The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  Hélène frowned. ‘What do you mean, Maman? How did she look?’

  ‘I just wondered if you recognised her easily.’

  ‘Well, yes, she hadn’t changed much. A bit older, of course, and a bit fatter than I remembered, but she looked much as she did before. Why?’

  Rosalie shrugged. ‘No reason. You’ve changed as you’ve grown up and I wondered if she’d done the same – if she was different, you know, having been married.’

  ‘She seemed sad, somehow, but if her husband has died recently that’s to be expected, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed her mother, and she got to her feet. ‘Now I must go and get changed for this evening.’ She smiled across at her daughter. ‘After the wedding, when you’re really out, it’ll be your turn to find a husband!’

  In her boudoir Rosalie prepared to change into evening dress. She was content with her conversation with Hélène. Clearly Annette had not mentioned her pregnancy, and Hélène had not recognised it for what it was. She would have to know in the end of course, when the baby was born, but the less she knew in the meantime, the better.

  It was the next day before Rosalie was able to send for her housekeeper. Madame Choux joined her in the morning room once the breakfast had been cleared away and stood waiting, her face stony, her hands folded across her stomach.

  ‘Good morning, Madame Choux,’ Rosalie said, looking up from the page she had been writing on. ‘How has everything been since I was away?’

  ‘Fair to middling, madame,’ replied Madame Choux. ‘We’ve all been preparing for the arrival of Mr Georges and his family. I believe the nursemaid is coming with them. I’ve put a truckle bed into the night nursery so that she will be close to the children.’

  ‘Good, that’s as it should be. And how have the new servants settled in?’

  ‘The girl, she’s a good worker, been turning her hand to anything I ask her. Pity she’ll be leaving us so soon, but that baby must be due at any time. Her aunt, that Madame Sauze, has been to the village and arranged with Widow Leclerc for her to live there when her time comes.’

  ‘That seems a good arrangement,’ said Rosalie. ‘It’s best to be prepared. I knew I could rely on Madame Sauze to organise things.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Madame Choux darkly, ‘but I won’t need her once Miss Clarice is married.’ She looked Rosalie in the eye and added, ‘I don’t rightly need her now, madame, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘I do mind,’ said Rosalie briskly. ‘Whom I choose to employ is none of your business, and’ – her lips tightened – ‘I choose to employ Madame Sauze.’ There was a moment’s silence as Madame Choux realised she had gone too far and then Rosalie said, ‘I’m glad everything is under control, madame. Please ask Madame Sauze to come and see me straight away.’ She picked up the notebook in which she’d been writing and Madame Choux bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

  A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Agathe came in. Rosalie set aside her writing and said, ‘Good morning, Madame Sauze. How have you settled in?’

  ‘Well, thank you, madame. Annette and I are very comfortable, and there has been plenty to keep us busy.’

  ‘I’m sure there has,’ agreed Rosalie. ‘I hear from Madame Choux that you have managed to make arrangements for Annette when her time comes.’

  ‘Yes, madame. I spoke to Father Bernard at the church and he suggested that Madame Leclerc, who was recently widowed, might be pleased of the company and the extra money.’

  Rosalie nodded. ‘I have heard of her,’ she said. ‘I believe she is well known in the village both as a midwife and for laying out the dead.’

  ‘Indeed, madame. I went to see her and for a small recompense, she is happy to give Annette and the baby a home. We have agreed that the baby should be born in her house, where she would be on hand to help deliver the child. If you agree, madame, I think she should move there immediately after Miss Clarice’s wedding. She can still come to work from there if that’s acceptable to you, until the baby is born.’

  ‘That sounds a good arrangement,’ Rosalie said, and with that decided, she glanced down at the list in her notebook and asked, ‘And how are the preparations going in the house?’

  ‘Well, madame. I know you’ll be pleased how much we’ve achieved. The windows still need to be cleaned, but better just before the day. Everything else has been prepared, and with Monsieur Didier back with us to supervise in the butler’s pantry, you can rest assured nothing will be overlooked.’

