in front of the sun, but just as quickly the darkness lifted. “We cannot dwell on what is past. We only have now.”

  Diane realized several of the people around them were openly staring and clearly wondering who these two women were. “I think we are upsetting everyone’s morning coffee.”

  “That is too bad for them,” Claire said. “It has been too long since I’ve seen you for me to worry about convention.”

  Giddy laughter rose up inside Diane. With Claire at her side, she felt the boldness she had enjoyed as a young child running along the beaches of the Eastern Shore. “If we cannot give people something to talk about, then who will?”

  Claire laughed, hooking her arm into the crook of Diane’s. “Perhaps we should at least try to appear respectable, or we might find ourselves the center of gossip or, worse, earn the attention of a gendarme.”

  Mention of the police sobered Diane’s mood
a fraction. “I suppose we should take care.”

  Claire leaned her head into Diane. “You are right, of course. We don’t have the luxury of not caring. We serve at the pleasure of our employers, who expect impeccable behavior.”

  Her sister’s sobering words did not quell the excitement that she felt right now. To have her sister with her, and to have a piece of who she had once been, felt too good to let worry dampen it.

  Claire led them inside the café, and with the grace of a fine lady, she told the maître d’ that they wanted a quiet table.

  Judging by the expression on the maître d’, Claire was considered a woman of importance. It was her innate talent with the needle and thread as well as her bearing that allowed her to create the illusion of a grand lady.

  Diane tugged at the red scarf Madame Herbert had lent her. This morning, she’d felt quite elegant in the piece, but now, compared with Claire’s accoutrements, it seemed plain and provincial.

  The sisters settled at a table in the corner, and the waiter quickly brought them two cups of coffee and a plate of macarons. Madame Herbert had taught Diane how to make more rustic pies and tarts, but neither had mastered the very delicate pastries made by the chefs in the city. This morning’s fare would cost Diane all the coins she had stuffed in her bag, but it would be worth it.

  Claire sat back, regarding her as Diane sipped coffee that tasted divine. There was so much goodness crammed into this moment that she wished some of it could be saved, wrapped up, and parceled out later when her spirits were low.

  “You look beautiful.” Claire’s eyes widened.

  Diane raised her head, licking the cream from her upper lip. “No, it’s you who looks beautiful. I thought for a moment you were one of the Buchanan ladies.”

  “No, far from it. I’m good at creating an illusion and making the best of what I have. But you are stunning.”

  Diane picked at the red scarf, noticing a small hole. She reached for a cookie, unable to resist.

  “If I were to dress you, you could pass as the wealthiest woman in the city. Men and women would be falling at your feet to meet you.”

  “Until they heard me speak and realized I don’t know much about anything.”

  Claire leaned in. “Madame LeBlanc promised to see to your education. She told Papa there were schools in Baltimore and Paris that you could attend.”

  For years, she’d maintained the pretense that her life was going well so that Claire would not worry. “There was some talk of sending me to a school, but in the end, there was no time for books. She handled most of my instruction herself. Surely the Buchanans did better by you.”

  Claire frowned. “I spend my days sewing and looking after Victoria.”

  “In your letters you make it all sound so wonderful.”

  “I’m not complaining. I’ve seen things I never would have if I’d stayed in Cape Hudson. But I’ve learned that travel and seeing the big world is not all that the books Mama read us promised.”

  “Ah, the girls in the stories manage to leave their wretched worlds and find wealth and happiness.”

  “I suppose there are not enough princes to go around to save girls like us.”

  Diane bit into the cookie, savoring a sweetness that did not quite cut through the bitterness she felt. “What of Jemma and Sarah and the boys? I don’t receive many letters from any of them.”

  “The boys are terrible at writing, and I have received a few letters from Jemma and Sarah. The girls still live on the farm in the Shenandoah Valley, and they assure me their lives are good. The boys are fine. I trade letters with Sally Jessup often. Stanley is eleven, Joseph is ten, and Michael is nine. All three boys help Mr. Jessup with the boats and are becoming quite skilled watermen. When Papa is in port, he sees the boys. Sarah and Jemma have not seen him since he sent them away.”

  It stung to know their father kept up with his sons but not his daughters. “Jemma and Sarah must remember Mama?”

  “They do. And they mention in their letters some of their fondest memories. Stanley remembers a little. But Michael and Joseph don’t have any recollection of her. In their very few letters, they call Sally their mama. And to Sally’s credit, she does love those boys.”

  Again she resented her brothers because they had been spared the feeling of loss she and Claire felt over losing their mother. “Have you seen Papa?”

  “No. There was talk at one time of me going to see Winter Cottage, the Buchanans’ hunting lodge on the Eastern Shore, but in the end Victoria changed her mind, so we didn’t go.”

