by Lady Rascal
She left him struggling out of his breeches while she poured him some water.
When she sensed his struggles with the nightshirt were at an end, she turned back to face him.
‘Here—drink this.’
‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near here, mademoiselle.’ He took a sip of water before placing the glass on his bedside table. ‘Why don’t you take yourself, and Mother and Higgins and Betsy, off back to England and leave me to fade away here in peace?’
Madeleine retreated a little at the blackness of his tone. ‘Oh...’
‘Exactly, mademoiselle. I don’t want to go home. That is the top and the bottom of it. It’s total misery, and I can’t bear it any more... I don’t want to go home, I can’t do the work, I don’t ever know what to do and I can’t stand it any more—’
‘Oh, do hush up!’
He was in danger of losing what little self-control he had left. Madeleine sat down beside him on the bed and pulled his hands away from his despairing face.
‘Stop it!’ she hissed crossly. ‘I’ve never seen such a ridiculous display in all my life. There are people out there on the streets who would give anything to live in this sort of “misery”. Good clothes, food and to waste, beautiful, clean houses—’
‘At least they’re free to do what they want!’ His sudden outburst surprised Madeleine into silence. ‘What have I got? Nothing! No career—no chance to be of any use to anyone—just a parcel of land and an acreage of responsibility! And it’s all Michael’s fault!’
Mists were beginning to clear from Madeleine’s mind.
‘Your brother Michael has gone off, leaving you in charge of everything at home...’ she worked out slowly. Adamson nodded, staring into the shadows with a look of bitter amusement.
‘He was the farmer, set to inherit. Why did he have to go? He would have been happy working the estate—as happy as I was in medical school. Instead he stormed off and everything’s been left to me. I’m the one left robbing Peter to pay Paul so that the creditors can be kept at bay... I’m the one that has to get up before dawn and is never in bed before midnight. It’s all fallen to me. All day, each and every day...it’s never-ending. I’m always so tired—’
Madeleine had sat beside him in silence, but at that she slipped her arm about him.
‘I don’t think doctors sit about doing nothing, sir.’
‘That’s different,’ he said roughly. ‘That’s a vocation. Helping people... It’s what I’ve always wanted to do...’
‘Well, you aren’t helping your poor mother overmuch by getting in this state, are you?’
At once his entire attitude changed. Horror flooded his face and he sat upright.
‘My God! Mother! You won’t tell her about all this, will you, mademoiselle? She doesn’t know how much I loathe estate work—and if she as much as suspected that I’d taken out loans—’
‘I won’t say a thing. And the details of your little assignation with Miss Kitty will stay a secret from her, too.’
‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’
The look of relief on his face was so great that Madeleine laughed and stood up to go.
‘Don’t mention it, Master Philip!’ With an impetuous gesture she bent and kissed him full on the lips as Kitty had done. To her amazement his reaction this time was quite different. His arms slipped about her waist and she was held firmly. Drawing back in astonishment, she found he did not release her.
‘Please—don’t go, Madeleine. Not yet...’ he breathed unsteadily into the night.
Madeleine knew she should cry out and wake the whole house. She also knew she could not allow herself to do so. To disgrace Master Philip when she had openly invited herself into his room—it would be unthinkable.
She swallowed, hard, and tried not to look into his shadowed grey eyes with their unspoken question.
‘I—I must...’
‘No.’
Standing up, he seized her in an embrace that was painfully persistent. Before she could cry out, Madeleine’s mouth was stopped by a kiss so eager for possession that the blood began to pound in her ears. In a confusion of laces and frills Adamson began pawing at her frantically.
‘Madeleine—I’ve been longing —’
Suddenly he fell to the floor, his suffering enhanced by a swift knee in the parts that were longing the most. As he gasped and cursed and tried to catch his breath, Madeleine took the glass of water from beside his bed and knelt to offer it.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I should never have come in here in the first place.’
