Rupert spent the next month at Le Coq d’Argent. He had come to terms with the landlord and negotiated a special rate for his room and board. Joseph Fermont was pleased to be able to say that he had an ‘English milor’ making an extended stay at his inn. It could only be good for business, but though he was indeed staying, he seldom ate more than his breakfast at Le Coq.
Once the St Clairs had accepted him as a frequent visitor to their home, he was often made one of the party at dinner or included in family picnics taken by the river or beneath the trees in the nearby woodland. He was allowed to drive Hélène about the countryside in the chaise he had hired from the stables in town, with Annette sitting quietly in the seat beside her, a silent chaperone.
It was as they were walking in the Place in St Etienne, looking at the market stalls one afternoon, that they encountered Simon Barnier. Annette was still in close attendance, but at first Simon did not see her, perhaps did not realise that she was anything to do with the couple, who were looking at some lace being displayed to them by an old woman who brought her work to the market once a week.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Hélène was saying, ‘and just what I need to trim my new tea gown.’ She carried a small purse and was reaching for this from her reticule when Rupert said, ‘Allow me,’ and handed the woman the few coins she asked for the lace.
Simon Barnier, who had seen them across the square, stared in amazement as the damned Englishman took the lace and handed it to Hélène with a smile and a slight bow. Hélène put a hand on his arm and was thanking him when Simon could bear it no more. He crossed the street and approached as if he had only just seen them.
‘Mademoiselle Hélène,’ he said, ignoring Rupert and greeting her with a bow. ‘Good day to you. I trust you are well.’
‘Yes, indeed, m’sieur,’ Hélène replied with the slightest of curtsies. ‘I thank you.’
‘It is such a hot day, I’m surprised to see you out and about. I was about to take a glass of lemonade at Le Coq d’Argent; if you would care to join me, I would be delighted to escort you.’
‘Thank you, m’sieur, but as you see I already have an escort’ – she indicated Rupert, who was standing at her side – ‘and we have just now taken a glass of lemonade.’
‘I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Hélène.’ Simon still ignored Rupert. ‘I assumed you were attended by your maid and had only stopped to pass the time of day with Monsieur Chalford.’
Rupert made no effort to join in the conversation. It seemed to him that Hélène was managing very well on her own.
‘Monsieur Chalfont and I are about to return to Belair, monsieur.’ Hélène made no effort to correct Simon’s mispronunciation of Rupert’s name, deciding not to dignify the deliberate mistake with any attention. ‘So if you will excuse us.’ She held out her hand, which he had hardly touched with his own before she withdrew it to rest on Rupert’s arm. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, m’sieur.’
‘Good day, m’sieur,’ said Rupert, with an inclination of his head, and together they walked away. Annette stepped forward to follow a discreet few metres behind them, but as she passed Simon Barnier, who stood stony-faced looking after them, he put out an arm to stop her.
‘You’re Mademoiselle St Clair’s maid?’
Annette curtsied. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you always attend your mistress?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I very much fear for her with that man.’ He glanced after the departing Rupert. ‘I think he is an adventurer after her money.’
Annette made no reply, but her mind raced as he went on, ‘I would make it worth your while to keep an eye on them for me. The St Clairs are old friends of my family.’ He jingled some coins in his pocket. ‘It would be doing us all a service if you happened to find out anything about him. He is too free with her and we must guard her reputation, must we not?’
‘Indeed we must, m’sieur,’ agreed Annette. ‘I will keep careful watch.’
Simon Barnier nodded his approval and, slipping a coin into her hand, turned away, allowing her to catch up with Hélène and Rupert without them having noticed that she had been waylaid.
They took the path through the fields, and when they reached Belair they joined Rosalie, who, with a book in her hand, was reclining beneath the ancient apple tree that offered welcome shade. She looked up and smiled as they approached.
‘Hélène, my dear,’ she said. ‘Do come into the shade or you’ll burn and look like a peasant!’ She turned to Rupert. ‘Good afternoon, m’sieur. Pray do please take a seat and join me. Didier will be bringing some refreshment directly. Louise will be out in a moment, when Mademoiselle Corbine releases her. It really is too hot to remain indoors in the schoolroom, is it not?’
Rupert agreed that it was and sat down as requested, listening as Hélène told her mother about the lace she had bought. It was hot, even here in the shade, and for a moment Rupert’s thoughts drifted away from the Belair garden as he pictured the spreading oak tree in his family’s garden in England. How often had his mother sat as Rosalie St Clair was sitting now, about to dispense cool drinks and cakes on a summer afternoon, the gentle drone of bees busy among the flowers a soft accompaniment to the heavy stillness of the day?