  “You’re still trying to herd all the Hedrick ducklings, just as you did when Mama was alive.” Their mother had been quite sick with her last two pregnancies, and Claire had stepped into her shoes as mother hen. But despite all Claire’s work, she could not keep her ducklings corralled.

  They both sat in silence for a moment and ate their cookies before Claire said, “Was it hard for you when Madame LeBlanc died?”

  Diane was glad now she had sugarcoated the woman’s dark demise. It would do no good to burden Claire with the information. “When I was in her care, she was not the most affectionate woman. I was quite lucky Madame LeBlanc sent me to live with Gilbert and Madame Herbert.”

  “Mrs. Lawrence was sorry to hear of her death. They were close at one time.”

  Diane stiffened. “How did she hear?”

  “Through an old acquaintance of Madame LeBlanc’s. Pierre Laurent.”

  Diane set her cup on the saucer, her taste for the treat instantly vanishing. “I didn’t realize he’d been in contact. Did he mention me?”

  “No. If Madame LeBlanc had wanted him to know her plans for you, she would have shared them with him herself.”

  Stillness settled over Diane. Madame LeBlanc had spoken of her cousin but never mentioned his name in front of Pierre. Perhaps she had been planning to leave Pierre behind for a long time. “So he doesn’t know I live at Château Bernard.”

  “No.” Claire eyed her closely. “You’re pale.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Should I know more about this Pierre Laurent?”

  Diane relaxed back in her seat. There had been no sign of Pierre in six years, so it seemed foolish for her to worry. “No. He is of the past, as is Madame LeBlanc.”

  Claire did not speak for several moments as she continued to study Diane until, finally, she broke her silence. “There is talk of Mrs. Lawrence marrying Mr. Buchanan one day. However, the current Mrs. Buchanan has not obliged them. She’s very much alive.”

  Diane raised her brow. “Mrs. Lawrence says this to you?”

  “A woman says many things to her dressmaker. Though you are the only person I have told this secret to, so do not share it. My discretion is why Mrs. Lawrence likes me so much.”

  “And what of Victoria?”

  “Don’t ever mention this marriage to her either. She gets quite moody at the thought of another woman taking her mother’s place.”

  “Has our papa found a new wife?”

  “Not according to Sally Jessup. He’s content to sail with the merchant marines.”

  “Which is what he did before.”

  Their mother had been the driving force in the family, and she’d kept the children safe, the house maintained, and the gardens tended during Papa’s long absences.

  “Mrs. Lawrence is still open to me hiring an assistant. You have declined several times before, but I have to ask again,” Claire said. “Would you come work with me?”

  “Sewing for Victoria and doing whatever you needed?”

  “You are one of the few people I trust, and it would be heaven to have family with me again.”

  “Even if I’m all thumbs with a needle and thread? I can assure you my sewing skills have not improved.” Still, to be asked and know she had not been forgotten meant the world, even though it would mean another family and another carved-out space that did not exactly fit.

  Claire smiled over the rim of her cup. “I’m sure we c
an work around that. The Buchanans are rich enough to keep as large a staff as they’d like.”

  “I’ve grown accustomed to the orchard. I discovered I have a talent for making things grow. I like to dig my hands in the rich soil.”

  “But with me you can travel the world.”

  “I have made it several thousand miles from Cape Hudson, and it seems to me the world is much the same everywhere. I have no desire to travel farther than where I am.”

  “Ah, stubborn as always. Tell me you’re not turning me down because I have offered. I know things didn’t work out as I promised at Mama’s funeral, but it will be different this time. If you travel with the Buchanans, we will see places and people you could never see in a small town in America or France. I promise you I’ll not send you away again.”

  The last words were barely a whisper and choked with sadness and regret. “I know you meant well and still do, but neither one of us really has control of our lives.”

  “That’s not true,” Claire countered.

  “And if Mrs. Lawrence were to end her relationship with you, then where would you go?”

  “Then I would put on my best outfit and attend Sunday service at the most prominent church in New York. I’m quite sure I would have orders to create dresses for women in society within the month. I’m very good at what I do, and I can teach you all that I know. Perhaps one day we might even own our own shop.”

  The idea had great appeal. The two of them owning a business in America was tempting. She would then have the means to visit Virginia and see her brothers and sisters. But choosing Claire meant leaving behind the château, the apple trees, Madame Herbert, Oscar, and even the sour-faced Gilbert.

  “What would you do if your Mr. Bernard asked you to leave the château?” Claire challenged.

  Diane had no answer. The idea of leaving the orchard churned up a melancholy she had not felt since her mother died. “He wouldn’t send me away.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know. Loyalty runs so deep in Gilbert, it is fused into his marrow and bone.”

  “Is there more between you two?”