‘You—you...!’ Unable to think of anything wicked enough to call her, Adamson refused the water and hurled himself on to his bed.
‘I’ve said I’m sorry, sir!’
‘There’s a name for girls like you,’ he muttered angrily. ‘You kissed me!’
‘I only did as I had seen Miss Kitty do earlier, sir. I thought it must be an accepted thing among the English.’
Madeleine put down the glass and took a step back. There was no need. Adamson was still fuming, but the hand he raised did nothing more than push a lock of dark hair back out of his eyes.
Standing up in silence, he pulled at the bedclothes then threw himself down into the bed. There he lay in rigid and perfect silence.
Madeleine considered herself dismissed.
Next morning Madeleine was up before sparrow-cough and out in the already warm city. She still had a few sous left from the change Mistress Constance had given her, and she had some shopping to do.
Her return was greeted with a surprising amount of rejoicing. Mistress Constance was squeaking from the stairs, clad in a violently purple dressing-gown and with her hair still set in rags.
‘Oh, Madeleine! Thank goodness you’re safe! Wherever have you been? We’ve been hearing that all sorts of dreadful things are going on...’
‘The raid on Invalides? It’s all over. The people have got the guns they were after—it’s ammunition they want now. The news is they’ve marched off to the Bastille to get it. And about time, too,’ she finished in an undertone.
Mistress Constance shrieked and started running back upstairs.
‘It’s all right, madame! We’re quite safe while they’re so far away. And it was quite a peaceful march, they say.’
‘But guns? Ammunition?’
‘They are being threatened with violence by thirty thousand armed soldiers, madame! They can hardly defend themselves with sticks and stones, can they?’
Mistress Constance hesitated, saw that Madeleine was genuinely unconcerned, then began to creep down the stairs.
‘It’s very early to have been shopping, Madeleine. What have you been buying?’
‘Extravagances, I’m afraid, madame.’ Madeleine had the sense to look coy as she blushed. ‘Lemons, fresh ginger, peppercorns—’
‘Oh, my word!’ Fright forgotten, Mistress Constance began to giggle. ‘We must have baskets of all those things in the kitchen!’
Madeleine was utterly astonished. ‘Really?’
‘Of course, dear child! It isn’t only you French who know how to live. And if we need anything—why, it’s delivered, of course!’
‘You don’t ever go to the market?’
‘Good heavens, no! What on earth would I want to do that for?’
Bewildered at amusing Mistress Constance, Madeleine escaped to the kitchen and started unintentionally amusing the staff.
While they watched she rolled the warm lemons and squeezed their juice into a cup. To this she added grated ginger root, crushed peppercorns, and a suspicion of salt. Leaving the English staff intrigued, she went off to present it to their master.
This morning his bedroom was hot, shadowy and quiet. Adamson was sprawled in a tangle of sheets and pillows. He didn’t stir when Madeleine sat down beside him and only grunted indistinctly when she spoke his name.
‘Come on. It’s past eight o’clock.’
‘Oh, my God...’ he managed after a moment’s thought. The tone was ho
rror-stricken enough to tell Madeleine that she would be quite safe this morning.
Slowly a pillow moved, a sheet slid back and Adamson was partly revealed. His eyes were still tightly closed.
‘What did you tell Mother?’
‘Nothing.’
At this he opened his eyes, but shut them again quickly with a grimace.
‘Then go away and leave me alone.’
‘Certainly not, Master Philip. Indeed, if you don’t sit up and start taking notice right now—I shall shake you!’
He opened his eyes again at this astonishing remark and winced at sunlight filtering through the shutters.
‘Things are happening in the city. I really think you should accompany your mother back to England, Master Philip. As soon as possible. Paris is no longer a place for gentle folk, be they French or foreign—or refugees.’
Adamson groaned, rolled over on to his stomach and put both hands to his throbbing head.
‘What time is it?’
‘I’ve just told you—well past eight. Drink this.’ She put the cup down on his bedside table.
‘I am so thirsty...’
