by Lady Rascal
‘Will there be any cows about, madame?’
The Adamsons laughed with delight.
‘Gracious, no, child! They don’t come near the house. They’ll be in the watermeadows today, I expect.’
Still Madeleine looked uncertain, so Mistress Constance took her by the hand and tugged her to the doorway of the carriage.
‘In any case, as you see, the house has a terrace all around it. The cows are only interested in grass, Madeleine. You’ll be safe here!’
Madeleine was at last relieved. She followed Mistress Constance out of the carriage then fell in step behind Higgins as he started off towards the rear of the house.
Mistress Constance called her back.
‘Front door, Madeleine! You are my guest as well as my companion, remember.’
Leaving behind the racket of the carriages being unloaded, Madeleine went with her employer.
Confusingly, the front door of Willowbury was at the side of the house. Madeleine had come to expect such things from the English, and said nothing.
A riot of dogs tumbled out to meet them. Seeing Madeleine’s fright, Mistress Constance sent them all off again in a scatter of clattering claws on tiles.
‘How many people live here?’ Madeleine asked in wonder. She was transfixed by the light and space of the hallway, and its beautifully carved frieze.
‘Why, only Philip and myself now, of course! My niece Jemima kept me company here until last month, as you know, but she is now receiving a nice education in Cheltenham.’
After handing their bonnets and cloaks to Higgins, Mistress Constance led the way upstairs. The staircase was of a pretty red wood, and climbed around two sides of the hall.
‘Wait until Christmas, Madeleine,’ Mistress Constance said with a sigh. ‘Garlands and swags and bouquets draped all down the banisters.’
With cows outside and dogs within, Madeleine wondered if she would manage to last until Christmas.
Mistress Constance showed her into a light and pretty bedroom on the south side of the house. The bed was canopied in pink and white, with quantities of ribbon at each bedpost. With walls in pale rose and white paintwork the room looked clean and fresh. Madeleine thought back to her grubby, bare little room off the Place de Grève. Whatever happened, she had to keep up this pretence. There was no going back to that purgatory after having tasted this lifestyle.
‘Come and look at the view.’ Mistress Constance reefed up the lace frillings at the nearest window. Outside Madeleine saw more trees, drawing together in the distance to form a dapple-shaded wood.
There were no cows to be seen, but a wailing shriek like the sound of a soul in torment broke the stillness. Strange birds were strutting about between the trees. Some trailed shimmering trains of tails behind them across the grass.
‘Silly birds, peacocks.’ Mistress Constance smiled. ‘My late husband adored them. But oh, they do make such a noise. Philip always says they would be better off back in their own climate, but they seem to like it here.’
Madeleine was more interested in staring about her new room than looking at the view. She especially liked the wash-stand. This had a top of cold pink marble, and the porcelain jug and basin upon it were more delicate than Madeleine had ever seen before. She moved to touch its frailty, then realised this would show her ignorance.
‘Betsy will be here with hot water and soap directly, my dear. I’ll leave you to wash and change, then she can show you to the summer drawing-room for our well-earned cup of tea.’
Madeleine liked Mistress Constance. She might be fussy, but she often gave helpful clues towards correct behaviour. The French girl was glad of that. It helped her in her pretence.
Half an hour later, neat and virginal in a white muslin frock, Madeleine was shown into a large and sunny room on the ground floor. Adamson and his mother were already seated just inside the open garden doors, and they were not alone.
An elderly gentleman dressed in black rose from his seat as she approached.
‘There now, young Philip. Let’s see you try and escape evensong now that the charming young lady has dressed up ready to go!’
Flustered for a moment, Madeleine looked to Adamson for an explanation.
‘Church,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘Madeleine, this is our local parson, the Reverend Mr Wright. He seems to think that the presence of an Adamson or two at his services inspires his dwindling congregation. Of course, you are under no obligation to attend...’
Madeleine bobbed her head meekly as Adamson completed the introductions. She had gained a little confidence from his expression and the parson’s twinkling smile.
