When Agathe got back to the apartment, she found Annette sitting on the landing outside the front door.
‘Annette? What on earth are you doing?’
‘She threw me out, your sister. Told me to get lost.’
‘Did she now? And how did she know you were there?’
‘She came to your room. She knew you weren’t there and she simply walked in. At first she didn’t see me, I was lying on the bed, but she went straight to the wardrobe and opened it. She was peering inside when she caught sight of me in the mirror.’ Annette gave a throaty laugh. ‘Gave her a shock, it did, seeing me tucked up in your bed. She shrieked! I said it was all right because I was a friend of yours but she didn’t believe me. At least she said she didn’t. She accused me of being a burglar and then was furious because I laughed and said “What burglar goes to bed in the house he’s robbing?” She didn’t laugh.’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Agathe. ‘What was she doing in my room, I wonder?’
‘Snooping,’ replied Annette. ‘Anyway, she told me to get out, so I grabbed my things and waited for you out here.’ Suddenly she was serious. ‘What did Madame St Clair say?’
Agathe smiled and, reaching down, pulled the girl to her feet. ‘She said yes! She said that you and I are both to go to this place Belair in St Etienne and work for her there. There is more to it than that, but we’re not going to discuss it here. Let’s get indoors and I’ll tell you all about it – and I need to tell Fleur that I’m moving out.’ She went across to the front door of the apartment and put her key in the lock. Before she could turn it the door was flung open and Fleur stood in the doorway, blocking her entrance. She stared at Agathe with angry eyes.
‘So you do know this vagabond who was sleeping in your bed.’
‘Yes,’ replied Agathe mildly. ‘She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. She’s fallen on hard times and I—’
‘She’s certainly fallen,’ retorted Fleur, pointing an accusing finger at Annette’s rounded stomach, ‘and I won’t have her here in my home.’
‘You won’t have to after tomorrow,’ Agathe said, ‘but perhaps we should discuss this inside. Better than on the doorstep, don’t you think?’
‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ Fleur snapped. ‘She’s not coming in!’
‘In that case,’ said Agathe, ‘I’m sure she won’t mind standing out here for ten more minutes, just while I pack my things.’
‘Pack your things? Why, where are you going? You can’t just walk out after all I’ve done for you.’
‘I hadn’t planned to,’ agreed Agathe, reasonably. ‘I have come home with some excellent news, but as I said, I’m not going to discuss it standing on the landing. You either let us both in, or I shall simply pack up and leave.’
Fleur flushed red, but faced with this ultimatum, she stood aside and allowed both Annette and Agathe into the apartment.
‘Why don’t we go into the salon and I’ll make some coffee,’ suggested Agathe. ‘Then I can tell you all about it.’
While Agathe boiled water for the coffee, Fleur sat rigidly silent in one of her armchairs. She made no effort to speak to Annette, nor did she offer a chair, so that when Agathe appeared with the tray, she found Annette still standing by the window looking down into the street.
‘Come and sit down, Annette,’ Agathe said, ‘and have some coffee.’
Rather unwillingly Annette sat down, perching on the edge of the chair as if about to take flight. Agathe poured coffee for them all and then sat down herself.
‘Well?’ demanded Fleur.
‘Well,’ replied Agathe placidly. ‘As I said outside, poor Annette is the daughter of an old friend of mine and she has fallen on hard times. She was married last year and is, as you see, expecting her first child, but sadly her husband Marc died in the recent flu epidemic, so she’s been left a widow. Their room went with his job and she’s been turned out by her landlord as she can’t pay the rent. What would you like me to do’ – Agathe’s voice grew harsher – ‘leave her in the gutter to die?’
‘No, of course not,’ muttered Fleur, ‘but I think you might have told me she was here. She gave me the fright of my life, rearing up from the bed like that.’
Agathe didn’t bother to ask what Fleur had been doing in her bedroom, poking through her things. She had a fair idea it wasn’t the first time, but she didn’t want to provoke another quarrel. Indeed, she was simply relieved that Fleur seemed to have accepted the fiction of Annette’s marriage without demur, so she said, ‘Drink your coffee, Fleur, and let me explain.’
