Annette led them into the parlour and then scurried away to find Agathe Sauze. The delight that suffused the housekeeper’s face when she came into the room and saw who was there told Rosalie all she needed to know about this generous woman. Madame Sauze held out her hands to Hélène and after a moment’s hesitation the girl took them and was pulled into a warm embrace.
‘You’re looking well, my child,’ she said when they finally broke apart. ‘Thank God you’re safe! He heard my prayers.’ She turned to Rosalie who held out her hand and the two women sat down, their heads together as they spoke softly.
Annette came back into the room and Hélène asked, ‘You work here now?’
‘Yes, Madame Sauze came and asked for me at St Luke’s.’
‘Thanks for helping me escape,’ Hélène said a little awkwardly.
‘Just had a coughing fit, and Sister Gabrielle nearly fell over me.’ Annette grinned at the memory. ‘Got a beating from Reverend Mother when we got home again. Black and blue I was, but it was worth it! One in the eye for all of them!’
‘And Madame Sauze came for you?’
‘She came to see Mother and said she was looking for a housemaid to train up… and she asked for me… by name. Don’t think Mother was very pleased. She tried to send Amélie, but Madame said I was the one she wanted.’ Annette gave Hélène a shy smile. ‘Thanks to you I’m out of that hellhole.’
‘It’s thanks to yourself,’ Hélène told her. ‘I might not have made it if you hadn’t tripped up Sister Gabrielle.’ She looked across at her mother and Madame Sauze, still deep in conversation. ‘She’s very kind, Madame is,’ she said.
‘She is,’ agreed Annette, ‘and Father Lenoir is all right, too. It’s Father Thomas I can’t bear. He’s mean as a toad. Always finding fault and telling me I’m only alive as the result of sin.’
‘I hate him too,’ said Hélène with a shudder.
‘Lucky you, you don’t have to live with him.’
Rosalie stayed for another quarter of an hour before getting to her feet and saying, ‘Well, Hélène, we must go home. Thank Madame Sauze again for looking after you.’
‘I’ll never forget you, madame,’ Hélène promised as they embraced. ‘You’re my good angel.’ She gave Annette a quick hug. ‘I won’t forget you, either, bread-thief,’ she murmured, ‘or the beating you took for me.’ She glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one was in earshot and added, ‘And watch out for that toad.’
Two days later Rosalie went back to St Etienne to superintend the arrangements for Georges’s homecoming, leaving Emile in Paris but taking Hélène with her. Thus, Hélène wasn’t there to see the repercussions of the letters that had been despatched. Not long after Rosalie and she had set off back to the country by train, there was a knock at the doctor’s front door and Madame Yvette found an unaccompanied young lady standing on the doorstep, demanding to see Lieutenant Georges St Clair.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Madame Yvette, looking the young person up and down with disfavour. ‘Captain St Clair is indisposed and having no visitors.’ She made as if to shut the door but the young lady on the step had different ideas. She placed her foot firmly over the threshold and said, ‘I think you’ll find he wants to see me. Please be so good as to tell him his fiancée is here.’
Madame Yvette looked mutinous for a moment but then she shrugged and said, ‘You’d better come in. I’ll ask the doctor.’
Dr Simon came out of his room at that moment and seeing an attractive girl standing in his hall, said, ‘Good afternoon, mademoiselle, can I help you?’
‘My name is Sylvie Claviet and I’ve come to see my fiancé, Captain St Clair.’
‘Have you indeed?’ answered the doctor with a smile. ‘Well, I’m delighted to see you. But, before you go in, I should warn you that he’s had to have his leg amputated and—’
‘Oh, I know about his leg,’ Sylvie said dismissively. ‘Hélène wrote and told me.’
Dr Simon raised an eyebrow. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘but you have to understand, it isn’t just his leg he’s lost, it’s his confidence and self-esteem… as if he were now somehow less of a man. I think seeing you will do him good, but I’m just warning you to tread carefully.’
Sylvie looked at him and nodded. ‘He says he doesn’t want to marry me anymore,’ she said.
‘I’m sure that isn’t true, mademoiselle, but he may well believe that he should not. Men like him, brave and honest, are afraid of becoming a burden on their friends and family.’
‘A burden?’ cried Sylvie. ‘He could never be that to me.’
‘And so you must convince him,’ smiled the doctor, standing aside to let her enter Georges’s room. ‘I don’t doubt that you can; he sounds like a very lucky man.’
