The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Emile drily, ‘and this woman, Madame Saude…?’

  ‘Madame Sauze…’

  ‘Well, whatever she’s called… is expecting us to provide one?’

  ‘Madame Sauze is an extremely capable housekeeper,’ remarked Rosalie.

  ‘Is she now?’ Emile was surprised at the apparent change of subject. ‘And what has that to say to anything?’

  ‘Emile, we have already agreed that Madame Choux will have to be pensioned off after the wedding,’ Rosalie said. ‘And it seems to me that Madame Sauze would make an admirable replacement.’

  ‘But you hardly know the woman!’ scoffed Emile. ‘How do you know she’s any good? Have you seen references?’

  ‘No, but I have seen how she keeps a house,’ replied Rosalie. ‘You may remember I visited her at the Clergy House to thank her for her care of Hélène when she was in trouble.’

  It was clear from Emile’s expression that he remembered no such thing, but undeterred, Rosalie went on. ‘She had been there for years and only left recently when Father Lenoir died. She is now looking for another position and I thought she might suit us.’

  ‘Bringing a pregnant niece with her!’

  ‘She’s her only relative, and no doubt the girl will work as well.’

  ‘Hhhmm,’ grunted Emile, already tired of the subject. ‘I suppose you’ll do as you choose. You know I leave the management of the servants entirely to you, but I hope you will give the matter great consideration before you introduce some pregnant drab into the household. Now,’ he said, reaching for the bell, ‘I need a fresh coffee.’ Didier appeared in answer to his ring and the matter was closed.

  So, Rosalie had made her offer, and silence lapsed round them as Agathe Sauze considered it. It was indeed a generous one for both of them. Annette would be away and out of Paris, beyond the clutches of Father Thomas and St Luke’s orphanage. Difficult though it still might be, she would have the chance of a new life. As for Agathe herself, she too would be able to leave Paris, leave her sister, with the prospect of a real job in the country. She could hardly believe it. The idea of working in the country home of a family like the St Clairs was such a wonderful opportunity – like a dream. She longed to leap at the offer for both of them, but what about the deception required to carry it through? Suppose it were exposed? It would reflect badly on them, but far worse on the St Clairs for having colluded with it. They had a reputation to lose.

  ‘Madame,’ she said at last, ‘I’m overwhelmed with your generosity. But I am concerned about the lies and deceit necessary for it to be successful. Your husband, what will he think?’

  ‘I have of course discussed the idea with my husband,’ Rosalie told her, ‘but,’ she admitted, ‘I told him the story of your niece and the loss of her husband, and he left the matter entirely with me. The decision is mine.’

  ‘Then, madame, with great gratitude, I accept your offer for both of us.’

  ‘Good,’ said Rosalie briskly and got to her feet. ‘I will send a message down to Belair and tell them to expect you both the day after tomorrow. You can take the train. Once you arrive, you will find the household very busy and you will take up your duties immediately… working under Madame Choux’s direction, of course.’

  Agathe also stood up. ‘Certainly, madame. I quite understand.’ There had been no mention of wages, but Agathe knew that whatever Rosalie decided would be fair. In this she was immediately confirmed as Rosalie went to her desk drawer and drew out a purse. Handing Agathe some money, she said, ‘For your train fare, madame. I’ll see you next week, when we shall be returning to St Etienne ourselves.’ Surprising Agathe, she held out her hand. ‘I’m trusting you, both of you, to keep your side of the bargain,’ she said.

  Agathe took the proffered hand and said, ‘I promise you, madame, your trust is not misplaced.’

  When Agathe Sauze had left the house, Rosalie sat down at her desk and, having written a brief note to her housekeeper, summoned Pierre the coachman.

  ‘I need you to return to Belair,’ she told him. ‘You will take the train tomorrow and give this letter to Madame Choux. Then the next day you’re to meet the Paris train to collect two new servants I’ve employed to help over the wedding, a Madame Sauze and her niece, Annette Dubois. Take them to Belair and introduce them to Madame Choux.’