‘I should like to go, if it would not cause offence,’ Madeleine said quietly, and was delighted at the reaction it obtained. She had impressed them.
‘You may find it a little austere after the convolutions of your own ceremonies, my dear, but I try not to be too boring and long-winded!’
The atmosphere was cheerful and easy. Madeleine had not been alone in Adamson’s company since his revelation in the lodging house, and she had been unable to gauge his mood since then.
He had no cause to look in her direction after the introductions. She had to try and guess his humour from his tone of voice and the set of his shoulders as he conversed with the parson over tea and heavy cake. He seemed relaxed, and as near to happiness as she had yet seen him.
They all sat enjoying the sunshine for a long time. Mistress Constance chattered about the time they had spent in Paris, while the parson asked Madeleine what she thought of the English countryside.
Madeleine found it hard to remember Paris with any affection at all. Here in the fresh air of a civilised English tea-drinking she felt more at peace than she had ever done in her short life.
A quiet existence and regular meals. She was beginning to enjoy herself.
The sound of a bell drifted lazily across the water-meadows.
‘Hark, hark, the sexton’s calling,’ the Reverend Mr Wright said with regret. ‘Now for a gentle walk along the lane. Nothing could be nicer in such excellent company and on such a pleasant evening.’
Betsy spirited away the tea things then returned with hats, bonnets and capes.
As the party stepped out on to the lawn a rattle of trotting hoofs capered across from the direction of the lane.
‘Oh, my,’ the parson muttered. ‘Perhaps you good people would prefer to follow later by carriage while I divert attention...’he murmured to Mistress Constance in an undertone.
‘I expect it’s only the Pettigrews,’ Adamson said in a voice cold with unconcern.
‘Yes... I’m afraid I let slip I would be calling in on Cook here this afternoon. Mr Pettigrew is always so ready to offer a lift...’
The Reverend Mr Wright took off his hat and fanned himself with it. In the distance the hoofbeats slowed as, hidden by trees, a conveyance turned into the drive of Willowbury.
Adamson thought quicker than all of them.
‘Why don’t we cut across the tunnel field? We won’t have to refuse the inevitable offer then.’
Mistress Constance and the parson agreed with relief. The group crossed the lawn to a small stile let into the tunnel-field fence. Adamson crossed first, then helped his mother, Madeleine and finally the parson into the field.
Despite the warm weather the tunnel-field grass grew long and lush. Progress was slow, and Mistress Constance had plenty of time to tell Madeleine the local legends of pagan burials and secret underground workings.
All of a sudden she stood still. An awful truth had hit her.
‘Philip! Why didn’t you remind me about the silly heifers? You know Madeleine doesn’t like them!’
A wall of inquisitive beasts had come to trot along behind them. Madeleine was rooted to the spot with horror, but Mistress Constance dashed towards the cattle. She waved her arms to frighten them off, but the animals knew her too well. They kept coming, lowing and snorting with curiosity.
Madeleine was terrified. All she
could do was look about frantically for somewhere to hide.
There was nowhere. She was trapped.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Oh, dear...oh, dear!’
‘Come, take my arm, Mademoiselle Madeleine.’ Adamson stepped forward and offered his protection. ‘They won’t hurt you if you stay close to me.’
The heifers had almost encircled them, looking for titbits from their usually indulgent owner. Grateful for someone to hide behind, Madeleine slipped her hand into the crook of Adamson’s arm.
At once it was held safe and secure. The warmth of him beneath the dark sleeve of his jacket was comforting now, not threatening. She held on tightly as they continued across the field. Behind them, the heavy-headed beasts seemed to swing ever nearer.
They reached the churchyard stile with the heifers a safe distance behind, but still frightening to Madeleine. Her distress was by no means over. Adamson began to untwine her hand from his arm, ready to help his companions across the stile.
Madeleine clung on frantically. ‘Don’t leave me here!’
The Pettigrews’ shining pink and gold carriage was just turning into the churchyard at a spanking trot. Adamson looked away from them and patted the hand that was gripping his arm.
