After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  “You will be sharing this room with Noelle and Lorena. They are already downstairs, working.”

  “Very good, Madame.”

  “How did you meet Dr. Craig? Is he an old friend?” Madame asked as they descended.

  Christelle debated how to answer. She knew the woman was fishing for information, but she did not wish to be dishonest when this person was giving her a chance.

  “Non. He found me in the cold with nowhere to go and took pity on me.”

  “What an amazing coincidence,” the modiste muttered quietly. “He belongs to a well-connected family. You are very fortunate indeed that you found one such as he.”

  “I am well aware of my good fortune. I had other offers which were more to my maman's preference than mine.”

  Madame looked at her, long and hard. Perhaps she had spoken too frankly. She loved her maman, but it would do no good to delude herself or anyone else. She was growing uncomfortable under the woman's scrutiny.

  “You are not like your maman, I think.”

  Christelle shook her head to fight the tears filling her eyes.

  “Do you share your mother’s talents for design?” Madame Monique asked.

  Christelle raised her head up. She had thought the woman had meant she was not like her mother in behaviour, but… “Did you know my maman?”

  “Oui,” she answered softly. “I knew Lillian.”

  “Did she work for you before the accident?”

  Madame appeared to contemplate her answer for a moment. “I suppose you could say that. She sold me some designs.”

  “That is how you recognized me? I had not thought I favoured her to any great degree.”

  “Oui. She was wearing the same gown as you are now the first time I saw her. It is not something one forgets. I would be delighted if you possess the same flair for fashion she had.”

  “I would be happy to try, Madame. The dresses in Paris are quite different now. I would be pleased to draw them for you.”

  Christelle followed the seamstress to where some pattern books were displayed on a table in the salon, and wondered if her mother had made a similar impression in London as in Paris. Madame seemed to know.

  “Are you here to make your living as a modiste? It is not easy to travel alone and begin a new life.”

  “It is more difficult than I thought. But I could not find work in Paris.” She met Madame's knowing glance. She understood.

  “I am most pleased you found me. I think everything will be as it should. These are our current patterns if you wish to look.”

  Christelle took some time to look through them and was satisfied. Madame led her back to a small table in her office.

  “Now show me what you can create,” she said, handing her some sketch paper and charcoal.

  Christelle sat down to work and pondered all Madame had said. Was she willing to give her a chance because of her mother’s talents, or despite them? She did not know... but she would do her best to keep the job through her own capabilities.

  She was soon transported by her work and had drawn the six different dresses she had imagined during the time when she had been alone at school. Madame returned to see how she had done and began exclaiming excitedly.

  “Que magnifique! I cannot wait to show these to the Duchess!”

  “The Duchess?” Christelle asked with confusion.

  “The Duchess of Yardley sets the fashion for the ton. Her Grace and her maman are my best customers.” Madame laughed. “I would have hired you even if you had no talent, since you were recommended to me, but I am very much pleased that is not the case!” she declared as she perused the sketches.

  “Merci, Madame.” Was Dr. Craig so important she valued his opinion? Christelle was impressed.

  “Please take a rest. You have worked very hard today. Your trunk has arrived and you will wish to unpack it.”

  “Madame?” Christelle asked quickly, for the woman was already hurrying away. “May I be permitted to buy some scraps and sew myself a gown or two? I have only a few of my mother’s gowns and the plain dresses I wore at school.”

  “Oui, of course. I prefer my girls to dress well. I will see what I can find and send them to you.” She smiled kindly before leaving to attend to the customers who were arriving.

  Christelle climbed the staircase to her room where her trunk was waiting with a card. She smiled.

  * * *

  Mademoiselle,

  I hope you can read English as well as you speak it. I am sorry we were unable to say goodbye properly. I hope you are happy with Madame Monique, but should you need anything or are ever in trouble, please do not hesitate to contact me. I have arranged with the porter at the milliner’s shop next door to send messages to me. If you have a day off, I can take you driving—and if you wish to go—please let Joseph know.

  Your obedient servant,

  Seamus Craig

  * * *

  Christelle smiled and held the letter to her chest. It smelled like him. She was tempted to run down the stairs straight away and tell Joseph when her day off was.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, on his way to the hospital, Seamus stopped at the milliner’s shop to see if there was a message. The modiste's was closed, as it was Sunday, though he suspected there was still work being done. He knew Christelle was very likely still sleeping, but all the same he glanced up to where he imagined her rooms might be. He debated throwing stones at the window or even knocking on the door, but he did not wish to cause trouble for her. He knew some employers did not look favourably on gentleman callers and he did not want to sully her reputation. Disappointed, he walked away and returned to his rooms. He did not actually need to go to work today, after all.

  He returned again on Monday morning, and Joseph, the porter, smiled widely at him. It was seven o'clock and the sun had not even risen. It was out of his way, but he had promised Christelle he would help her if needed, and he had to make certain he had not left her in an untenable situation.