  ‘Yes, madame,’ said Pierre. ‘And shall I then return here? In case Monsieur needs me?’

  ‘No,’ Rosalie replied. ‘Stay and help at Belair. We shall all be coming back after the weekend. There is much to do before the wedding.’

  Chapter 9

  When Agathe got back to the apartment, she found Annette sitting on the landing outside the front door.

  ‘Annette? What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘She threw me out, your sister. Told me to get lost.’

  ‘Did she now? And how did she know you were there?’

  ‘She came to your room. She knew you weren’t there and she simply walked in. At first she didn’t see me, I was lying on the bed, but she went straight to the wardrobe and opened it. She was peering inside when she caught sight of me in the mirror.’ Annette gave a throaty laugh. ‘Gave her a shock, it did, seeing me tucked up in your bed. She shrieked! I said it was all right because I was a friend of yours but she didn’t believe me. At least she said she didn’t. She accused me of being a burglar and then was furious because I laughed and said “What burglar goes to bed in the house he’s robbing?” She didn’t laugh.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Agathe. ‘What was she doing in my room, I wonder?’

  ‘Snooping,’ replied Annette. ‘Anyway, she told me to get out, so I grabbed my things and waited for you out here.’ Suddenly she was serious. ‘What did Madame St Clair say?’

  Agathe smiled and, reaching down, pulled the girl to her feet. ‘She said yes! She said that you and I are both to go to this place Belair in St Etienne and work for her there. There is more to it than that, but we’re not going to discuss it here. Let’s get indoors and I’ll tell you all about it – and I need to tell Fleur that I’m moving out.’ She went across to the front door of the apartment and put her key in the lock. Before she could turn it the door was flung open and Fleur stood in the doorway, blocking her entrance. She stared at Agathe with angry eyes.

  ‘So you do know this vagabond who was sleeping in your bed.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Agathe mildly. ‘She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. She’s fallen on hard times and I—’

  ‘She’s certainly fallen,’ retorted Fleur, pointing an accusing finger at Annette’s rounded stomach, ‘and I won’t have her here in my home.’

  ‘You won’t have to after tomorrow,’ Agathe said, ‘but perhaps we should discuss this inside. Better than on the doorstep, don’t you think?’

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ Fleur snapped. ‘She’s not coming in!’

  ‘In that case,’ said Agathe, ‘I’m sure she won’t mind standing out here for ten more minutes, just while I pack my things.’

  ‘Pack your things? Why, where are you going? You can’t just walk out after all I’ve done for you.’

  ‘I hadn’t planned to,’ agreed Agathe, reasonably. ‘I have come home with some excellent news, but as I said, I’m not going to discuss it standing on the landing. You either let us both in, or I shall simply pack up and leave.’

  Fleur flushed red, but faced with this ultimatum, she stood aside and allowed both Annette and Agathe into the apartment.

  ‘Why don’t we go into the salon and I’ll make some coffee,’ suggested Agathe. ‘Then I can tell you all about it.’

  While Agathe boiled water for the coffee, Fleur sat rigidly silent in one of her armchairs. She made no effort to speak to Annette, nor did she offer a chair, so that when Agathe appeared with the tray, she found Annette still standing by the window looking down into the street.

  ‘Come and sit down, Annette,’ Agathe said, ‘and have some coffee.’

&
nbsp; Rather unwillingly Annette sat down, perching on the edge of the chair as if about to take flight. Agathe poured coffee for them all and then sat down herself.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Fleur.

  ‘Well,’ replied Agathe placidly. ‘As I said outside, poor Annette is the daughter of an old friend of mine and she has fallen on hard times. She was married last year and is, as you see, expecting her first child, but sadly her husband Marc died in the recent flu epidemic, so she’s been left a widow. Their room went with his job and she’s been turned out by her landlord as she can’t pay the rent. What would you like me to do’ – Agathe’s voice grew harsher – ‘leave her in the gutter to die?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ muttered Fleur, ‘but I think you might have told me she was here. She gave me the fright of my life, rearing up from the bed like that.’

