Rupert was grateful to be out of the heat; that must have been what had caused his giddiness, but though the piercing pain had gone, he was still feeling decidedly strange. Was it really too much sun?
‘I think I should go back to Le Coq,’ he said quietly to Hélène.
‘I will ask Pierre to drive you,’ said Rosalie, who had overheard him. ‘Hélène, run and ask Pierre to put the horse to at once.’
‘Really, madame,’ protested Rupert as Hélène hurried from the room, ‘there is no need to trouble Pierre. I can easily take the path through the fields.’
‘Certainly not, m’sieur,’ replied Rosalie firmly. ‘Pierre will drive you.’
Ten minutes later the message was brought that the chaise was at the door.
Rupert got to his feet and walked a little unsteadily out to where Pierre was waiting. Hélène went with him and he paused before climbing up to take his place.
‘Really, Hélène,’ he said softly, ‘there is nothing to worry about, I am sure. I will call on you again tomorrow, if I may.’
‘Of course you may,’ smiled Hélène, holding out her hand. ‘I shall look forward to it, but in the meantime, Rupert, I shall be thinking of you.’
Rupert raised her extended hand to his lips. ‘And I of you, my darling girl.’
Colour flooded Hélène’s cheeks as she murmured, ‘Really, M’sieur Rupert—’
‘Just Rupert will do, you know,’ he interrupted, still holding her hand.
‘Rupert, you should not address me as such.’
‘Why not, my darling girl? It’s what you are.’ And with that he touched her hand to his lips once more before climbing up into the coach.
Though he would never have admitted it to anyone else, he was relieved that he did not have to walk back to the village across the fields under the summer sun. The pain and giddiness had passed, but he felt strangely tired.
They made the short journey at a leisurely pace, and as he drove, Pierre considered what Annette had told him on her return from the village. Should he pass the information on to this Englishman who now seemed to have become so important to Miss Hélène? He, Pierre, had a great fondness for Hélène. He had been among those who had searched for her high and low when she had gone missing during the siege six years ago, and he had admired the courage with which she had managed to keep herself safe in the war-torn city. If Annette was right in her thoughts on Monsieur Barnier’s proposition, surely Monsieur Rupert should be warned.
‘Monsieur Chalfont,’ he said. ‘I think there is something you should know.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Rupert, whose thoughts had been drifting away again as he dozed to the rhythm of the chaise. ‘What did you say?’
‘This afternoon as you were leaving St Etienne, I believe Miss Hélène was approached by Monsieur Barnier.’
‘Yes.’ Rupert remembered the encounter with a wry smile. ‘So?’
‘So, afterwards he approached the maid, Annette.’
‘Did he? How interesting. And what did he want?’
‘He offered her money to spy on you and Miss Hélène… particularly on you, and to tell him anything she learned about you.’
‘Well now… and what did she say?’
‘She took his money. She was quick-thinking enough to realise that if she didn’t, someone else would and we’d have no idea what he was up to. Better to be the spy than for there to be another who we know nothing about, don’t you think?’
‘We?’
‘Annette and me. We both want to protect Miss Hélène from that man, so it is better to know the information he’s being given.’
‘I see. And do you know why he wants this information?’
‘Simply to discredit you. The talk below stairs is that he wants you out of the way and Miss Hélène for himself.’
‘And is the below-stairs gossip reliable?’ asked Rupert, though he knew for sure it would be at Pilgrim’s Oak.
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Pierre, ‘and we are all fond of Miss Hélène.’
‘And what about me?’ asked Rupert with a grin. ‘Do you think she needs protecting from me?’
‘That remains to be seen, sir,’ replied Pierre.
That made Rupert laugh out loud. ‘You believe in plain speaking, Pierre!’
‘Yes, m’sieur, as you do yourself.’
‘Perhaps we should assume the worst about Monsieur Barnier,’ said Rupert ruminatively. ‘Is the maid, Annette, going to speak to Miss Hélène about what she’s been asked to do?’