Briefly she told her sister of her visit to the Avenue Ste Anne and Rosalie’s offer of employment for them both.
‘But why?’ demanded Fleur. ‘Why did you go to this Madame St Clair? How did you know she would help you?’
‘I knew her some years ago when I looked after her daughter for a while. She remembered and offered to help us now.’
‘But why do you have to go?’ protested Fleur, suddenly realising how much she would miss Agathe if she moved away. She had become used to the company. Loneliness loomed and she spoke sharply. ‘I can see Annette needs work and a place to live, but your place is here… with me.’
‘No, Fleur, it isn’t,’ Agathe replied gently. ‘You have been more than kind and generous in giving me a place to live while I was out of work, but I always told you it was only until I found another job, and now I’ve found one, and it’s time for me to move out.’
‘Huh!’ exclaimed Fleur. ‘You batten on me when you want to and then you’re up and off with no warning at all.’ Her face flushed a dull crimson as her anger took hold. ‘You’ve used me, Agathe—’
‘No more than you’ve used me, Fleur,’ Agathe answered mildly.
‘—and now you’re casting me off!’ Fleur cried, ignoring Agathe’s comment entirely.
‘You used me as an unpaid servant,’ Agathe reminded her, ‘but the arrangement suited both of us. I agree, we have made use of each other!’
Annette listened as the argument escalated, and then very quietly got to her feet and left the room, knowing that she was the cause of the row.
‘You certainly are not,’ Agathe told her when she came back to her room. ‘Fleur and I always have argued. We shall both get over it.’ She smiled reassuringly at Annette. ‘Now, tomorrow we have to get ready to leave.’
Two days later they bought their tickets and were on their way to St Etienne. As they left the apartment they said goodbye to Fleur, who was surprisingly tearful.
‘When am I going to see you again, Agathe?’ she wailed as they carried their bags to the front door. ‘I need you. I’m not well!’
‘Soon,’ soothed Agathe, used to her sister’s hypochondria. ‘As soon as we’re settled and my work allows, I’ll come up and see you.’
As they left the building, she glanced up at the window that overlooked the street and saw her sister standing, pale-faced, watching them leave. Agathe lifted a hand in farewell and turned away, not knowing that her sister had spoken the truth, that she had consumption and that within months she would be dead. Agathe would never see her again.
Neither Agathe nor Annette had ever been on a train before. Annette spent the journey with her nose pressed against the window, watching sunlit countryside such as she had never seen nor been able to imagine, slip past her as the train chugged its way south from the city. Agathe was watching as well, but she was looking anxiously for the names of the stations they passed, afraid that they might miss theirs. Other passengers in the compartment came and went, and once Agathe plucked up the courage to ask one elderly woman how much further to St Etienne.
‘I leave the train at the station before,’ the woman replied, and with a sigh of relief Agathe knew she could relax until then.
When the train finally steamed into St Etienne she quickly got to her feet, saying to Annette, ‘Come along, hurry and pick up your bag, this is where we get off.’
They clambered down onto the platform, each of them carrying a small case containing her worldly goods. When they had passed through the ticket barrier, they stepped outside into the summer sunshine and looked about them.
‘Madame St Clair said someone would meet us,’ Agathe said anxiously.
Annette, looking about her, saw a man of about thirty standing beside a pony and trap, his eyes searching the few passengers who had alighted. ‘Perhaps that’s him,’ she said.
The man spotted them at the same moment and came across. ‘Madame Sauze? I am Pierre, sent by Madame St Clair to fetch you.’ He added anxiously, ‘You are Madame Sauze?’
‘Yes, monsieur, thank you, and this is my niece, Madame Dubois.’
The man looked surprised. He had been assuming that the niece he’d been told to meet was a Mademoiselle Dubois, but in that instant he saw that she was expecting a child and quickly averted his eyes, saying, ‘I have the trap over here. Come this way, please.’