  ‘Good.’ Rosalie got to her feet and picked up her notebook. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Agathe; we need someone with sound common sense. I will see Annette later. I believe she and Hélène have already spoken, and I have explained to Hélène about Annette’s husband. She quite understands and, having every sympathy for Annette, will ask her no questions. I want to ensure that there are no upsets before Clarice’s big day.’

  Chapter 11

  Rosalie was not the only one who was determined that nothing should spoil the special event. The day before the wedding, Suzanne Barrineau sat alone in the drawing room of Montmichel, waiting to receive their unexpected guest from London, her mind seething with resentment. How could Lucas have invited someone he hardly knew, foisting some unknown Englishman onto them like this? They had received a second telegram last evening announcing the time of his arrival in St Etienne today and clearly expecting someone to be at the station to meet him. How inconsiderate of this young man simply to assume he was welcome to stay at Montmichel as if he were one of the family, or even an old friend.

  ‘But I invited him to,’ Lucas had pointed out patiently when Suzanne again confronted him with this. ‘He’s a great fellow. You’ll like him. He’s good-looking, charming and, Mother, very well bred!’ It was the well bred part that Lucas emphasised. To his mother, breeding was everything.

  ‘You will be here to greet him,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not, Mother. You know I am to lunch at Belair tomorrow, but he won’t mind, he’s a capital fellow. You know lunch tomorrow will be the last time I shall see Clarice before we meet at the Mairie. Don’t worry. I will be back in plenty of time for dinner, and you will be here to make him welcome, won’t you?’

  Suzanne reluctantly agreed she would, but with a mutinous expression on her face. Lucas leaned forward and kissed her powdered cheek. ‘Knew I could rely on you, Maman,’ he said.

  Rupert was met at the station by Lucien, the Barrineaux’ taciturn groom, who, having greeted him politely, drove all the way to Montmichel in complete silence. Rupert, unperturbed by the quiet, looked with interest at the village as they passed through its centre. The place was not large but had some interesting buildings. The town hall was the most imposing, complete with arched windows, a clock tower and a fluttering flag. However, Rupert was more interested in the inn, Le Coq d’Argent. Rupert always liked to discover the local watering holes wherever he went, and Le Coq looked a decent sort of place. Perhaps there would be time for a glass of wine with Lucas before the big event. Lucien drove them out of the square and past the church, set upon its knoll. That must be where the wedding would take place tomorrow, Rupert thought. A pretty enough church if one had to get married, and with a slightly guilty smile he thought of Mary Dawson back at Pilgrim’s Oak and was glad he did not.

  About a mile beyond the village, they came to two huge stone gateposts, topped with stone eagles. Lucien turned the chaise in through wrought-iron gates and along a winding drive that opened into a turning circle in front of an imposing chateau – for, thought Rupert, who was impressed despite himself, it could hardly be regarded as anything else. His friend Lucas had let it be known while he was staying in London that his family were landowners, but Rupert had had no inkling of quite how impressive Montmichel would be. Built in mellow golden stone, with a slate mansard roof, its façade stood three storeys high, above which, set in the steepness of the roof, were the tiny windows of the servants’ quarters. Tal
l casement windows topped with decorated pediments opened off the ground floor, and above, a similar row of windows, each flanked with painted wooden shutters, looked out across the garden to the orchards and vineyards of the estate. It was a house that demanded attention, built to display its owners’ wealth and position in society. As he looked at its magnificence Rupert wondered, with a grin, if Lucas had any sisters. He got down from the chaise and waited for Lucien to bring his valise before approaching the imposing front door.

  As he raised his hand to sound the brass bell, the door swung open and he was greeted by an unsmiling butler who said, ‘Good afternoon, Monsieur Chalfont, I am Gaspard. Welcome to Montmichel.’ He stood aside to let Rupert into a wide expanse of marble-floored hall. Doors opened in several directions and a graceful staircase with a carved banister curved up to the first floor.

  ‘Aristide will take your luggage, monsieur,’ said Gaspard as a footman appeared from a passageway. ‘Will your man be arriving later?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Gaspard,’ Rupert answered in fluent French. ‘My man Parker has been detained in England.’

