Rosalie St Clair dropped into an armchair in the drawing room of the house in the Avenue Ste Anne and sighed. It was good to be home again after such a long day and she felt unexpectedly tired.
What is the matter with me? she wondered as she rang for Didier the butler to bring her some cake and a glass of wine. I feel every day of my age.
At just forty-eight Rosalie was not old. Heavier than she had been in her youth, following the birth of her five children, she carried her age well. Generous of figure, she was still a good-looking woman. Her dark eyes, deep-set behind thick, dark lashes, could still sparkle with pleasure, her generous mouth curved readily into a smile that lit her face, but her once-glossy dark hair was now laced with threads of grey and there were times, as now, when she found her energy seemed to have seeped out through the soles of her feet.
She had brought her three daughters, Clarice, Hélène and Louise, up from the country to their house in Paris four days ago, and since their arrival every day had been crowded with a round of engagements; drives in the Bois, dinner parties, soirées and evenings at the theatre. Today, however, had been their most important appointment of all, an appointment at the House of Worth for the final fitting of Clarice’s wedding dress. She, the eldest of Rosalie and Emile St Clair’s three daughters, was to be married to Lucas Barrineau of Montmichel in just three weeks’ time and today had been the final fitting of her specially designed dress. Her younger sisters were to be bridesmaids, but their dresses were already hanging in the wardrobe back at Belair, their country home. They had been made locally, but Clarice’s dress had not been entrusted to a provincial dressmaker. Clarice was the centre of attention wherever she went; she had left her rounded, childish figure behind and grown into a beautiful young woman. Her thick, curling fair hair was a legacy from her maternal grandmother, as were the speedwell-blue eyes that danced with the happiness of a bride-to-be.
The St Clairs at Belair and the Barrineau family at Montmichel had moved in the same social circle near the village of St Etienne for more than a generation. Clarice had known Lucas all her life, but the gap of four years between them had made Clarice a child when Lucas left home to study at the Sorbonne and then make the grand tour of Europe. On his occasional visits home their paths had not crossed, but when he’d finally come back to St Etienne three months ago, he had met her again at a dinner party given at Gavrineau, the home of friends of his parents, Elisabeth and Raoul Barnier, and discovered not only that Clarice had grown up while he was away but that she was the toast of the neighbourhood. He’d watched her across the dinner table, the candlelight gleaming on her shining hair, her wide blue eyes sparkling as she conversed with the man on her right, the son of the house, Simon Barnier. Though Lucas had known Simon from childhood, he had not seen him for some years, as Simon had been living abroad. Now he was back. Lucas had never particularly liked him but suddenly, watching his easy discourse with Clarice, he realised he disliked him excessively.
It was only a matter of days before Lucas visited Emile St Clair to ask permission to address Clarice, a matter of weeks before he proposed, and a matter of moments before she accepted him. It was a splendid match for Clarice and her delighted parents were determined that everything should be perfect for their daughter’s wedding day.
Emile St Clair, a professional man, a successful architect, had picked up the pieces of his architectural business after the civil war that had raged through Paris had nearly bankrupted him six years earlier. With hard work and determination he had repaired the family finances and, recognised by his colleagues as a shrewd businessman, he had prospered. Now his favourite daughter was about to marry into the landowning Barrineau family. Emile was particularly pleased with the match, recognising it as a step up in society for Clarice. Though the St Clairs’ country home – bought by Emile’s father when he married some sixty years ago – was a substantial house gracious in design and set in delightful gardens, it was completely eclipsed by the grandeur of Montmichel, which had been in the Barrineau family for several generations. Proud of his Clarice, when it came to her wedding, Emile was determined no expense should be spared. When Rosalie had suggested to him that Clarice should be dressed by the finest designer in Paris, he had not demurred, simply saying, ‘Certainly, if Monsieur Worth is truly the best.’
‘He has even dressed the Empress Eugénie,’ Rosalie replied.
Emile had no time for the erstwhile empress who had fled to exile in England at the end of the Prussian war, but accepted that if this man commanded royal clientele he must be the best, and only the best was good enough for his beloved daughter. So Rosalie had taken Clarice to 7 Rue de la Paix, and with the attention of Monsieur Worth himself, they had chosen the fabric and the design of the dress and it had been created exclusively for Clarice.