‘Yes indeed, m’sieur, when she gets the chance to speak with her alone. She must be warned.’
‘Will she also warn Madame St Clair?’
‘No, sir. There would then be the risk of Monsieur Barnier learning that his spy was no friend of his.’
‘But why?’ demanded Rupert. ‘Why are Miss Hélène and the maid so close? Because I know they are.’
Pierre was silent for a moment as he considered his reply. ‘That’s not for me to say, m’sieur,’ he said at length. ‘Maybe Miss Hélène will confide in you when she is ready to.’
When they reached the inn, Rupert descended from the chaise and turned back to Pierre. ‘I’m glad we have had this little talk on our way home. You are completely right that Miss Hélène must be protected from this man. I shall be there to protect her, but if you or Annette hear anything that I need to know, you must come to me at once. And if for any reason you cannot then you should go to Madame St Clair.’
Chapter 26
The telegram arrived the next day. Rupert had already set out for Belair in his hired chaise with a picnic basket packed by the inn, in the hope of tempting Hélène out for a drive. He wanted to talk to her alone about what Annette had been asked to do. Of course Annette would be with them, but it was clear to Rupert that she was special for some reason and he decided it was time he got to know her better.
When the post boy arrived at Le Coq d’Argent, Joseph Fermont directed him to Parker, who was outside in the yard, cleaning his master’s boots.
Parker took the telegram and saw that it came from England. How important is it? he wondered. Will it keep until Mr Rupert returns, whenever that is, or should I take it at once and hope to catch him before he sets out from Belair on his picnic?
Telegrams usually brought bad news, he thought. Why spoil the day? Surely another few hours would make no difference. He put the envelope into his pocket and got on with polishing the boots, but as the day wore on, he became more and more conscious of the telegram, rustling in his pocket, and at last he got to his feet and set off to walk to Belair.
As he arrived in the stable yard, the chaise was returning along the drive. It drew up in front of the house, and Henri the stable lad ran to take the horse’s head while Rupert handed Hélène down. He looked surprised as he saw Parker coming round the side of the house.
‘Parker?’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Telegram for you, sir,’ Parker said, handing him the envelope.
For a moment Rupert looked at it, premonition flooding his mind, then he ripped it open and read the message…
JUSTIN KILLED IN ACCIDENT STOP COME HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP CHALFONT
… and the colour drained from his face.
‘Rupert?’ Hélène put her hand on his arm. ‘Rupert? What is it?’
‘My brother,’ Rupert said. ‘My brother!’ And he crumpled the telegram in his hand.
‘Let’s go indoors,’ Hélène said, and taking him by the hand as she would a child, she led him into the house.
Annette had climbed out of the chaise and turned to Parker.
‘You’re Mr Rupert’s man?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, and as he spoke he knew he should have brought the telegram straight away. He didn’t know what it actually said, but it was clear there was something wrong with Mr Justin.
Hélène had taken Rupert into the morning room where, when she had closed the door, they could be private. Once inside, she turned to face h
im and took both his hands in hers. His face was as pale as it had been the day before, but this time she saw tears in his eyes.
‘Tell me,’ she said softly.
‘It’s Justin,’ Rupert murmured. ‘Justin, my brother. There’s been an accident.’ His voice broke on a sob. ‘He’s dead.’
Without further thought Hélène gathered him into her arms, pressing her cheek against his, wet with tears. She said nothing. There were no words that she could say that would be of any use. She just held him close as his tears slid silently down his face. She had never seen a grown man cry, but he was her Rupert and she held him tightly to offer him comfort.
She could hear voices outside in the hall, but she did not let him go. She never wanted to let him go again. She knew he loved her and she loved him. He was hers and there would never be anyone else.
At last he put her gently away from him, saying, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘Just remember I’ll always be here.’
Rupert looked down into her eyes and despite his great sorrow found he was smiling, smiling through his tears. ‘I love you, Hélène,’ he said.