  ‘I see, sir.’ Gaspard’s tone was studiously neutral. ‘But that is of no consequence. If it is convenient, Aristide will take care of all your requirements while you are staying with us.’

  ‘Thank you, Gaspard.’ Rupert suppressed a smile. ‘That would be most convenient.’

  Aristide disappeared to collect Rupert’s luggage from the chaise and the butler said, ‘Please come this way, Monsieur Chalfont; Madame Barrineau is expecting you.’

  Rupert followed Gaspard into a large, sunlit drawing room, where Suzanne Barrineau was seated in an armchair by the window, an embroidery frame in her hand. As Gaspard announced Rupert, she laid aside her stitchery and, getting to her feet, held out her hand.

  ‘Monsieur Chalfont, we are very pleased that you found yourself able to come to Lucas’s wedding,’ she said, ‘even at such short notice.’

  ‘You are more than kind to invite me, madame,’ he replied, raising her extended hand to his lips and thinking… even if you didn’t.

  ‘Any friend of Lucas’s is, of course, a welcome guest. I regret that he is at Belair, the home of his bride, just now, but he will be back for dinner, when the rest of our family will have the pleasure of meeting you.’ She glanced out of the window and added as she waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the garden, ‘I’m afraid I have duties that require my attention now, but Lucas will be home well before dinner to greet you.’ She turned back to him and went on, ‘I’m sure you are tired after your journey, monsieur, so should you require any refreshment in the meantime, please don’t hesitate to ring and Gaspard will bring it to your room.’

  Where you, unwanted guest, should stay until Lucas gets home, thought Rupert cynically. But he showed no sign of his thoughts in the smile with which he greeted this suggestion, simply saying, ‘Thank you, madame.’

  Suzanne reached for the bell cord beside her and Aristide appeared at the door.

  ‘Ah, Aristide, please show Monsieur Chalfont to his room, and show every attention to our honoured guest.’

  Rupert had to smile at her obvious lack of sincerity, but he thanked her again and followed the footman out of the room.

  Suzanne sank back down in her chair with relief. She had not wanted this supposed friend of Lucas’s to intrude on the wedding, but at least he seemed presentable enough. Good-looking in an English sort of way, with deep-set dark brown eyes, determined chin and a lazy smile. She had been relieved when he had answered her in perfect French – at least there would be no difficulty in communication. She had to admit Lucas had been right, Rupert Chalfont did have a certain charm, which brought her thoughts at once to her younger daughter. The elder, Diane, was already safely married to Baptiste Marelle and would be in no danger from the English guest’s easy manner, but Lucie, at only sixteen, was of an impressionable age. She must ensure that Lucie did not have her head turned by this unknown Englishman with the good looks and the lazy smile. Immediately her mind turned to her dinner table for that night and she began rearranging the seating plan so that Rupert Chalfont would be seated well away from Lucie.

  Had he known of them, Rupert might have smiled at his hostess’s worries after his earlier thoughts about Lucas having a sister, but he did not. He followed Aristide up the gracefully curving staircase to the floor above, then along a landing to another corridor that intersected it. A second flight of stairs led them upward to the next storey; not the servants’ floor, but not the main guestroom floor either. Here, the footman opened a door and stood aside for Rupert to pass into a guest bedroom, where his trunk was already waiting for him. It was not a large room, but well furnished with all that he could need for a short stay.

  ‘Monsieur will find the bathroom at the far end of the corridor,’ intoned Aristide. He clearly knew the status of this unexpected guest and though Gaspard had assigned him to look after him, he had little hope of a gratuity. In this, however, he was wrong.

  ‘Aristide, is it?’ Rupert asked in fluent French. He reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted a guinea. ‘English money, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure you’ll be able to find a use for it?’ He gave the footman a quizzical smile and saw the young man’s eyes gleam.

  ‘Fair enough, Aristide, but I shall expect something in return. I don’t know anyone in the family except for Monsieur Lucas, so perhaps you can enlighten me?’