‘Very well. But if you will not let go, even for an instant while I cross, then I shall have to lift you over the stile with me, mademoiselle!’
Madeleine was too terrified to be aware of the chuckles from Mistress Constance and the parson or even the curious stares of the Pettigrews. They had been watching their neighbours with interest which increased greatly as Adamson picked Madeleine up and carried her over the stile.
‘There, Mademoiselle Madeleine. Safe and sound.’
Adamson set her down carefully almost within touching distance of the Pettigrews’ carriage. He then turned back to assist his mother and the Reverend Mr Wright.
Madeleine adjusted her bonnet and tried not to notice Mr and Mrs Pettigrew getting out of their coach.
‘Ah, so Philip has brought a friend home with him from Paris to meet us?’ a man’s gruff voice called out.
Mistress Constance made frantic little gestures to her son, but Madeleine bobbed a neat curtsy. Covertly her eyes darted over the Pettigrews. They were middle-aged, middle-class and middle-incomed. Not real aristos like the Adamsons, she thought scornfully.
Philip Adamson stepped forward with introductions.
‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Pettigrew. May I introduce my mother’s new companion? This is Mademoiselle Madeleine Allobroge...’
Mistress Constance always put out her hand when greeting people. Madeleine did likewise. Adamson was smiling at her, but not pleasantly. She shot him a stiff glance before greeting the Pettigrews politely.
Mr Pettigrew rocked on his heels, chest puffed out with pride.
‘Paris, eh? Our Kitty’s still doing Europe. She’s been in Paris of late, evidently—perhaps you two got together there, young Philip?’
‘Oh, her? Yes, we certainly couldn’t miss Kitty!’ Madeleine was eager to be polite and practise her conversation, but there would be no chance on this occasion. Mistress Constance marched her off swiftly towards the family pew.
‘A still tongue in a wise head, dear,’ Mistress Constance hissed when they had settled down. ‘Always let the Pettigrews do all the talking.’
‘They can certainly do enough of that,’ Madeleine observed, wriggling around in her seat to watch.
The Pettigrews had Adamson cornered in the porch. While Albert Pettigrew laughed and thumped him on the back, little Mrs Pettigrew simpered coyly.
‘I suppose it’s only natural that the Pettigrews should want to find a good husband for Kitty.’ Mistress Constance observed her son trying to make his escape. ‘The disadvantage is that they make no secret of the fact.’
Finally the church quartet wheezed into an unsteady anthem and Adamson was able to break away. Taking his place beside his mother, he then had to endure Pettigrew smiles and knowing nods all through the service.
The evening was warm, the congregation small. Unable to follow the service, Madeleine soon found proceedings as dull as the rest of the congregation did.
Unlike Albert Pettigrew, she did at least manage to stay awake. Every so often the congregation would chant responses, which made Madeleine feel uncomfortable and left out as she could not follow. Instead she could only gaze about the well-scrubbed wood-and-water church.
The congregation was as interested in Madeleine as she was in them. Covert glances flew about the church in all directions, but only when Madeleine went so far as to use her prayer book as a fan did the curious stares turn to anything like disapproval.
Mistress Constance stopped her silently, but with an understanding smile. The congregation smiled too, and were satisfied.
Madeleine was relieved to get out of the church with its dusty scents and confusing rituals of standing up, sitting down and kneeling. In the dimpsy light outside bats were joining the swifts, dipping and flickering about the tombstones and waterside trees.
Without pausing in his stilted conversation with the Pettigrews, Adamson took Madeleine’s arm and tucked it into the crook of his own again. She was astonished, and didn’t know what to do except look at Mistress Constance helplessly.
‘Come along with me, dear.’ Mistress Constance took Madeleine’s free hand and detached her from Adamson’s grasp. ‘Don’t be too long, Philip! We’re starting for home without you!’
‘No need! No need!’ Pettigrew’s great turnip of a face broke into beaming smiles. ‘Can’t have two fair ladies walking while the missis and me rattle around in this great carriage!’
