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THE HOURS THAT FOLLOWED are burned in my memory as some of the worst in my life. There were moments when I felt myself slipping away on a wave of excruciating pain and I yearned to be allowed to go. But the doctor and a hired midwife fought back with a combination of strong drugs and a desire to rid my ravaged body of my poor child. One final push and he eventually slid onto the bloodied sheets, his tiny but fully formed body pale and lifeless. I turned my head away and shed tears of relief, pain and sorrow. Doctor Corbin gave me a draught of something to make me sleep – laudanum, I think – and left as the midwife finished her ministrations. I vowed I would never bear another child and then fell into a blessed oblivion.
‘Good morning. How are you feeling, m’dame?’
I opened leaden eyes to see the face of M’dame Drouet hovering inches from my own. Shifting cautiously under the covers, I was aware of a throbbing ache in my belly and between my legs.
‘Better, thank you. My...my son?’ Tears gathered at the memory of his lifeless body being swept up swiftly by the midwife. He would be with his father now.
She coughed.
‘We weren’t sure what to do for the best. A miscarried child isn’t buried in a churchyard and we wondered if you would want him buried in your garden? Discreetly, naturally.’ Her eyes held a deep compassion and I was touched at her thoughtfulness.
‘I would like that, m’dame. But I’m not sure if I can walk yet...’ My legs were heavy and lifeless beneath the sheets.
‘Oh, do not concern yourself now. When you are able, I will organise someone to dig a grave for your child and, if you wish, you can offer a prayer for him. The doctor has left instructions you must rest for a few days before attempting to leave your bed and I am happy to let you stay as long as needed.’
I was touched by her generosity. Why would someone like her, the confidante of such a tower of literature, known throughout the world, take me under her wing? I was a nobody. All we had in common was our mother country, France.
‘Merci, m’dame. That’s most kind of you, but I don’t wish to intrude on your hospitality for longer than absolutely necessary.’ I tried to sit up, conscious of a lack of dignity when one is lying down, particularly in someone else’s bed, but found I was too weak. Madame Drouet leaned forward and supported me while she plumped up the pillows and eased me up against them.
‘It’s no hardship, I can assure you. I shall enjoy having the company of a fellow Frenchwoman to talk to when I’m not needed elsewhere.’ Her gaze faltered and for a moment I sensed the sadness underneath her confident exterior. A woman in her fifties, her beauty was fading as her body thickened, and she was unmarried. I knew little of her except for her liaison with M’sieur Hugo. I arrived in Guernsey less than two years ago and it was only when I married Arnaud and moved to this street that I learnt of their presence and how scandalised the islanders were when Hugo arrived in 1855 with his wife and children, his mistress making her home nearby. Being French myself, I knew these arrangements were somewhat accepted in Paris, but had quickly discovered how puritanical the islanders could be. I imagine it had not been easy for her to make friends.
‘Now, enough talking! You must be hungry and I’ll arrange for my maid to bring you un petit dejéuner. You need to build up your strength. I will call on you later.’ She rose and patted my arm before leaving the room. I gazed around me, taking in the room I’d hardly noticed previously. Heavy velvet curtains shut out the day and I had no idea what time it might be, the gas lights casting strange shadows on the walls. Dark wallpaper and carpet added to the gloom. If m’dame had not referred to it being morning, I would have guessed it was evening. The effect of the laudanum was easing and my emotions rose to the surface, bringing more tears for my poor Arnaud and his son. My husband had been so happy to learn he was to be a father.
‘What wonderful news! I’m the luckiest man alive! Not only do I have a beautiful wife, but I’m about to become a father,’ Arnaud cried, lifting me up and swinging me around until I became dizzy and begged him to stop. At ten years my senior, he had, he told me, begun to despair of finding a woman to love and settle down with. Being away at sea weeks at a time had put off other ladies, he told me when we first courted.
‘But your absences will make me love you the more when you return,’ I replied, as we embraced. After his proposal weeks later, I was giddy with happiness and looking forward to spending the rest of my life with him. And bearing his children.
The memory of those early days together in our home, planning our future as a family, was like a physical pain and I cried out. The door opened and the maid bustled in, carrying a tray heavy with covered plates of food, a small carafe of red wine and a pot of coffee. Placing the tray on the bedside table, she took my hand.
‘Are you in pain? I heard your cry.’
‘No, I was remembering my husband and our time together. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Suzanne. Let’s get you sitting up a bit more, shall we? My mistress wants you to eat and drink as much as you can since you’ve lost so much blood.’ She added another pillow behind me and placed a shawl around my shoulders before offering me the wine.
‘I don’t drink wine for breakfast–’
‘Perhaps not, and rightly so, but it’s good for the blood and M’dame insists. There’s also eggs and ham and bread. Can you manage if I leave the tray here?’ Suzanne frowned, looking as if she didn’t trust me to eat if she left. Her ample figure belied her own appetite.
‘Yes, thank you.’