As they drove away from the station, Annette stared wide-eyed at the scattered houses of St Etienne. Some lined the main street, hidden by high protecting walls; other, smaller houses opened directly onto the roadway; and yet more scrambled, higgledy-piggledy, up narrow lanes that branched off on either side to the rising ground beyond. The thoroughfare bisecting the village opened out into a stone-paved square, the Place, and clearly this was the heart of St Etienne. It was bounded by shops on two sides, and a busy coaching inn, a silver cockerel above its door proclaiming it Le Coq d’Argent, lay across a third. The fourth side was dominated by the Mairie, the town hall, by far the most important building in the square. In the centre of the Place, market stalls, some shaded by colourful awnings, offered fruit, vegetables and other produce from the surrounding countryside. It was a gathering place where people met to do business, to catch up on news, to share a glass of wine. Several elderly men were sitting out in the sunshine, glasses in hand, smoking pipes and chatting as they watched the progress of a game of boules; women, carrying baskets, paused to share gossip before returning home with their purchases. There was a lazy bustle about the place as it lay in the warm summer sunshine.
Pierre drove down one side, past the Mairie, and at the far end turned out of the Place towards the village church, standing atop a rise. With grey stone-flinted walls and a slender tower topped with a steeple looking out across the countryside, the church seemed to grow up out of the hill on which it stood, its encircling walled graveyard gathered protectively around it. Annette stared up at it as they drove past; it was nothing like the cheerless churches that had dominated the streets and squares of Paris, but she was done with churches and determined that she would not set foot in another unless she were forced to do so.
When Pierre turned the pony in through the gates of Belair and they were driven up the drive, they had their first sight of the house that was to be their home for at least the next few weeks.
It stood as if dreaming in the midday sunshine, symmetrical and well proportioned, with two wings extending forward a little from the main part of the house, which stood three storeys high. The walls, cream-painted stucco, were punctuated by tall windows that flashed gleams of sunlight across the drive, three to each wing and two on either side of the arched portico above the front door.
What a beautiful house! Agathe thought as, ignoring the carriage sweep at the front of the building, Pierre drove the pony and trap past the door and on round to the stable yard at the back before pulling up to allow his passengers to alight.
Could this really be the place where she might find a permanent position?
Annette had stared up at it and, assailed by an increasing fear, wished she were back in Paris. She had looked at the emptiness of the countryside from the windows of the train and longed for the close-lived bustle of the city streets she knew. And now the house. How would she ever find her way about such a large house?
Pierre got down and called to a stable lad who had appeared from the stables, ‘See to the pony, Henri, I’ll take these indoors to meet Madame Choux,’ adding as he turned back to the two women in the trap, ‘She’s the housekeeper.’
He did not hand them down as he would have one of the family, but as Annette stepped down her foot slipped on the cobbles and she would have fallen had he not put out his hand to steady her. For a moment he gripped her arm and then she pulled free, colour flooding her face as she whispered her thanks.
‘This way,’ he said, and with that they picked up their bags and followed him through a side door into the house.
Madame Choux was in the kitchen and it was clear when she received them that they were not welcome. She looked them over for a few moments, taking in Annette’s pregnancy with a pursing of her lips. She already knew that Agathe Sauze’s niece was expecting a baby, that had been explained in Madame’s letter, but she resented the fact that these two women had been engaged at all and without any reference to her.
‘I am Madame Choux, the housekeeper, and you answer to me,’ she announced by way of greeting. ‘Madame said to expect you. Your uniforms are in your room. Lizette will show you where to go. Once you have changed come straight back down and I will explain your duties.’ She turned away, calling over her shoulder, ‘Lizette, take these two upstairs and show them where they will be sleeping.’
A small, dark-haired girl with wide, frightened eyes emerged from the scullery and, edging round the table, murmured, ‘It’s this way.’
They followed her up two flights of twisting stairs onto a landing that ran the length of the house. Halfway along she opened a door and said, ‘In here, but you’d better be quick, Madame Choux don’t like to be kept waiting.’
‘Thank you, Lizette,’ Agathe said with a smile. ‘You go back downstairs, we can find our own way down.’
‘Yes, miss,’ whispered the girl, recognising that the older of the newcomers was of higher status than she, and with that she scurried off down the stairs.