  ‘Certainly, monsieur,’ replied Aristide. ‘There is, of course, Monsieur and Madame Barrineau; Monsieur Lucas, his sister Madame Diane Marelle and her husband Colonel Marelle, and his other sister, Mademoiselle Lucie, not yet out of the schoolroom. Monsieur Barrineau’s mother also lives in the house, but she seldom leaves her room these days.’

  ‘But she will attend the wedding?’

  Aristide shrugged. ‘Who can tell, monsieur? She is very old.’

  ‘I see.’ Rupert made a mental note of all the names so far. ‘And are there any other guests staying at the house?’

  ‘Madame’s sister and her husband,’ replied Aristide, ‘that’s Monsieur and Madame Beaumont, and some cousins of Monsieur Barrineau, Mademoiselle Pauline Roubert and her sister Mademoiselle Mia, two unmarried ladies of a certain age. You will meet them all at dinner.’

  Feeling he now had a better knowledge of the household, Rupert dismissed Aristide, clutching his guinea, and began to unpack his bag. Though he had no valet with him, he was travelling light and he was well used to looking after himself. He had all the clothes required for a gentleman staying at a country house for a few days. He would not disgrace Lucas, nor make him regret his impulsive invitation. Perhaps if he decided to stay away for more than another week or so, he would send home and ask his man Parker to bring him more clothes.

  The view from his window, when he crossed to look out, was wide and far reaching. Montmichel boasted beautiful gardens and an extensive park. Had he known it, Suzanne Barrineau had wanted to hold the wedding breakfast and reception here at Montmichel. ‘So much more suitable,’ she had murmured to her husband, but Emile and Rosalie were determined to host their daughter’s wedding at their own home, and eventually, encouraged by both her son and her husband, Suzanne had acquiesced.

  ‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with Belair,’ Lucas had said. ‘It’s where Clarice wants our wedding celebrations to be.’ And if that was what Clarice wanted, as far as Lucas was concerned, there would be no question of anything else. However, after further discussion it was decided that a ball should be given in honour of the young couple at Montmichel the day after the wedding, and Suzanne had thrown herself into the preparations for that. She was determined that the Barrineaux’ contribution to the festivities would not be second best.

  Rupert decided now, as he looked out into the beautiful summer’s day beyond his window, that he would go outside and explore the garden. He had no wish to remain cooped up in his room until Lucas’s return. Thus it was that Suzanne saw him wa
ndering through her rose garden sometime before her son came home and another black mark was chalked up against him.

  That evening the dinner party was a convivial affair. Rupert found himself seated by Lucas’s sister Diane Marelle and found her extremely good company. On his other side was Madame Beaumont, his hostess’s sister. These two women he set out to charm, knowing that to Suzanne he was already persona non grata. The other ladies at the table, the Roubert cousins, remained almost silent, only answering in soft voices if someone addressed them directly, and at the far end, sitting between her father and Lucas, was the daughter of the house, Lucie. Pretty enough, Rupert thought wickedly, worth a moment’s dalliance perhaps, enough to worry Madame Barrineau. He treated Lucie to a smile, which she returned shyly before lowering her eyes as a young girl should.

  Later, when the ladies had withdrawn to the drawing room, Madame Beaumont said, ‘Your English guest seems a very pleasant person, Suzanne.’

  Her sister turned on her at once. ‘Isabelle, how can you say so? He wheedled an invitation from Lucas when he was in London, and we know nothing about him. He will leave as soon as the wedding is over and Lucas has left on his honeymoon. There will be no excuse to trespass on our hospitality after that.’

  Surprised at her antagonism, Isabelle replied mildly, ‘He’s the son of an English baronet, I believe, Suzanne, and thus entirely unexceptionable.’

  ‘I have to say, Maman, that I also found him quite charming,’ said Diane. ‘I liked him very much.’ She turned to her cousin, Mademoiselle Roubert. ‘Did you not think him so, Cousin Pauline?’

  Pauline Roubert coloured. ‘I’m sure any friend of Lucas’s will be charming,’ she replied softly, and Mia, as always taking her lead from her sister, murmured, ‘Charming.’

  ‘I don’t intend to discuss him any more,’ snapped Suzanne, murmuring sotto voce, ‘I don’t want Lucie to get any stupid ideas about him.’