  He did not bother pretending to himself that he was not looking forward to seeing her exotic eyes and beautiful smile. It had been all he could think of since he had left her here the day before.

  “Good morning, sir. You are about early! We don't see many gents afore noon!”

  “I suppose doctors are not your typical gents,” Seamus said with a smile.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Have you any word from the young lady?”

  “It just so happens I do. She told me she has Wednesday afternoons off and would be pleased to see you.”

  “Wednesday!” Seamus exclaimed. That only left two days to make arrangements.

  “Yes, sir,” Joseph said. “Do you have a reply?”

  “Tell her I will call for her at four of the clock... and to leave messages here if anything changes.”

  “I will do that, sir.”

  Seamus handed Joseph a sovereign for his troubles and turned to leave. He stopped and looked back.

  “Joseph, did she seem happy?”

  “She was certainly smiling when she told me so, sir.”

  “Thank you. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Seamus felt relief wash over him. He had not realized how much he had been wanting her to say yes. Had she said yes because she wanted to see him, or because she felt obliged to do so? He frowned. Why must he ruin a happy moment with self-doubt?

  Where should he take her? What amusement should he escort her to?

  A drive in the park? It was exceedingly cold and he did not have a proper conveyance. As it was, he stabled his horse at his father's house.

  A museum? Perhaps.

  The theatre? It was not to everyone’s taste.

  He would ask her.

  He walked with a spring in his step all the way to Villiers Street, whistling as he went.

  Seamus arrived at the hospital without remembering walking there. He was to spend the day lecturing to a group of students about the heart and circulatory system
. He hoped he would be able to concentrate. It would not do to bumble his first lecture at this school. Luckily, he had given this lecture before, at Edinburgh and at Wyndham.

  He wondered what was in his diary for Wednesday. It would have to be rearranged. He wished he knew more about Christelle. He did not even know her surname!

  Seamus thought his family would like her. It was a bit premature to think such thoughts, but it was true, nonetheless.

  He stopped at his office to remove his greatcoat and leave his medical bag, when he saw Mr. Baker waiting for him outside the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Baker,” he greeted the man. “What brings you here at this early hour?”

  “The missus sent me, of course,” Mr. Baker answered gruffly.

  “Please come inside.” He held open the door. “Are you having more problems?”

  “I feel a burning sensation in my chest and as though I am going to retch. Sometimes the room starts spinning and everything is blurred yellow.”

  “Have you been taking the amount of foxglove as I prescribed?” Seamus enquired.

  “I have,” Mr. Baker said defensively. “I even took two doses sometimes.”

  “No, you must not do such a thing. Sir, you will kill yourself by doing so. You have toxic levels in your system. If you had continued, you would have very shortly been found dead.”

  “I did not know more was lethal. The apothecary always says to take another dose if I don’t feel better.”

  “Unfortunately, not of this medicine. Stop the doses for a few days until the symptoms subside, then resume the precise amount I advised before.”

  “You don’t have to bleed me?” the man asked with surprise.

  “I do not think it is necessary at this time. If your symptoms worsen, we might need to take such measures.”

  The man looked relieved, even though Seamus had not minced his words. He had rarely found it useful to do so in medicine.

  “Shall I call you a hack?”

  “No, it will not be necessary. I had someone to bring me in their cart. The missus did not think I was capable on my own.”

  “Quite,” Seamus agreed.

  Mr. Baker grunted.

  “I am glad you came to see me.”

  “The missus has been singing your praises all over Lambeth. Any poor soul who wanders into the shop has to hear about how you healed me. Next, she'll be hanging your portrait on the wall and renaming the bakery after you.”

  “Nonsense. Craig is not half so charming a name,” Seamus quipped. “Tell her I appreciate the confidence and please give her my best wishes.”

  “She also wanted to know when you would come for tea.”

  “I will try soon, I promise.”

  Mr. Baker pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “Here are some tickets to Astley’s. The theatre is right next to us, you know. We thought you might be able to use them. She thought you might find some young lady to accompany. They are always giving us tickets, as if we were young,” he muttered as he took his leave.

  The old gentleman departed, leaving Seamus shaking his head. What if Mr. Baker had not returned to tell him he was having ill effects or had gone to the apothecary? There were quacks on every corner and no one to see that they did no harm. Hippocrates must be spinning in his grave, he thought.

  The reason he was in London was to attempt to make medicine more of a legitimate science. He hoped to one day have evidence to support all practices in medicine, such as the use of foxglove for dropsy. Getting patients to follow instructions was another thing entirely, however.

  He gathered his notes for his lecture and headed towards the auditorium with renewed zest to impart his knowledge to the next generation of students. He would not think about Christelle and their appointment together—at least not until after the lecture.

  When he returned to his office from a long day of teaching to fetch his bag and greatcoat, his secretary was frantically pacing the office.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mr. Melton?” he asked, feeling too tired for drama.