Wedding arrangements were now well advanced, but it seemed to Rosalie that every minute of her day had been taken over by the preparations. Today had been particularly long and it was not yet over. She only had two hours before she would be leaving the house again to chaperone Clarice to a performance of The Pearl Fishers at the new opera house. She had already sent Clarice upstairs to rest and intended to lie down for an hour herself before dressing; thus she was not pleased when Didier came quietly to the drawing room.
‘Excuse me, madame,’ he said, ‘but there is a person at the door asking to speak with you.’
Rosalie raised tired eyes and said, ‘A person, Didier? What sort of person?’
‘A woman of the lower classes, madame,’ replied the butler.
‘Then send her away,’ said Rosalie, wearily. ‘I don’t want to see anyone just now.’
‘Very good, madame.’ Didier left the room to deal with the unwelcome woman caller. Not wanting to leave her standing on their doorstep for all the neighbours to see, he had brought her indoors, but then told her to wait while he would discover if Madame St Clair was at home. When he returned, she was standing exactly where he had left her, and on hearing his tread she looked up expectantly.
‘Madame St Clair is not at home to visitors,’ he said stiffly, and moved to open the front door.
The woman stood her ground and said, ‘Please will you tell her my name? It’s Agathe—’
At that moment Hélène came down the stairs and saw Didier about to eject someone from the house. As she reached the hallway she paused, staring in confusion at the woman who seemed so familiar. Then, with a cry of delight, she recognised her. Madame Sauze, who had taken her in when, as a child, she’d been lost and alone on the streets in Paris.
‘Madame Sauze! Is that you? Is it really you? Didier, it’s Madame Sauze! Why are you showing her out? Have you been visiting Maman, madame? Why didn’t she call me?’
‘Madame St Clair is not receiving visitors this afternoon, Miss Hélène,’ Didier said repressively.
‘But did she know it was Madame Sauze?’ demanded Hélène. She turned back to Agathe. ‘Did you want to see my mother, madame?’
‘I was hoping for the favour of a word with her, but if it’s inconvenient I can come again another time.’
‘Of course it’s not inconvenient, madame. Did you send in your name?’
‘Miss Hélène,’ Didier tried again. ‘Madame is not receiving guests this afternoon.’
‘I’m sure she will receive Madame Sauze,’ Hélène replied firmly. She reached out and took Agathe’s hand. ‘Stay where you are, madame, and I’ll tell Maman that it’s you.’
Ignoring the butler’s outraged look, Hélène went straight to the drawing room and, opening the door, said, ‘Maman, Madame Sauze is here. Shall I bring her in?’
Rosalie, having already placed her feet on a footstool, had been drifting into a doze, and when Hélène burst into the room she awoke with a start.
‘Hélène? What’s the matter? What did you say?’
‘I said Madame Sauze is here, Maman. She’s come to see you.’
‘Madame Sauze? Here?’
‘Yes, Maman, and she’s asking to speak to you. I said I was sure you’d like to see her. Shall I bring her in?’
Rosalie was not best pleased to be placed in this position by her younger daughter, but her good manners came to her aid and she said, ‘Of course. Do ask her to come in.’
‘Yes, Maman.’ Hélène hurried back to the hall where Madame Sauze stood waiting uncomfortably, under the eye of the butler. ‘Madame, Maman says please do come into the drawing room.’ And then turning to Didier, she added, ‘Thank you, Didier, that will be all.’ Didier looked less than pleased at this dismissal, but he simply said, ‘Yes, Miss Hélène,’ and retreated to his own domain.
‘Do come with me, madame,’ said Hélène, extending her hand again. ‘Maman’s in here.’
Madame Sauze followed her into the drawing room, and immediately Rosalie St Clair got up to greet her.
‘Madame Sauze,’ she said, ‘I didn’t realise it was you. What a pleasure to see you. Please do take a seat.’ She waved her guest to a chair and then sat down opposite her. ‘May I offer you some refreshment?’
‘No, madame, I thank you, but’ – she glanced across at Hélène, who had moved to take a seat beside her mother – ‘if I might have a word with you in private?’
‘Of course,’ replied Rosalie. ‘Please leave us, Hélène.’
‘But Maman,’ protested Hélène, ‘I wanted to talk to Madame Sauze. We haven’t seen her for ages.’
‘Maybe you can speak later, but not until we have finished our conversation. Now, please, go and leave us in peace.’
Reluctantly Hélène got to her feet and, with one disgruntled backward glance, left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Now, madame,’ said Rosalie, ‘you have my ear.’