Epilogue
Jeannot had returned to his life on the streets, sharing his home as he had before with Paul and the Monkey. Even living with the Bergers he’d found too restricting. Now that he was a man of means – he still had fifteen francs in his pocket – he wanted to be out and about, doing the business that such men do. When the fighting had ceased, the retributions over, the firing squads silent and the executions done with, the city he had known all his life picked itself up, gave itself a shake and got on with things. Not returning to a normality that, certainly in its previous form anyway, was dead and buried with the executed Communards, but country people brought their produce into town, markets were set up, people bought and sold, and wherever that went on there were opportunities to be had, and Jeannot made the most of them.
Several times he’d been back to the Avenue Ste Anne, walking past casually, watching for Hélène. He hadn’t seen her since he’d left her with the Bergers and he wanted to know she was all right. He had no idea what had happened to Marcel or Georges. He didn’t care about Georges, but he’d been impressed with Marcel. Had Marcel killed Gaston? he wondered. He hoped so.
One evening at dusk he had been back to Gaston’s place and even as he watched, two men, whom he recognised as Gaston’s henchmen, Jules and Auguste, emerged from the building carrying a sagging bundle of… something. Was it a corpse? He followed at a distance to the next street and saw them looking about them before quietly tipping whatever it was into the central drain and hurrying away. Jeannot drew back deeper into the shadows. As far as they were concerned he was dead, and that was the way he wanted it to stay.
It was several days later that he saw activity at the St Clairs’ house. The front door was unbarred and replaced with a sturdy new one.
He saw Hélène and her mother returning to the house and knew a sudden burst of relief. Hélène was all right. Wherever she’d run to that day, she’d survived. He wondered if she’d been back to the priests’ house, or even the orphanage, but thought either very unlikely. He watched as they went in through the front door, and as she did so, the girl looked back, glancing up and down the street as if searching for someone. It was then that she saw him, leaning against a lamp-post a little further along. He raised a hand and her eyes widened. Was it really Jeannot? With a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the back gate of the house and he thought she nodded before she followed her mother indoors.
Moments later he was at the garden gate and so was she.
‘Where did you go to?’
‘What happened to you?’
They both spoke at once, making them laugh.
‘Is Pierre in the stables?’ Jeannot asked, looking anxiously about him.
‘Don’t think so,’ replied Hélène. ‘Papa sent him off somewhere this morning and he’s not back yet. Come on, we’ll talk in there.’
Together they hurried across the yard and into the shelter of the stables. Hélène flopped down on one straw bale, Jeannot on another.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘why didn’t you come back for me?’
Jeannot explained about the press gang and building the barricades.
‘And where did you run off to?’
They sat on the bales, exchanging stories as t
he afternoon sun streamed in through the grimy windows, motes of dust and straw dancing in its beams. Two children, so different, but each completely comfortable in the company of the other.
It was Pierre who found them still talking when he came back into the stable from his errand in the city.
‘Hey, you young tyke,’ he groaned when he recognised Jeannot. ‘Not you again.’
‘He’s not a tyke,’ Hélène cried, leaping immediately to Jeannot’s defence. ‘He saved me from…’ she paused, not wanting to explain to Pierre the horrors of Gaston’s attentions, ‘…and I’ll talk to him if I want to!’
‘Not sure your parents would agree,’ Pierre said mildly.
‘Well, I don’t care,’ declared Hélène, adding with a lift of her chin, ‘and you’re not to tell them!’
‘I won’t tell them,’ Pierre said, ‘but you’d better scram now, youngster, before they find you themselves.’
Jeannot got to his feet. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘When you’re here, I’ll come to the stables and Pierre can fetch you. All right, mate?’ he added, grinning at Pierre, and Pierre returned a rueful grin and said, ‘All right, tyke.’
As Jeannot crossed to the door, Hélène reached out and grabbed him into a hug. ‘We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Jeannot?’
Jeannot extricated himself from the hug and mumbled, ‘Yeah! Course we will.’
‘Good,’ said Hélène, smiling happily, ‘that’s what I thought.’
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Diney Costeloe’s next book is coming in 2020
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Thanks to my agent Judith Murdoch and everyone at Head of Zeus for their enthusiasm and encouragement. It all keeps me going!
About Diney Costeloe
DINEY COSTELOE is the author of over twenty novels, several short stories and many articles and poems. She has three children and seven grandchildren, so when she isn’t busy writing, she’s busy with family. She and her husband divide their time between Somerset and West Cork.
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First published in the UK in 2019 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Diney Costeloe, 2019
The moral right of Diney Costeloe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (HB): 9781784976200
ISBN (XTPB): 9781784976217
ISBN (E): 9781784976194
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