Would Hélène be comfortable at Pilgrim’s Oak? he wondered. He was certain that she and Fran would get on well, that Fran would ensure her welcome whenever they visited, but it would not be their home. He had no idea where that might be, but he was quite happy to settle anywhere Hélène might choose – Paris, maybe, or London.
His thoughts of the future were interrupted and he was drawn back to his immediate surroundings when Louise appeared from the house, running out into the sunshine, having finished her lessons for the day. He was surprised to see that she was accompanied by her governess, and when Louise flopped down into a chair with a sigh, Angèle Corbine, uninvited, also joined the group.
Mademoiselle Corbine had been the girls’ governess ever since they had returned to Paris seven years earlier, and Rosalie was beginning to think that they had no further need of her services. Louise would be out of the schoolroom and launched into the world next summer, and there was little that Mademoiselle Corbine could teach her now that could not be learned from visiting tutors like the dancing master and the drawing master who already came to the house. In the last few months Rosalie had been aware of Mademoiselle Corbine in a way that she had not before, aware of her growing confidence of her place in the household. A governess was always in rather an equivocal position within an establishment – neither a servant nor one of the family – but recently Rosalie had realised that Angèle Corbine expected to be treated almost as an equal, and that Emile seemed quite comfortable with this state of affairs. It was, Rosalie decided as she listened to her speaking to Hélène, time for Mademoiselle Corbine to move on. She would speak to Emile about it when she could get him alone. He would understand, she thought now, and acquiesce. He had strayed before and she had always turned a blind eye, but his wandering had been discreet, not carried on under her own roof.
Just then Didier appeared, carrying a tray, with glasses and a jug of lemonade and a plate of macaroon biscuits. He was followed by Lizette with cloth and plates to lay out on the table, and so Rosalie put these thoughts away to be considered later. Once the refreshments had been set out, Rosalie told Didier that they would help themselves.
‘Hélène, chérie,’ she said, ‘will you pour the lemonade, and perhaps Rupert will pass the glasses.’
Rupert was happy enough to be thus called upon. It demonstrated to him that he was no longer considered a guest to be waited on, but one of the informal family group.
It was as he picked up a glass of lemonade, and was carrying it over to Rosalie, that he was struck by a sudden shaft of pain in his head, making him stagger. He cried out, dropping the glass onto the ground, the lemonade spraying over his hostess’s skirt. For a moment he clutched his head in his hands and then the pain was gone, leaving him unfocused and giddy.
‘Rupert!’ Hélène cried, leaving the table and rushing to his side. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’
For a moment Rupert thought he might collapse but then the dizziness passed and, seeming to recover, he apologised profusely to Rosalie for his carelessness.
Rosalie had looked up in alarm as he’d dropped the glass, and as she heard his apologies, she saw that all colour had drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale.
‘My dear Monsieur Chalfont,’ she cried. ‘You are unwell. Please, sit down, sit down.’
‘Really, madame,’ he said a little shakily, ‘it is nothing. Perhaps the heat or a little too much sun.’ But he followed her instruction to sit, nonetheless, and was glad to do so. Hélène was at his side at once, fear in her eyes.
‘Rupert,’ she said again, more quietly this time. ‘What is the matter? You look quite ill.’
‘Nothing,’ he answered with a weak smile. ‘I’m fine, really. Just a moment’s dizziness, which caused me to spoil your mother’s dress.’
‘Just stay sitting where you are,’ Hélène said, taking charge. ‘You mustn’t get up again until you’re feeling better. Louise, will you run indoors and ask Didier for some brandy for Monsieur Chalfont? He needs a restorative.’
‘Yes, hurry up, child,’ Rosalie said. ‘Ask him to bring it at once.’
Moments later Rupert was sipping from a generous measure of brandy, and as he felt the warmth of the spirit trickling down his throat, he did indeed feel better. A little colour crept into his cheeks and again he apologised to Rosalie, who dismissed his words with a wave of her hands.
‘Think nothing of it, m’sieur,’ she said. ‘Yvette will have that set to rights in no time. It is you who must concern us now. How are you feeling?’
Rupert smiled and said, ‘Much better, madame, the brandy has done me a world of good.’
The accident seemed to have brought the party under the tree to a close, and it was not long before they all repaired indoors to the cool of the drawing room, saying that it really was much too hot to be sitting outside.
Rupert was grateful to be out of the heat; that must have been what had caused his giddiness, but though the piercing pain had gone, he was still feeling decidedly strange. Was it really too much sun?
‘I think I should go back to Le Coq,’ he said quietly to Hélène.