‘And I love you, Rupert.’
He pulled her back into his arms, holding her close against him. ‘It’s not the time to ask,’ he said into her hair, ‘but will you marry me?’
She reached up a hand and touched his cheek. ‘Of course I will.’
At that moment the door opened and Rosalie came into the room. ‘Hélène,’ she said, ‘what are you doing in here?’ As she saw her daughter still standing within the circle of Rupert’s arms, she went on, ‘Well, I can see, but it is most unseemly of you.’
Hélène stayed where she was, safe with Rupert, and said, ‘Rupert has just learned that his brother has been killed in an accident, Maman.’
‘That is very sad news,’ replied her mother, ‘but it is a good thing that it was I and not one of the servants who found you like this. You should not be shut away, alone, with an unmarried man. If there was news of this, your reputation—’
‘My reputation is quite safe, Maman,’ Hélène interrupted. ‘Rupert and I have just become engaged, so it must be perfectly proper for me to comfort him in his distress at this dreadful news.’
‘Engaged!’ Rosalie latched on to that word, hearing little of the others. ‘With no reference to your father… or to me?’
‘Papa has already given Rupert permission to address me…’
‘But not for a formal betrothal…’
‘It is quite decided between us, Maman,’ Hélène said, glancing up at Rupert with a shy smile. ‘Is it not, Rupert?’
‘Quite decided,’ echoed Rupert. He stepped away from Hélène and said, ‘I hope you do not completely disapprove, madame.’
Rosalie looked flustered, but at last came back to the news brought by the telegram. ‘But with this news of your brother, surely this is hardly the time…’
‘It is just the time, madame,’ Rupert asserted. ‘I shall have to return to England at once. My family needs me there, and there will be much to arrange, but I shall come back as soon as I may to claim Hélène and take her to Pilgrim’s Oak.’
‘Pilgrim’s Oak?’
‘My family home, madame.’
‘This is not at all as it should be,’ Rosalie tried again, but she recognised in her daughter’s expression the look of determination that had carried her through the dark days of the siege. ‘I don’t know what your father will say.’
‘I hope he will give me his blessing,’ Hélène said. ‘But whether he does or not, I shall consider myself engaged to Rupert and will wait for his return, however long he’s needed in England.’
*
The news of Justin’s death was quickly spread below stairs.
‘Pierre says it means that Mr Rupert is now the heir,’ Annette told Agathe. ‘He will be Sir Rupert one day, and Hélène will be Lady Chalfont.’
‘If they get married,’ interposed Agathe.
‘I’m sure they will,’ Annette said. ‘Pierre says that Mr Rupert is besotted with her.’
‘Does he now?’ commented Agathe. She had noticed recently that Annette was giving a great deal of weight to what Pierre said. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or not. Annette had had a dreadful experience at the hands of Father Thomas, and Agathe was afraid that it might have made her fearful of every man. She liked Pierre, he was a good steady man, but would he understand the very gentle care Annette needed if she were ever to marry? There was nothing she could say in warning – she was bound by her promise to Rosalie that no hint of Annette’s real situation should become known at Belair – but she was also afraid that Annette could be damaged further if she were to marry and her husband expect his conjugal rights without knowledge of what had gone before.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m sure he isn’t thinking of that just now. He will be mourning his brother. They were twins, I believe, which probably means they were very close. I’m sure titles will be the last thing on his mind.’
In the propriety of the drawing room, with Rosalie in attendance though not within earshot, Hélène and Rupert sat in the window embrasure.
‘Does it say what happened?’ Hélène asked.
‘No, just an accident.’
‘And when?’
‘Yesterday,’ Rupert replied. ‘It must have been yesterday when I was taken ill; but I didn’t recognise it for what it was.’
‘When will you leave?’
‘First thing tomorrow. We shall take the train to Paris and then to the coast. I’ve sent Parker to the telegraph office to send a reply saying that I am on my way.’
‘Oh, Rupert! I wish I could come with you!’