  “Sir, you asked me to clear your diary for Wednesday afternoon.”

  “I did.”

  “It is impossible.”

  Seamus stared at him and waited for him to continue.

  “Apparently everyone in town is desirous of seeing the new consulting physician for circulatory illnesses,” he stated.

  “I beg your pardon?” There were not five people in London who even knew what that meant.

  “I have been taking appointments all day. It seems Lord Ashbury has spoken very highly of your skills, and now you are much sought after.”

  Seamus did not know whether to laugh or cry. Lord Ashbury meant well, but the last thing he wanted was to be at the beck and call of Society and all their imagined ailments.

  “I will be happy to see whomever will come here for an appointment. However, I will not be available on Wednesday afternoons for the foreseeable future.”

  “But, sir!” the secretary pleaded.

  “My mind is quite fixed on this. There will still be patients aplenty even if this displeases some others.”

  “Very well, sir.” The secretary walked away with a disconcerted expression on his pinched features.

  Christelle thought Wednesday would never come. It would be a nice respite from being inside all day, even though it was cold and raining most of the time. She was enjoying her work designing dresses, and the other girls in the shop were very kind to her. Many had been brought from France by Madame Monique and hoped to return to work in Paris one day, thence to open their own shops. It was the same dream many seamstresses had.

  Madame was most insistent that Christelle not be seen, which seemed quite strange to her, since some of the other girls did fittings. Perhaps that was a service to be earned. Occasionally, she would peek through the curtain to stare at some of the grand ladies who patronized the shop. One day she hoped to see the elusive Duchess of Yardley. She was held in high esteem by all of the girls there and was spoken of as very beautiful. They also said she had two identical sisters!

  Christelle wondered what it must be like to be a duchess. She had no grandiose ideas for herself, but it would be nice to have a family one day. She had never known what it was like to have brothers and sisters. Maybe that was why she was drawn to Dr. Craig. He had mentioned his sisters. He was very kind to her too. Some woman would be very fortunate indeed to have him for a husband.

  Christelle knew she was not of the calibre to be a gentleman’s wife. She had lived long enough at Harriot to know her station. Nevertheless, she could dream and enjoy Seamus’s company while she had it. She suspected he felt obliged to make sure she was in a good position. That alone made him a hero in her eyes forever.

  Christelle pricked her finger on her needle and immediately brought it to her mouth. Despite using thimbles, her fingers were unused to sewing constantly. They were tender and sore from frequent punctures. She had spent her evenings sewing herself a new day dress from one of her latest designs, and she wished to have it ready by today at four o'clock. There was just enough velvet for a bonnet to match, and Noelle had been kind enough to help her with it.

  Christelle glanced at the clock: it was already a quarter past three! She slipped the rose-coloured wool gown over her head and Noelle helped her fasten it. She had made a matching pelisse out of velvet, with pleats and cording around the bottom. She quickly ran the brush through her hair.

  “May I dress your hair?”

  “Would you? Merci.” She had never had anyone help her with anything since she was a child. It felt very nice to be pampered.

  “Where does the Monsieur take you?”

  “I do not know. Joseph did not say.”

  “The weather is not nice, so I would hope somewhere inside. Perhaps a museum?”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed.

  “Are you nervous? I would be nervous. I have never been courted.”

  “Oh, he is not courting me!” Christelle exclaimed. “H
e is merely wanting to see how I go on here, I am certain. Besides, he is a gentleman. He would not wish to marry someone so far beneath him.”

  “Of course he would not,” Noelle agreed. “But he could make you his mistress. It is the best you or I can hope for.”

  Christelle knew she was right, but it was depressing to hear. If that was correct, why had he not said so the first night?

  “Do gentleman take time to make these decisions?”

  “Oui! Sometimes it takes them months to decide. If they are to give you a place to live and nice jewels, it is not a simple decision.”

  Noelle placed the bonnet carefully over Christelle's coiffure and secured it. Christelle was filled with sadness and uncertain if she still wished to see the Monsieur if he was only wanting a mistress. She walked down the stairs to wait for him, and tried to tell herself that it was not certain those were his motives.

  Dr. Craig arrived fifteen minutes early and smiled widely when he saw her. She immediately forgot her reservations and smiled back.

  “You look very smart!” he said, not disguising his appreciation.

  “Merci, I made it myself. Madame is very generous to give me the fabric.”

  “You are complete to a shade,” he said appreciatively. “My sisters will be asking you to design gowns for them.”

  “I do not understand the phrases you use,” she said with a laugh. “Does this mean you like the dress?”

  “It does. It also means I need to mind my speech. I spend too much time in the company of bachelors. Are you ready to go?”

  “Oui. Where are we going?”

  “Astley’s Amphitheatre, if you wish. Have you heard of it?”

  “Non. I have not left here since I arrived.”

  “Do you like horses and tricks?”

  “I think I would like them very much.”

  “Excellent. Shall we?” he asked as he held out his arm.