‘I will ask Pierre to drive you,’ said Rosalie, who had overheard him. ‘Hélène, run and ask Pierre to put the horse to at once.’
‘Really, madame,’ protested Rupert as Hélène hurried from the room, ‘there is no need to trouble Pierre. I can easily take the path through the fields.’
‘Certainly not, m’sieur,’ replied Rosalie firmly. ‘Pierre will drive you.’
Ten minutes later the message was brought that the chaise was at the door.
Rupert got to his feet and walked a little unsteadily out to where Pierre was waiting. Hélène went with him and he paused before climbing up to take his place.
‘Really, Hélène,’ he said softly, ‘there is nothing to worry about, I am sure. I will call on you again tomorrow, if I may.’
‘Of course you may,’ smiled Hélène, holding out her hand. ‘I shall look forward to it, but in the meantime, Rupert, I shall be thinking of you.’
Rupert raised her extended hand to his lips. ‘And I of you, my darling girl.’
Colour flooded Hélène’s cheeks as she murmured, ‘Really, M’sieur Rupert—’
‘Just Rupert will do, you know,’ he interrupted, still holding her hand.
‘Rupert, you should not address me as such.’
‘Why not, my darling girl? It’s what you are.’ And with that he touched her hand to his lips once more before climbing up into the coach.
Though he would never have admitted it to anyone else, he was relieved that he did not have to walk back to the village across the fields under the summer sun. The pain and giddiness had passed, but he felt strangely tired.
They made the short journey at a leisurely pace, and as he drove, Pierre considered what Annette had told him on her return from the village. Should he pass the information on to this Englishman who now seemed to have become so important to Miss Hélène? He, Pierre, had a great fondness for Hélène. He had been among those who had searched for her high and low when she had gone missing during the siege six years ago, and he had admired the courage with which she had managed to keep herself safe in the war-torn city. If Annette was right in her thoughts on Monsieur Barnier’s proposition, surely Monsieur Rupert should be warned.
‘Monsieur Chalfont,’ he said. ‘I think there is something you should know.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Rupert, whose thoughts had been drifting away again as he dozed to the rhythm of the chaise. ‘What did you say?’
‘This afternoon as you were leaving St Etienne, I believe Miss Hélène was approached by Monsieur Barnier.’
‘Yes.’ Rupert remembered the encounter with a wry smile. ‘So?’
‘So, afterwards he approached the maid, Annette.’
‘Did he? How interesting. And what did he want?’
‘He offered her money to spy on you and Miss Hélène… particularly on you, and to tell him anything she learned about you.’
‘Well now… and what did she say?’
‘She took his money. She was quick-thinking enough to realise that if she didn’t, someone else would and we’d have no idea what he was up to. Better to be the spy than for there to be another who we know nothing about, don’t you think?’
‘We?’
‘Annette and me. We both want to protect Miss Hélène from that man, so it is better to know the information he’s being given.’
‘I see. And do you know why he wants this information?’
‘Simply to discredit you. The talk below stairs is that he wants you out of the way and Miss Hélène for himself.’
‘And is the below-stairs gossip reliable?’ asked Rupert, though he knew for sure it would be at Pilgrim’s Oak.
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Pierre, ‘and we are all fond of Miss Hélène.’
‘And what about me?’ asked Rupert with a grin. ‘Do you think she needs protecting from me?’
‘That remains to be seen, sir,’ replied Pierre.
That made Rupert laugh out loud. ‘You believe in plain speaking, Pierre!’
‘Yes, m’sieur, as you do yourself.’
‘Perhaps we should assume the worst about Monsieur Barnier,’ said Rupert ruminatively. ‘Is the maid, Annette, going to speak to Miss Hélène about what she’s been asked to do?’
‘Yes indeed, m’sieur, when she gets the chance to speak with her alone. She must be warned.’
‘Will she also warn Madame St Clair?’
‘No, sir. There would then be the risk of Monsieur Barnier learning that his spy was no friend of his.’
‘But why?’ demanded Rupert. ‘Why are Miss Hélène and the maid so close? Because I know they are.’
Pierre was silent for a moment as he considered his reply. ‘That’s not for me to say, m’sieur,’ he said at length. ‘Maybe Miss Hélène will confide in you when she is ready to.’
When they reached the inn, Rupert descended from the chaise and turned back to Pierre. ‘I’m glad we have had this little talk on our way home. You are completely right that Miss Hélène must be protected from this man. I shall be there to protect her, but if you or Annette hear anything that I need to know, you must come to me at once. And if for any reason you cannot then you should go to Madame St Clair.’