Rupert flashed her the smile she had come to love. ‘So do I, my love, but we have to agree that that is impossible.’
‘We could elope?’ she suggested hopefully, and was rewarded with another smile.
‘So we could,’ he agreed, ‘but it wouldn’t answer. It would just upset everyone further still. Remember, we still have to brave your father’s anger!’
That turned out to be less of a trial than they had expected. Emile had grown to like the charming Englishman laying siege to his daughter, and he too had realised that now the elder brother was no longer in the way, Rupert would eventually inherit his father’s title. Of course he made no mention of this now, but it was in his mind as he gave his consent.
‘There can be nothing formal until you return,’ he told Rupert when he applied to him later that evening. ‘Hélène is very young, but if, after a period of mourning for your brother, perhaps in the spring, you are both of the same mind and wish to announce your betrothal, then we shall be happy to give you our blessing.’
It was almost dark when Rupert finally took his leave. Hélène’s parents gave them a few moments’ privacy to say goodbye before he climbed up into his chaise and drove back to the village. For a long moment as he held her close, she felt the warmth of his body against her own. ‘Never forget how much I love you, darling girl,’ he murmured into her hair, and then, with a gentle kiss upon her lips, he let her go.
‘It was such a lovely day,’ Hélène said with a sigh, ‘until you got the telegram.’
As he drove back to the village through the gathering gloom, he thought of the brief conversation he had managed to have with Annette, the maid.
‘Look after your mistress while I’m away,’ he’d said.
‘Of course,’ she had replied. ‘No harm will come to her. Pierre and I will see to that.’
‘Send word to me if necessary,’ Rupert had added, giving her his direction at Pilgrim’s Oak.
Once back at the inn he found Parker had packed all his belongings in readiness for the journey, and so he retired to his room, where he spent the night alone with his grief. Justin was dead, the other half of himself was missing and would never return, and having held himself together while he was at Belair, at long last he was able to give vent to his misery.
When the chaise was out of sight, Hélène had turned back into the house. She missed him already, but they had agreed to write and she would send her first letter the very next day and then wait to receive his reply. As she lay in bed, staring out into the night sky, she relived the day, the day which had been such a mixture of sadness and joy, the day she had engaged herself to marry Rupert Chalfont.
Chapter 27
‘He’s on his way home,’ Sir Philip said as he opened the telegram. ‘He’ll be here in a couple of days.’
Pilgrim’s Oak was a house in mourning. The curtains were drawn against the daylight, voices were hushed, footsteps light upon the stairs. Everyone was dressed in black, hurriedly ordered by Fran to show respect for the unexpected death.
Fran couldn’t wait for Rupert to get home. She had had to carry the weight of her parents’ grief alone. Her mother had been prostrate ever since she had seen Justin’s body laid out in the morning room.
‘I shall never be able to go into that room again,’ she had wailed. ‘What can have happened to him? How did he drown? I always hated him fishing!’
Sir Philip had been as strong and withdrawn as any man of his age faced with the death of a son. There was no wailing or tears from him, just a rigidity of body and mind as he had to accustom himself to the fact that Justin would never again walk in through the house in muddy boots, or be scolded by his mother for doing so.
Fran took on the arrangements for the funeral, for the notices to The Times and The Morning Post. It was Fran who consulted with Mrs Darwin about the baked meats to be served at the house to those who returned there after the service; with Mrs Crowley, the housekeeper, about which rooms should be prepared for Lady Chalfont’s sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Devenish, who were coming to stay for the funeral. And all the while she was worried Rupert would not arrive in time. How long had the telegram taken to find him? How long had his reply been in coming back?
There was also Kitty to consider; she and her family were almost as devastated as Justin’s own. They had liked and respected Justin as a person, but Sir James had been particularly pleased with the alliance because, as he had no male heir, Kitty’s sons would inherit from both sides of the family. It was a blow to his plans, as he didn’t hesitate to say to his wife.
The French Wife Page 22