A sniff and she was gone. I reached for the plate of ham and eggs, suddenly ravenous and began eating, accompanied by sips of wine. The food was delicious and soon all that was left was the coffee. Strong and black, as I liked it. Replete, I lay back on the pillows and, before I knew it, was asleep.
Over the following days I slowly regained my strength, aided by my youth and the excellent care provided by m’dame and Suzanne. I still slept for hours at a time, but was able to sit out on a chair without much discomfort, looking out through the window at Havelet Bay and Castle Cornet. The grey skies were replaced with blue, dotted with fleeing clouds and it appeared spring was on the way. I yearned to be out in the fresh air, away from the confinement of my fetid room. Despite Suzanne’s best efforts, there remained the smell of stale blood, and the air had a metallic taste. A constant reminder of what had occurred here which tore at my heart and soul. The doctor had returned and declared himself satisfied with my progress, but urged me to be patient before venturing downstairs.
Finally, the day arrived and m’dame came smiling to guide me down to her parlour. Suzanne had been sent to my house for fresh undergarments and my dress had been sponged clean ready. At my behest she had also brought me my journal as I was now strong enough to write again. Much as it pains me to relate what has happened these past days, I am pleased to have progressed this far. My legs had little strength and I leaned on m’dame for support and was relieved when we reached the chaise longue and she pushed me down gently.
‘There! Well done. Now you can rest if you wish, or I can stay and we can talk.’ She took both my hands in a warm clasp and her bright eyes searched my face.
‘I shall be honoured to talk to you, m’dame,’ I said truthfully.
‘Bien. I know so little about you and yet you have been my guest these past five days. Would you be willing to share a little of your past? Not from idle curiosity, but because I would like to help you.’
I inclined my head in agreement. There was nothing of which to be ashamed in my life.
She smiled. ‘Perhaps you can tell me about your birthplace and your family?’
‘I was born and raised in Cherbourg, and my father was the head teacher at the local school. We lived in the large schoolhouse next door. I had a brother and two sisters and we appreciated the space. My mother was a dressmaker who had worked in Paris for noble patrons and I think she found moving to Cherbourg and losing that patronage quite difficult.’
‘How interesting. But what brought you to Guernsey?’
Pain flicked through me at the memory.
‘My parents and siblings died of a fever which took many lives in the town. I...I came to Guernsey to seek work as a governess and met Arnaud and...we fell in love and married last summer. His parents...died of the tuberculosis some years ago and left him their house.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry about your family. And now your husband!’ She patted my hand, her face creased with sorrow. ‘To be a governess you must have received an education, n’est ce pas?’
‘Oui. My father was a great believer in equality for girls and insisted we studied as hard as my brother. For me, it wasn’t a hardship, I enjoyed learning but my sisters were not as keen.’ I hesitated, feeling myself flush. ‘My father was a great admirer of M’sieur Hugo, reading all his works and passing them to me. He would be most amazed to know I am a neighbour of his and have had the honour of meeting him.’
‘You made quite an impression on him, my dear. You bear such a strong likeness to his dearly loved daughter, Léopoldine, that I was afraid for his heart. You know she died tragically at nineteen, soon after marrying?’ I nodded, my father had told me. ‘A lovely girl, Victor adored her and was thrown into a deep depression when she drowned. Her husband tried to save her, but he also died. Très tragique, n’est pas?’
‘Oui, m’dame.’
‘Such a loss! It was years before M’sieur Hugo recovered enough to write again. You can imagine his shock when he saw you! And your stories bear several similarities, it seems providence has brought you to us. He has been most anxious about your health and is impatient to visit you, if you are agreeable?’
I felt my mouth fall open in surprise. Surely such a great man would not bother with one such as me?
She laughed.
‘You will find as you get to know him, ma chère, that M’sieur Hugo loves talking and mixing with all who he finds interesting. And he will be delighted to hear you are acquainted with his work. May I suggest he call on us this afternoon, if you are not too tired?’
‘I would be honoured, m’dame.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Good, that is settled. Suzanne will take a note to him.’ She stood up, smoothing her skirts. ‘I have work to do. Rest here and I’ll ask Suzanne to bring in some hot chocolate before she goes. Please feel free to ask her for anything else you may need.’
After she left I sat alone with my tumultuous thoughts. The pain of losing my baby lay heavily on top of the pain of losing my husband and I was afraid of the future. Amidst this sorry tale of woe, I am to be visited by M’sieur Hugo himself. Under different circumstances I would be ecstatic, but...I assume he is coming to offer me his condolences and then departing back to his eyrie in Hauteville House to pen another literary masterpiece. In the meantime I will continue to recover sufficiently to return home. Gazing around the room, it was clear M’dame Drouet had particular tastes in her furnishings and objets d’art. Bright silks hung on the walls contrasting with the heavy dark furniture. In spite of thick brocade curtains adorning the windows and a fire burning in the elaborate fireplace, there was an air of dampness, a chill, in the room. I had noticed how she swathed herself in numerous shawls and was glad of the thick woollen one she had lent me.