‘You’ll need to be.’ Madeleine pushed the cup out of his reach so that he would have to sit up. ‘It’s disgusting stuff, but guaranteed to get you on your feet in no time.’
She took his final mutter as being an acceptance and left him alone with his misery.
Mistress Constance was on the landing outside, wringing her hands.
‘How is he?’
‘Surviving, although I doubt it feels much like that to him!’
‘Oh, my! This is all that talk of going home! Setting him thinking again...’
‘Then we must give him something else to think about, madame. I’ve already arranged a few things in that direction! Now—your man Higgins will have to hurry if Master Philip is not to miss his breakfast.’
‘I thought perhaps Philip could have a tray in his room...always supposing that he feels strong enough to take anything...’Mistress Constance began faintly.
Madeleine decided that it was time for some plain speaking.
‘Madame, I’ve seen artists go into a decline and fade away, but never an Englishman. Make him buck his ideas up, and attend breakfast with you.’
Mistress Constance fluttered and flustered. Master Philip had to be treated carefully—his work on the farm was invaluable and she couldn’t afford to lose another son. Philip was far, far too sensitive to put up with any rough treatment...
Madeleine thought of the night before and smiled to herself. She made sympathetic noises but led her employer firmly back to her own room.
Then she went to find Higgins.
At two minutes to nine, Philip Adamson joined his mother and Madeleine in the oak-panelled morning-room.
Dressed in a cream and brown suit, he was as immaculately turned out as ever. Despite the reassuring shade of crimson he turned when first seeing Madeleine, his face that morning was grey as paper.
Madeleine didn’t think he could possibly get any paler, but she was to be proved wrong. Precisely on the stroke of nine he went quite white. Delicious breakfast fragrances were wafting in with the rattling trolleys.
A bowl of chilled fruit salad and a cup of hot honey and lemon were placed before Adamson without comment. Madeleine and Mistress Constance studiously ignored him as they chose their food and chattered about the weather.
Evil mischief made Madeleine accept kidneys, eggs, bacon, sausages, morels and fried potato along with tea and toast. Despite her cruelty the chink of cutlery from Adamson’s end of the table soon announced that he was managing to force something down, at least.
Madeleine winked at Mistress Constance. As she had predicted, he would survive.
‘That was an excellent concert last night, Master Philip. Such a shame that you missed the best bits.’
Adamson stirred uncomfortably. When Madeleine glanced up he was looking at his mother.
‘I am well acquainted with the music already, mademoiselle. I assure you that version was no great loss.’
‘Oh, but the food was delicious! You should have stayed for that!’
‘Indeed,’ Mistress Constance said nervously. ‘I’ve noticed how much you enjoy your food, Madeleine.’
Madeleine looked down at her plate. She had munched her way through an enormous heap of breakfast and was on her fourth dainty little cup of tea while her employer was merely pecking at her own meal.
‘It is a wonder that you remain so reed-slender, my dear.’
‘Nerves—that’s what it is, madame. I’m run ragged with nerves and worry!’
Philip Adamson’s usual wintry expression had thawed a little, but he was quick to change the subject.
‘Despite the work of the new militia, I believe that there has been more trouble in the city overnight, ladies.’
‘They say that men are being sent out from the Bastille at night to slaughter innocent citizens. The city is full of it. Guns have been raided from Les Invalides, and now the citizens are on their way to stock up on the Bastille’s ammunition so they will be ready,’ Madeleine said hotly, all shame over her hearty appetite forgotten.
‘In which case I was right to insist that you two ladies leave as soon as possible. Circumstances may yet dictate that I join you. I will go out this morning to discover the truth behind all the rumours. Higgins will see to arrangements here while you both say your goodbyes around the city. But have a care.’ Here Adamson risked a quick glance at Madeleine. ‘Do not go alone, do not cross the river, keep well away from the National Assembly, and go no further east than Pont-Neuf.’