  Agathe didn’t bother to ask what Fleur had been doing in her bedroom, poking through her things. She had a fair idea it wasn’t the first time, but she didn’t want to provoke another quarrel. Indeed, she was simply relieved that Fleur seemed to have accepted the fiction of Annette’s marriage without demur, so she said, ‘Drink your coffee, Fleur, and let me explain.’

  Briefly she told her sister of her visit to the Avenue Ste Anne and Rosalie’s offer of employment for them both.

  ‘But why?’ demanded Fleur. ‘Why did you go to this Madame St Clair? How did you know she would help you?’

  ‘I knew her some years ago when I looked after her daughter for a while. She remembered and offered to help us now.’

  ‘But why do you have to go?’ protested Fleur, suddenly realising how much she would miss Agathe if she moved away. She had become used to the company. Loneliness loomed and she spoke sharply. ‘I can see Annette needs work and a place to live, but your place is here… with me.’

  ‘No, Fleur, it isn’t,’ Agathe replied gently. ‘You have been more than kind and generous in giving me a place to live while I was out of work, but I always told you it was only until I found another job, and now I’ve found one, and it’s time for me to move out.’

  ‘Huh!’ exclaimed Fleur. ‘You batten on me when you want to and then you’re up and off with no warning at all.’ Her face flushed a dull crimson as her anger took hold. ‘You’ve used me, Agathe—’

  ‘No more than you’ve used me, Fleur,’ Agathe answered mildly.

  ‘—and now you’re casting me off!’ Fleur cried, ignoring Agathe’s comment entirely.

  ‘You used me as an unpaid servant,’ Agathe reminded her, ‘but the arrangement suited both of us. I agree, we have made use of each other!’

  Annette listened as the argument escalated, and then very quietly got to her feet and left the room, knowing that she was the cause of the row.

  ‘You certainly are not,’ Agathe told her when she came back to her room. ‘Fleur and I always have argued. We shall both get over it.’ She smiled reassuringly at Annette. ‘Now, tomorrow we have to get ready to leave.’

  Two days later they bought their tickets and were on their way to St Etienne. As they left the apartment they said goodbye to Fleur, who was surprisingly tearful.

  ‘When am I going to see you again, Agathe?’ she wailed as they carried their bags to the front door. ‘I need you. I’m not well!’

  ‘Soon,’ soothed Agathe, used to her sister’s hypochondria. ‘As soon as we’re settled and my work allows, I’ll come up and see you.’

  As they left the building, she glanced up at the window that overlooked the street and saw her sister standing, pale-faced, watching them leave. Agathe lifted a hand in farewell and turned away, not knowing that her sister had spoken the truth, that she had consumption and that within months she would be dead. Agathe would never see her again.

  Neither Agathe nor Annette had ever been on a train before. Annette spent the journey with her nose pressed against the window, watching sunlit countryside such as she had never seen nor been able to imagine, slip past her as the train chugged its way south from the city. Agathe was watching as well, but she was looking anxiously for the names of the stations they passed, afraid that they might miss theirs. Other passengers in the compartment came and went, and once Agathe plucked up the courage to ask one elderly woman how much further to St Etienne.

  ‘I leave the train at the station before,’ the woman replied, and with a sigh of relief Agathe knew she could relax until then.

  When the train finally steamed into St Etienne she quickly got to her feet, saying to Annette, ‘Come along, hurry and pick up your bag, this is where we get off.’

  They clambered down onto the platform, each of them carrying a small case containing her worldly goods. When they had passed through the ticket barrier, they stepped outside into the summer sunshine and looked about them.

  ‘Madame St Clair said someone would meet us,’ Agathe said anxiously.

  Annette, looking about her, saw a man of about thirty standing beside a pony and trap, his eyes searching the few passengers who had alighted. ‘Perhaps that’s him,’ she said.

  The man spotted them at the same moment and came across. ‘Madame Sauze? I am Pierre, sent by Madame St Clair to fetch you.’ He added anxiously, ‘You are Madame Sauze?’