Annette and Agathe looked round the room that was to be their refuge for the next few weeks. It was small, with two metal bedsteads crammed in, side by side. A chest of drawers stood in a corner and there were hooks on the back of the door on which to hang clothes. In a pile on the single chair that stood in the other corner was a plain black dress, a starched apron and a white cap, clearly meant for Annette, and on one of the beds was another apron and a black lace cap. Both clearly denoted the standing of the wearer in the household.
Agathe took off her travelling cloak and, putting her bag on the bed where the apron lay, said, ‘Well, we’re at close quarters, Annette, but at least we have beds to sleep in and work to do to earn our bread.’ She reached for the apron and put it on over the plain stuff dress she was wearing, the one she’d always worn when keeping house for Father Lenoir. She glanced across at Annette, who remained standing pale-faced by the door, and said briskly, ‘Come along, Annette, change into your uniform. You’re lucky you have one provided and don’t have to buy your own, as many maids must do.’
For a moment Annette didn’t move and then – it was almost as if she had given herself a shake – she took off her outdoor shawl and hung it on the back of the door. Removing her skirt and bodice, she reached for the dress on the chair and struggled into it. At first she doubted she could do it up, but with help from Agathe and careful adjustment she managed to ease it over her stomach before tying the apron around her waist to disguise the bulge of her baby. It was a very snug fit, but it would have to do until she could loosen it further.
Agathe surveyed her and then said with a smile, ‘You’ll do.’ Then, with a more serious expression, she went on, ‘Remember, Annette, that Madame St Clair has put her trust in us, taking us on here. I can see that Madame Choux is not pleased with our arrival, but whatever happens, we must not cause any disharmony below stairs. She may well find fault with you, whatever she gives you to do, but if she does, simply duck your head and accept her comments without fuss. If we lose our jobs here, there will be nowhere else to go.’
‘I know,’ returned Annette tightly.
‘I know you know,’ said Agathe soothingly, ‘but it may not be easy, that’s all. There’s sure to be speculation about you and the baby, so we have to be certain to stick to our story.’
She reached forward and took the girl’s hand. ‘Come on then, let’s go and face Madame Cabbage.’ That elicited a smile from Annette and together they went down to the kitchen.
Although Madame Choux slept on the servants’ landing, not two doors away from Agathe and Annette, she also had her own tiny parlour off the kitchen and it was there that she waited for them.
‘You took your time,’ she snapped. ‘You can leave the door.’ They did as she said, even though it meant that everything she said to them could be overheard by those working – or simply listening – in the kitchen.
‘Madame St Clair has written a letter,’ she began, ‘and tells me I am to use you wherever I need you as we prepare for the wedding. I do not know why she has employed you at all. I have no need of anyone else; the servants we have here are more than able to cope with such preparations.’ There was an edge of anger in her voice, but she continued. ‘However, I will of course follow Madame’s orders.’ She pointed to Annette. ‘You, girl, are a maid-of-all-work. You will work in the laundry, the kitchen or as a chambermaid, wherever I tell you.’ She glowered at Annette. ‘You understand?’
Remembering Agathe’s admonition, Annette ducked her head and murmured, ‘Yes, madame.’
For a moment the housekeeper eyed her suspiciously and then gave a brief nod and said, ‘Into the kitchen with you and find Cook. She’ll have plenty of work for you.’ She did not ask either of the newcomers if she had eaten, simply waved her hand at the door and turned her attention back to Agathe. Taking this dismissal, Annette went out into the kitchen where she was greeted by the cook who gave her a far warmer welcome.
‘Annette, is it? I’m Madame Paquet; I’m the cook and’ – her eyes flicked to the parlour door – ‘it’s my kitchen. I’m pleased to see you. We can do with another pair of hands in here.’ She glanced down at the roundness of Annette’s stomach and went on. ‘I see you’re in trouble—’ she began, but Annette interrupted her.
‘No, madame, I am not. It’s true I’m expecting a child, but it will not be born a bastard.’
‘Oh ho!’ laughed the cook. ‘He’s going to marry you then, is he?’
‘No, madame,’ replied Annette, looking her firmly in the eye, ‘I am already married, but my beloved husband died a month ago of the flu. I am now a widow and it is his child!’
