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TODAY WAS THE FIRST day working with M’dame Drouet and it was hard work. I made only a few errors, but the level of concentration made my head ache and my eyes itch. She assured me my eyes and head would become accustomed to the work and made sure I rested my eyes for a few minutes every hour. I became engrossed in the story I was copying in my neatest hand. I understood the first volumes of the work had already been sent to the publisher in Belgium and these latest pages were Volume Four, Book Second, Eponine. I wished I had read the earlier volumes, but managed to make some sense of what I was copying after m’dame explained the outline of the novel.
‘It is a work dedicated to those unfortunate to be born poor in this century, and describes, in m’sieur’s own words, “the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light”, set against the background of the wars of the early part of the century and the political unrests some years later. The central character, Jean Valjean, experiences poverty, imprisonment, a rise to wealth and respectability and helps many poor unfortunates, les misérables, becoming eventually the guardian of a poor orphan, Cosette.’ She sighed, rubbing her eyes. ‘Parts are so moving I am brought to tears, as you, ma chère, may be also.’
I hung upon her words, proud to be playing a small, but nevertheless, important part in bringing this work into the world. I was to work in the mornings only as m’dame would often accompany M’sieur Hugo in the afternoons for either a ride in the hired carriage or a walk towards Fermain. I learned that he would usually join her for dinner in the evenings while M’dame Hugo was away.
My own life was more solitary. I went home and enjoyed Sophie’s excellent cooking which was encouraging my appetite to return. I needed to regain the weight I’d lost and to feel stronger. After a short rest I returned to devouring Les Contemplations like someone dying of hunger. Not being in a position to continuously buy more books, I am resolved to join the lending library, and will take out books in both French and English. My father taught me English, for which I am eternally grateful. The educated islanders speak both languages, with French being the official language and there is also a local patois, but English is creeping more and more into general use. An English newspaper, The Star, is published alongside the Guernsey French paper, La Gazette. From now on I shall buy copies of both in order to stay in touch with what is happening both locally and in England.
It occurs to me that spending time in the company of such worldly people as M’sieur Hugo and M’dame Drouet is pushing me to become more knowledgeable about the happenings of the world and to be a more interesting conversationalist. Arnaud had always come home with new stories to tell and as I listened was only too conscious I’d never see the places he described so vividly. It is hard for women to do anything a little adventurous unless they are wealthy, and I will never be that.
Today the warm spring-like sun has tempted me to go for a walk towards Fermain, where I was headed that fateful day I lost my child. It will be invigorating after a morning spent concentrating on my copying. I want to stroll through the woods where bluebells will shortly be in abundance and follow the cliff paths above Fermain Bay. The birds are in fine form, chirruping to each other as if to say spring is on its way and it is good to be alive. And it is. I find myself smiling and greeting those I meet, where once I would have averted my eyes, not wishing to be acknowledged. Even my widow’s black fails to dampen my humour as I stand on one of the paths and gaze down towards the bay. The golden sand gleams under the sun and I am reminded of my home in France. Cherbourg has similar cliffs and sandy beaches and in the school holidays my parents took us for picnics and paddling in the sea. My heart clenches at the memories of the days gone by and my beloved family, but I am determined not to become maudlin. They are gone, but I am still alive and have much to look forward to.
‘Oh, Papa, you would be amazed to learn that your little girl is now a scribe for none other than M’sieur Victor Hugo himself! Who would have expected that?’ I whisper to the swaying leaves of the tree I am propped against, imagining my father’s delight. I hear a deep chuckle behind me and turn to see a smiling M’sieur Hugo not two feet away, his back to a tree. I want the ground to open up and swallow me. Dropping a curtsy, all I can do is stand there, bereft of speech. He doffs his hat.
‘Don’t upset yourself, ma petite, I often talk to the trees when I’m alone. And you were talking to your late papa, non?’ I nodded. ‘Then I do hope he heard you and is proud of what you are doing. My own father, a general, was disappointed in me as I preferred poetry and politics to following him into the army.’
‘I cannot imagine such a life would have suited you, m’sieur, and the world of literature would have been the poorer.’
He lifted my hand and kissed it. I feel heat rise to my cheeks.
‘You are right, of course, and thank you for your kind words. I’ll leave you to enjoy your walk as I continue my own.’ With a nod, he continues on the path leading towards the bay. I am about to enquire after M’dame Drouet, but perhaps it is as well he has turned away. I don’t want to appear too nosy. Deciding it’s better not to follow him, I turn onto a different path which winds its way back towards the top road, breathing in the scent of wild garlic and primroses scattered along the verges. Another twenty minutes and I am beginning to tire, my body not yet accustomed to such exertion. Fortunately, I’m a matter of a few hundred yards from home, where I arrive with legs like jelly and a fast-beating heart.
‘Oh, m’dame! What have you been doing? Off to bed with you now, for a nice lie down. I’ll be up later with a cup of tea.’
I hardly need Sophie’s exhortations and am soon lying down fully clothed apart from my boots. It has been an eventful, and tiring, afternoon.
It was the first day of April and I sensed the nearness of spring as I made my way to La Fallue. I was at my usual place copying the latest pages of Les Misérables when m’dame motions me to stop a moment.
‘We have noticed how proficient you have become, ma chère, and think it’s time for you to work alone. You write so much more quickly than I, and will achieve more if m’sieur can send completed pages directly to you at his house. He will expect you there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’ Her face bore a strained expression, as if she was not quite in agreement with this decision.
‘Oh, m’dame, I’m grateful to be so trusted, but I shall miss your company in the mornings. I...I’ve grown to look forward to our time together.’ It was true, apart from Sophie, she is my only companion and has become like a mother to me.
She smiled and patted my arm.
‘And I shall miss you. But it doesn’t mean we cannot spend time together on other occasions. We could meet up for tea in the afternoons when I’m back from my constitutionals and at other times when I’m alone. As you probably realise, I don’t go out socially as it’s a little délicat,’ she coughed, ‘for someone in my...position.’ She gazed into the distance, no longer seeing me. ‘I have few real friends here, as is to be expected, I suppose. These islanders view things differently to us French and are quick to condemn women such as I, even without knowing all the circumstances.’ She turned back to face me, her expression dreamy. ‘I fell in love with m’sieur when I was twenty-seven and now, at fifty-six, am as much in love as I was then. As is he. His marriage is...’ she shrugged, ‘as it is.’
For the first time I felt sorry for her. Until now, I have almost envied her lifestyle. To be at the side of such a man for so many years. But she wasn’t truly at his side, was she?
‘Of course we shall still meet up, m’dame, whenever you wish. I also don’t have any friends here and...and miss my husband and my family. I wouldn’t have made such a good recovery without your care.’ We ended by giving each other a hug before continuing with our work. As I leave I can only look forward with joy to working more closely with M’sieur Hugo.