A painting caught my eye and I went over to study it in more detail. It was of a beautiful young woman, with long, dark hair twisted into ringlets cascading down one side of her neck, her hands clasped in front of her as she gazed serenely ahead.
‘That’s the mistress, that is, painted when she was a young actress and caught the eye of M’sieur Hugo.’ Suzanne came through the door carrying a small tray bearing a jug of steaming chocolate, a cup and a plate of buttered gâche, a Guernsey fruitbread I have come to enjoy. She placed it on the table nearby and joined me in gazing at the portrait.
‘She was a beautiful woman indeed. How long have you worked for her?’
Suzanne folded her arms across her stomach.
‘Must be twenty years or more. Mam’selle Claire was still alive so it must be.’
I was puzzled.
‘Who was Mam’selle Claire?’
‘Why, the mistress’s daughter. Sad it was, her dying, and only twenty. Tuberculosis.’ She shook her head. ‘Died a few years after M’sieur’s Léopoldine drowned.’
‘Oh.’ I thought of how kind Madame had been to me since the loss of my baby while she carried the burden of her own loss.
‘If there’s nothing else, I’d best be off to deliver a note down the road.’ Suzanne was halfway to the door and I nodded, saying, ‘No, that’s all, thank you.’ I poured a cup of the thick dark chocolate, a real treat when you have to watch the francs as I do. As I savoured each mouthful, I compared the portrait with the more matronly lady I knew. The eyes were her best feature, bright, displaying a keen intelligence and her hair was still dark.
I picked up a leather-bound book lying on the table and read the gold-lettered spine, Les Contemplations – Victor Hugo. Opening the book I saw a handwritten dedication, ‘To Ju-Ju, you are my life, and you will be my eternity. From your Toto’. It was a collection of poems and I began to read as I drank my chocolate. So enthralled was I by the lyrical and romantic verses that an hour must have passed without my being aware of it until m’dame appeared at the door.
‘Ah, you have found my favourite poems. I’m pleased. Do they not sing to your soul, ma chère?’
‘Indeed they do, m’dame. My apologies for not waiting for your permission–’ I closed the book hastily, aware of a flush spreading over my face.
She waved her hand dismissively and sat down.
‘You are welcome to read any of my books. That is something we are not short of here,’ she laughed, nodding towards a bookcase crammed with volumes. ‘You are well rested, I trust?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good. We shall have luncheon shortly and then Monsieur Hugo has agreed to visit at two, before he and I leave for our constitutional. Do you feel strong enough to take a short walk in the garden? The fresh air would be so uplifting.’
I felt a flutter of excitement. To venture outside after so long indoors would be wonderful and I agreed eagerly, though concerned how I might fare. My cloak was fetched and Madame guided me through a room at the back leading to the garden. Not large, given over to lawn and flower beds, it was on a level, which was a relief.
‘There, now. Hold onto my arm and we’ll take a gentle stroll towards the far end and you must take deep breaths of air as we admire the view. Similar to your own, is it not?’
I hung on gratefully, drawing strength from her sturdy body as we took small steps along the path. Beyond was the ever-present sea, looking smooth as silk on this windless day with the pale sun glinting off the granite walls of Castle Cornet guarding the harbour. The salty air smelt clean after the mustiness of La Fallue and I took care to draw in as much as I could. I wanted to store it inside me, filling my lungs and veins to capacity, eking it out during the time I would be spending back indoors. My legs, like jelly at first, began to regain their usual strength and by the time we returned I was much re-energised.
‘Well done! You have so much colour in those pretty cheeks of yours, it is hard to believe you nearly died only days ago. M’sieur will be pleased, he’s been so worried about you.’
I couldn’t envisage M’sieur Hugo being worried about a virtual stranger, but I did appreciate her concern. Suzanne had set out our meal in the dining room and I ate greedily, my usual appetite much restored. As we finished eating, m’dame looked up, frowning and asked, ‘I don’t wish to pry, ma chère, but are you able to support yourself financially now you have lost your dear husband?’
‘There’s a little money left from Arnaud’s inheritance, and I had formed the idea of taking in lodgers to bring in a regular income once I have recovered my full strength.’ My tone was light, but my heart heavy at the thought of having strangers under my roof, expecting regular meals and their laundry taken care of. I’d never been particularly domesticated, much to my dear mama’s annoyance, preferring instead to help my father with his paperwork. With Arnaud away so much, I had been able to take my time over the chores, aided by my erstwhile maid.
Madame pursed her lips in what looked like disapproval.
‘That is certainly a consideration, but perhaps not the most suitable for someone so young.’ With a smile she stood, saying, ‘Come, M’sieur Hugo will be here shortly, let us go and refresh ourselves before welcoming him in the drawing room.’
The walk up to my room was easier than the walk down and my reflection in the bedroom mirror showed the improvement in my complexion. I brushed my hair and swept it back into a heavy twist at my neck before sponging my face with water and a little eau de toilette. I was ready to face the great man.