The cook looked taken aback at this outburst, but she was not unsympathetic. She turned to the other maid, the pale-faced Lizette, who stood open-mouthed at the scullery door, and Henri, who’d just come in from the stables to have his dinner, and said, ‘There you are, now you know all about poor Annette. She and her aunt, Madame Sauze’ – she nodded towards the open door to Madame Choux’s parlour – ‘are with us at least until after Miss Clarice’s wedding, so let’s make the most of the extra help, shall we?’ She turned back to Annette. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.
‘No, madame.’
‘Well, sit up to the table, you can eat with the others. Lizette!’
The little maid hurried to the range and began to ladle broth from a cauldron into waiting bowls. As instructed, Annette took a chair at the big wooden table, and Lizette placed a bowl of steaming chicken broth, thick with vegetables, in front of her. There was already bread and cheese on the table and after a muttered grace from the cook, Lizette and Henri helped themselves and began to eat. Annette watched for a moment and then took some bread and a piece of cheese and picked up her spoon.
At that moment Pierre came into the kitchen. Coming along the outside passage he had overheard the interchange between the cook and the new maid.
So, he thought, that’s what’s happened to the girl… if you can believe it. Very sad if it’s true. But is it? He gave a wry smile. He hadn’t come down with the morning dew. He had seen her rounded figure, had assumed her unmarried and had been surprised when Madame Sauze had named her as Madame Dubois.
He walked in and sat down at the table and tucked into the broth that the cook set before him. As he mopped his bread round his bowl and licked the last drops from his fingers he considered what the girl had said. She had spoken up bravely in answer to Madame Paquet, and he admired her for it. She was able to stand up for herself, not like the other maid, Lizette. She was timid as a mouse, scared of her own shadow and thus bullied by Madame Choux. If this Annette girl and her aunt were here, it should certainly help relieve the pressure in the wedding preparations. The household managed with fewer servants these days.
Agathe had heard the raised voices as well, and seen Madame Choux’s expression darken as she heard Annette’s defence of her situation. However, she had told the prepared story and the way she had spoken was, Agathe decided, convincing enough. She turned her attention back to the housekeeper, who was speaking quite candidly.
‘I don’t know why Madame has engaged you,’ she said. ‘Of course, another maid is always helpful’ – she gave a sniff – ‘despite the state she finds herself in.’
‘A widow with a baby on the way,’ Agathe said, wilfully misunderstanding her and nodding. ‘Very difficult for the poor girl, I do agree.’
‘But you?’ Madame Choux looked at Agathe through mistrustful eyes. ‘You’re too old. What use will you be to me?’
Agathe, remembering her own warning to Annette, bit back a retort at such rudeness, simply saying, ‘Madame St Clair knows how much extra work there will be preparing for Miss Clarice’s wedding. I think she thought you might welcome another pair of hands to lighten the load.’
Madame Choux looked at her suspiciously. ‘Did she now? She must know I’m well able to prepare the house for both the wedding and the house guests who will be staying over.’
‘She certainly does,’ Agathe agreed quietly, ‘and of course it’s you she’s relying on, but she suggested that you might have a use for me with so much happening just now.’ When Madame Choux didn’t answer, Agathe said, ‘I am at your bidding, madame.’
Reluctantly the housekeeper told her she was to sort and check through the linen cupboard, looking for anything that might need laundering or mending before it could be used in the guests’ bedchambers. It was a job she had been putting off. It had been a long time since she had performed this particular task, one she disliked, and she was afraid there might be much in need of repair; the part-time seamstress they normally used for such work was ill and would not be able to take on the job. ‘I assume you are able with your needle.’
‘Indeed, madame,’ replied Agathe.
‘But first,’ the housekeeper said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘you had better have your midday meal.’ And with that she led the way back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, waving Agathe to a vacant chair beside Annette. At once Lizette leaped to her feet and served them each with a bowl of broth.
It was extremely good, and as Agathe ate she looked round the well-ordered kitchen and thought, Well, we’re here, though unwelcome, and despite Fleur being so cross with me for leaving, Annette and I are well out of Paris, and thanks to Madame St Clair we both have the chance of a new life.