Madeleine was greatly relieved when the Adamsons finally agreed to be driven home. She would be safe from the cows, and it would give her feet a rest.
They climbed into the Pettigrews’ carriage. His coachman at once set the horses into another rollicking trot, bouncing the passengers about like peas on a drum. Madeleine was beside herself with excitement. She had not realised that travelling could be such fun.
Mr Pettigrew was equally delighted at someone being so impressed with his carriage and horses.
In no time at all the carriage was slowing down as they approached the imposing double gates of Willowbury. Madeleine was disappointed that their trip was to be over so soon, especially as the Adamsons hadn’t even begun to enjoy themselves yet.
Mr Pettigrew gave a little cough, but Mistress Constance anticipated him.
‘Thank you both so much for the transport, dear Mr and Mrs Pettigrew. So kind. I hope we will be seeing you again at the service on Sunday?’
‘Ah, but a trip’s not half done ‘till it’s over, Mistress Constance. We can’t let you walk all that way along your drive. It’ll only take a moment to drop you right at the door!’
‘Thank goodness for that. My feet won’t take any more walking today!’
At that Madeleine received a sharp elbow in the ribs from both Adamson and his mother.
‘Of course we would be delighted for you to come up to the house.’ Mistress Constance smiled at the Pettigrews, showing all her teeth. ‘You’ll surely step inside for a glass of sherry wine?’
Unseen by the Pettigrews, Mistress Constance jabbed Madeleine in the ribs once more. She wouldn’t be so quick to encourage the Pettigrews again, but the damage was already done for that evening.
When Higgins opened the front door of Willowbury a fragrance of roasting meat drifted out in a faint whisper. Madeleine’s mouth began to water, but Higgins had some bad news for them all. He looked the Pettigrews up and down, then gave a rueful smile.
‘Cook’s apologies, madam, but in this heat it’s all she can do to render down a few bones for the dogs. She’s gone off to bed with one of her heads.’
‘Very well, Higgins. Some sherry wine for us all in the summer drawing-room, then,’ Mistress Constance said mildly, stripping off her gloves. ‘I don’t think one needs much food in this warm weather in any case. Do you not
find that to be so, Mrs Pettigrew?’
Adamson crept up behind Madeleine as they went into the drawing-room and caught hold of her firmly by the arm.
‘If you would all excuse us both for a moment, Mademoiselle Madeleine can fetch a few gifts for our guests from the larder while I check on Cook...’
Once they were both outside and the door firmly closed, Adamson rounded on Madeleine.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing? How could you be so stupid? We’ll never get rid of them now!’
The hall was dusky, lending sinister dark glints to his eyes as he pushed her along towards the kitchen.
‘And, mademoiselle, you would do well to remember the adage:
“A whistling woman, like a crowing hen
Is neither good for God nor men.”‘
‘But I wasn’t...’
‘You were about to! You had put your hands behind your back as you always do—’
‘But I like whistling. Nobody’s ever complained before!’
‘That is because we mind our manners,’ Adamson snapped stiffly.
Madeleine stood her ground and pulled a face behind his back as he went to pick up a tinder-box from the hall table.
‘The Pettigrews are so awful, Master Philip. Whistling might get rid of them. Had you thought of that?’
‘It’s your fault they’re here in the first place.’
He moved to light candles about the hall. Madeleine watched his gaunt face being illuminated but not warmed by the glow and was puzzled.
‘Then why did you ask them in? And can’t you tell them it’s time to go when you want to get rid of them?’ She bit her lip sharply. ‘Oh—I know. They must be your landlords!’
‘Of course they aren’t, you silly little goose,’ Adamson hissed fiercely. ‘Don’t you understand anything? I owe Pettigrew a great deal of money. Although he’s given me his word never to say anything, he’s just the sort to let something slip in front of Mother—’
‘All the more reason to tell him to go, then.’
Adamson exhaled noisily through his teeth in fury.
‘How can I? The Pettigrews are our guests, because you as good as invited them in!’