That put all of Madeleine’s old stamping-grounds out of bounds. It was a shame, but for once she was glad to have few friends trustworthy enough to miss.
Mistress Constance soon left to start arranging things and getting in the way of her staff. Madeleine dawdled over the remains of her last cup of tea. This was a chance to observe Adamson slyly. She was convinced he had been idling over his breakfast to try and get her alone again.
A tiny grain of curiosity had been germinating within Madeleine since the events of the previous evening. From beneath lowered lashes she watched Adamson reach for the teapot, pour himself a second cup of tea, add the necessary sugar and stir it with his silver teaspoon. Such strong, purposeful hands. Madeleine remembered exactly how purposeful they could be, and shivered.
‘What can I say, mademoiselle?’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Any apology for my shameful display last evening would hardly be sufficient—’
‘You can’t take all the blame, sir. I was unwise.’ Although I’m still wondering what it might have been like, Madeleine thought shamefully.
‘If you could possibly see your way clear to keeping the regrettable matter between ourselves, mademoiselle...’ He looked uncertain, and took Madeleine’s silence for scorn. ‘It’s not that I care what shame I bring upon myself, you understand. It’s just that the things I said last night—about hating home—and the...matter of funding...Mother doesn’t know. To think that I could have been such a fool! Drinking, and—’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ Madeleine said truthfully. ‘Although I think your mother guesses more than you know, Master Philip. She’ll understand you far better than you suspect. I shouldn’t think you could hide much from her.’
There seemed nothing else to say. Madeleine poured the last few trickles from the teapot into her cup and took her time in adding the sugar.
‘Will you miss Paris, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’
Adamson said at last, clearly unnerved by her continued silence.
Madeleine had to think back quickly to her story. ‘I have not really been here long enough to tell, Master Philip.’
‘I could take word to your lodgings—inform them of our good character and intentions. Perhaps...you might even wish to accompany me? You would be quite safe, mademoiselle,’’ he added quickly.
‘No, sir. That’s all sorted out. I’ve long since sent them a me
ssage,’ Madeleine fibbed. ‘If we could devote all our time and energy to getting clear of the city I would feel a lot happier.’
Finishing his last piece of fruit, Adamson dabbed a napkin against his lips. Madeleine had to admire his composure. The city was crumbling into riot around them, his personal life was in ruins and a total stranger now shared his guilty secret, but still his public manners and bearing were impeccable.
He felt her looking at him and turned. The grey eyes had no brittle lights in them this morning. They were only sad and searching.
‘Thank you for coming to my aid last night, mademoiselle. It was more than I deserved, and to treat you so shamefully—’
‘I’m surprised you remember anything about it!’ Madeleine laughed.
‘Yes—but perhaps I remember too much.’ He cleared his throat, and Madeleine realised that Philip Adamson would never be joked out of depression. A more subtle approach would be needed.
His enigmatic expression made Madeleine look away. She picked up her teacup once more and tried to concentrate on curling her little finger as Mistress Constance did.
In only a short time away from the streets she had lost the art of easy conversation. Madeleine wondered if the mannered coyness of the English was catching. In desperation to find a cure she said the first thing that popped into her head.
‘I was sorry that your mother did not like you meeting with Miss Kitty—’
She stopped. Suddenly his manner had changed, agitation replacing interest, his features tightening.
‘Yes—well. That could not be helped.’ He rose, throwing his crumpled napkin on to the table.
Striding quickly out of the room, he left Madeleine with her embarrassment. As she watched the slowly expanding folds of his discarded napkin Madeleine wondered how she could manage to free the man trapped within the manners.
Madeleine had not realised how quick and easy packing could be, as long as you had staff to do it for you. When she returned to her room after breakfast only a few items were still left out. Brush, comb and cosmetics were set out on the dressing-table while a small bonnet and discreet cloak lay on the bed.
The weather was so close and stuffy that Madeleine said she would go without the cloak and bonnet. Mistress Constance was scandalised, and Madeleine quickly changed her mind.
