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TODAY I MET M’DAME Hugo, who has just returned. M’sieur will be leaving shortly and I couldn’t help but think it odd he was departing so soon afterwards.
M’sieur and I were in the red salon and he was explaining what he required of me when I heard a noise at the door and, turning, saw a woman I hadn’t seen before.
‘Ah, my dear, let me introduce you to my new copyist, Madame Sarchet, who has been an invaluable help these past few months.’
I dropped a curtsy and, without raising my eyes, felt the power of her stare.
‘There is something familiar about her...’ She stopped and I lifted my head, afraid of her reaction.
‘She has a strong resemblance to our dear Léopoldine, does she not? I noticed it the first time we met.’ He smiled at his wife and then at me.
M’dame paled but remained calm. A matronly figure, with a large, square forehead and greying hair parted in the middle and set in ringlets, the dark shadows under her eyes indicating a woman not in the best of health. I forced a smile to my lips, with the hope of winning her over. Otherwise, the next few months could be somewhat unpleasant.
She advanced towards me and I felt my legs tremble.
‘You do indeed remind me of my poor daughter, m’dame, and are about the same age as she was when...when she died. Too young.’ She shook her head, a hint of sorrow in her eyes. ‘And you are in mourning, I see. A parent?’
I explained about my husband and that I had recently lost our child and her face, which had been somewhat stern, softened.
‘You poor girl. Then I hope that working for my husband has given you some diversion from your sorrows.’
M’sieur Hugo explained I was to continue my copying work while he was away and would be using his study upstairs to avoid any inconvenience to her.
‘Oh, and Madame Sarchet has been a great help with the dinners for the poor children and would be pleased to continue, is that not right, ma petite?’
I nodded my agreement, willing to keep in everyone’s good books.
M’dame Hugo smiled.
‘That’s most kind of you. I intend to welcome even more children over the coming weeks as there are so many here in great need. I expect my son, Victor, to be on hand also, when he is not busy with his translations.’
M’sieur Hugo added, looking pleased, ‘My son has enjoyed success as a translator of Shakespeare’s works from English to French and my wife,’ he said, waving his hand toward her, ‘is writing my biography. So you see why this house is sometimes referred to as “a veritable writing factory”.’
‘Indeed,’ I murmured, conscious of my own small part in the ‘factory’.
M’dame said something about needing to talk to the housekeeper and left, offering a quick nod towards us. We returned to the scattered papers on the table and m’sieur pulled out a thick sheet of art paper and handed it to me.
‘I finished this yesterday and thought you might like it,’ he said.
It was his sketch of M’dame Drouet and me on our picnic and the bold strokes caught our likenesses exactly. I must have been laughing at something m’dame had said as my head was thrown back a little and my mouth open. We were facing each other and she also looked to be laughing. He had lightly colour-washed the picture and it was a delightful portrayal of what had been a happy afternoon. Underneath I read the words
‘À ma chère Mme Eugénie Sarchet, en mémoire de notre pique-nique avec Mme Juliette Drouet’
Victor Hugo
I stammered my thanks, overcome with gratitude.
He waved his hands.
‘It was my pleasure to draw such a one as you. Young, beautiful and so natural. And both of you enjoying yourselves! It may serve to remind you of us while we are away and on our return we must have more such jolly outings.’
As I left for home later, I clutched the precious picture to my chest and planned to visit the art shop in Town after lunch. I wanted something so prized to be properly framed and be on view to all who visited my home.
It was with a heavy heart that I said farewell to M’dame Drouet at her house today. Her trunk was standing in the hall and she was busy giving instructions to the cook who was to be in charge of the house while she was away. Suzanne was to accompany her and looked harassed as she darted about fetching items her mistress declared she had to take with her.
‘My dear, come, let’s take tea in the garden away from this upheaval.’
I had to smile as she was the one causing everyone to rush around. We made ourselves comfortable at the table set on the terrace while poor Suzanne, rolling her eyes, went to the kitchen for our tea.
‘You have met M’dame Hugo, I believe?’ she said, her lips pursed.
‘Yes, and I found her quite pleasant, if a little taken aback by my likeness to her daughter. She seemed happy I will be continuing to help with the dinners for the poor.’
‘Good, I was a little concerned she would not be very, shall I say, accepting of you. And I realise it will be lonely for you when we are abroad. I do wish you had some friends to turn to.’ She frowned, her concern touching my heart.
‘I have resolved to make an effort, m’dame, and will invite a neighbour around for tea one day. She has been quite solicitous of me when we meet in the street and I think we could be friends.’ It was true, Mrs Rabey, my immediate neighbour, had continued to be most civil to me and I felt guilty that I hadn’t pursued a friendship. I had been too taken up with m’sieur and m’dame and it was time to spread my wings a little.
Her brow cleared.
‘That is good to hear, my dear. And while we are away, do feel free to borrow any books you wish from my collection. Cook will let you browse whenever you wish.’
‘Thank you, that’s most kind. I shall certainly avail myself of the opportunity.’ I was touched by her continuing generosity towards me and couldn’t wait to explore her collection. The lending library had a limited choice and I had borrowed those I considered the most interesting. Suzanne arrived with the tea and the conversation turned to the forthcoming trip and where they hoped to visit. I tried hard not to feel envious, but would have given anything to be accompanying them and had to accept that I was unlikely to leave Guernsey for the rest of my life. Arnaud had always promised he would take me travelling one day and we had had such fun poring over his battered atlas to choose likely destinations.
My face must have betrayed my sad thoughts as she took my hand, saying, ‘Don’t be sad, my dear. The weeks will soon pass and we will come back with many tales to entertain you, never fear. And now, we must say goodbye as I must depart soon. Come, embrace me and wish me well.’
I did as she asked and it was if I was saying goodbye to my own mother. Managing to keep the tears at bay, I hurried away before I disgraced myself, wishing September would come quickly.