  ‘Yes, monsieur, thank you, and this is my niece, Madame Dubois.’

  The man looked surprised. He had been assuming that the niece he’d been told to meet was a Mademoiselle Dubois, but in that instant he saw that she was expecting a child and quickly averted his eyes, saying, ‘I have the trap over here. Come this way, please.’

  As they drove away from the station, Annette stared wide-eyed at the scattered houses of St Etienne. Some lined the main street, hidden by high protecting walls; other, smaller houses opened directly onto the roadway; and yet more scrambled, higgledy-piggledy, up narrow lanes that branched off on either side to the rising ground beyond. The thoroughfare bisecting the village opened out into a stone-paved square, the Place, and clearly this was the heart of St Etienne. It was bounded by shops on two sides, and a busy coaching inn, a silver cockerel above its door proclaiming it Le Coq d’Argent, lay across a third. The fourth side was dominated by the Mairie, the town hall, by far the most important building in the square. In the centre of the Place, market stalls, some shaded by colourful awnings, offered fruit, vegetables and other produce from the surrounding countryside. It was a gathering place where people met to do business, to catch up on news, to share a glass of wine. Several elderly men were sitting out in the sunshine, glasses in hand, smoking pipes and chatting as they watched the progress of a game of boules; women, carrying baskets, paused to share gossip before returning home with their purchases. There was a lazy bustle about the place as it lay in the warm summer sunshine.

  Pierre drove down one side, past the Mairie, and at the far end turned out of the Place towards the village church, standing atop a rise. With grey stone-flinted walls and a slender tower topped with a steeple looking out across the countryside, the church seemed to grow up out of the hill on which it stood, its encircling walled graveyard gathered protectively around it. Annette stared up at it as they drove past; it was nothing like the cheerless churches that had dominated the streets and squares of Paris, but she was done with churches and determined that she would not set foot in another unless she were forced to do so.

  When Pierre turned the pony in through the gates of Belair and they were driven up the drive, they had their first sight of the house that was to be their home for at least the next few weeks.

  It stood as if dreaming in the midday sunshine, symmetrical and well proportioned, with two wings extending forward a little from the main part of the house, which stood three storeys high. The walls, cream-painted stucco, were punctuated by tall windows that flashed gleams of sunlight across the drive, three to each wing and two on either side of the arched portico above the front door.

  What a beautiful house! Agathe thought as, ignoring the carriage sweep at the front of the building, Pierre drove the pony and trap past the
door and on round to the stable yard at the back before pulling up to allow his passengers to alight.

  Could this really be the place where she might find a permanent position?

  Annette had stared up at it and, assailed by an increasing fear, wished she were back in Paris. She had looked at the emptiness of the countryside from the windows of the train and longed for the close-lived bustle of the city streets she knew. And now the house. How would she ever find her way about such a large house?

  Pierre got down and called to a stable lad who had appeared from the stables, ‘See to the pony, Henri, I’ll take these indoors to meet Madame Choux,’ adding as he turned back to the two women in the trap, ‘She’s the housekeeper.’

  He did not hand them down as he would have one of the family, but as Annette stepped down her foot slipped on the cobbles and she would have fallen had he not put out his hand to steady her. For a moment he gripped her arm and then she pulled free, colour flooding her face as she whispered her thanks.

  ‘This way,’ he said, and with that they picked up their bags and followed him through a side door into the house.

  Madame Choux was in the kitchen and it was clear when she received them that they were not welcome. She looked them over for a few moments, taking in Annette’s pregnancy with a pursing of her lips. She already knew that Agathe Sauze’s niece was expecting a baby, that had been explained in Madame’s letter, but she resented the fact that these two women had been engaged at all and without any reference to her.

  ‘I am Madame Choux, the housekeeper, and you answer to me,’ she announced by way of greeting. ‘Madame said to expect you. Your uniforms are in your room. Lizette will show you where to go. Once you have changed come straight back down and I will explain your duties.’ She turned away, calling over her shoulder, ‘Lizette, take these two upstairs and show them where they will be sleeping.’