‘I am very sorry to have to come to you, madame,’ began Agathe, ‘but I don’t know where else to turn. It’s not for myself that I’ve come, but for the girl Annette. You may remember she was with Hélène in St Luke’s orphanage.’
Rosalie nodded. She did remember; Hélène used to refer to her as the bread thief, and it was Annette who had helped her slip away from the nuns. ‘I see; well, what about her? Did she not come to work at the Clergy House with you?’
‘Yes, she did, but I don’t work there any more. Father Lenoir died and young Father Thomas no longer required my services.’
Rosalie looked surprised. ‘But surely he still needed a housekeeper?’
‘He did, but over the years I have trained Annette well and he decided that she could do the job as well as I.’ Agathe faltered as she wondered how best to explain what had happened to the girl since she herself had been dismissed. She had sallied forth to the Avenue Ste Anne to renew her acquaintance with Rosalie St Clair. Now here she was, seated opposite that lady, and she had to introduce a subject so distasteful that it could well get her thrown out of the house. A friend, Agathe had described her to Annette, but as she looked across at Rosalie now she knew that they were not friends, simply two women who had met in the most peculiar circumstances some years ago, and had made some sort of connection.
‘I’m sorry, madame,’ she said. ‘But may I speak directly to you?’
‘I think you should,’ replied Rosalie. She wondered if Madame Sauze had come looking for a position as she no longer kept house for the priest at St Jacques. Briefly she reviewed her household, here in Paris and in St Etienne. She liked the woman, respected her and had seen that she was a good housekeeper when she had visited the Clergy House all those years ago. Perhaps she could find something, an under-housekeeper at Belair? That might be a possibility. Old Madame Choux the housekeeper was getting on and would have to retire soon. As these thoughts flitted through her mind she began to give proper attention to what Madame Sauze was saying and, appalled, realised what she was actually asking for. Would she take an expectant, unmarried woman into her household?
‘It’s a great deal that you ask, madame,’ she said when Agathe finally fell silent.
‘I don’t ask it for myself,’ Agathe replied quietly, ‘I ask for a child who has been abused and is now in a cruel situation that is none of her making.’ She did not remind Rosalie that her own daughter could have been in just such a situation some years ago if Agathe had not stepped in to keep her safe; she didn’t have to. The words lay between them, unspoken.
At last Rosalie said, ‘So, madame, tell me again what you want of me.’
Agathe outlined her plan, that Annette should be introduced to the house at St Etienne as her niece, recently widowed by la grippe, currently rife in Paris, and allowed to work for the family there until her time should come.
Rosalie listened in silence, considering the possibilities of the plan. She knew Emile would be against such an idea, even if he believed the tale of the dead husband. He knew a little of what had befallen Hélène when she was lost during the siege, but his wife had not gone into any details and it appeared that Hélène herself had been able to block the memory entirely from her mind. She never referred to it, and she seemed to be a normal, untroubled girl on the brink of womanhood. Could she expose her to Annette in her condition without awkward explanations? How could she explain the sudden arrival of such a girl to the rest of the household, who, deliberately, had been told nothing of Hélène’s experiences? Hélène would recognise her, of course she would, but would meeting her again trigger memories better left undisturbed? And yet, Rosalie knew, she owed it to Madame Sauze to agree to help.
‘I understand that you wish to protect this woman,’ she began and was surprised when Agathe put in gently, ‘She’s still a child, madame, little older than Hélène.’
‘I understand what you’re saying, madame,’ Rosalie continued briskly, ‘and I promise you I will consider what you’re asking of me. My mind is full of family affairs at present – my eldest daughter, Clarice, is getting married in less than a month and she is my priority just now. However’ – she held up a hand as she saw Agathe was about to speak – ‘I will give the situation serious thought and see if there is any way I can help you and the girl. Let me sleep on it. Come back and see me again tomorrow and I’ll give you my decision then.’ She got to her feet to indicate that the interview was now over. ‘I’d be grateful, madame, if this remained a private matter between us. It would distress me greatly if Hélène came to hear of the situation.’
‘Certainly, madame,’ Agathe agreed. ‘I would never speak of this matter to Hélène.’
Rosalie nodded. ‘Then, until tomorrow. Please call at the same time and I will instruct Didier to bring you straight to me.’
*
‘She didn’t say no,’ Agathe told Annette when she got back to the apartment. ‘She said she’d think it over and give me her answer tomorrow.’
‘That means she’ll say no,’ sighed Annette.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Agathe firmly. ‘It means she’s giving the idea consideration.’