Before the Storm (12 page)

The Garland family were far more fortunate though and regarded the city with smug satisfaction from their vantage point in rustic Highbury, where the air was hot but clean and healthy. Even so, Sidonie found it difficult to get Clementine to concentrate on her lessons in such sweltering heat and in the end was forced to give up and instead attempt a more engaging approach to learning which involved sitting out in the garden to read and frequent excursions to places of historical interest such as the Tower of London, Windsor Castle, St Paul’s Cathedral or Westminster Abbey.

The latter was Clementine’s favourite place to visit and she loved to stroll around the gloomy, dusty nave and look at the ornately ramshackle tombs of long dead kings and queens. Reverently she would stretch her arm through the cold, iron railings and gently stroke the frozen marble cheek of Mary, Queen of Scots or her cousin and rival, Elizabeth I who lay across the way from her.
 

‘Did you know that although they were cousins and ruled neighbouring kingdoms, they never met in real life?’ Sidonie said in a low voice. ‘And now here they lie for all eternity, divided only by a few feet.’ She gave a little shiver and pulled her red wool shawl closer.

‘It’s strange isn’t it?’ Clementine murmured. ‘Do you think it makes them happy that they are so close at last?’ She had learned all about Mary and Elizabeth from Sidonie and could never quite decide who she sympathised with the most - powerful, intelligent Elizabeth or tragic, romantic Mary. ‘Perhaps if they had been given occasion to meet while alive, things would have turned out very differently for them both.’

Sidonie nodded. ‘I am sure that it would all have turned out completely differently,’ she said. ‘It’s much easier to believe ill of someone that one has never met isn’t it? If they had been true friends as well as cousins then I think that all the trouble could have been avoided.’

‘Likewise if Mary had been more careful about her choice of husband,’ Clementine said, turning regretfully away from the tomb and making her way across to the elaborate marble tomb of Elizabeth I, her high heels tap tapping on the black and white tiled floor. ‘If she had remained unmarried like Elizabeth then there would have been no Darnley, no plot, no overthrow.’

‘There would also have been no James I,’ Sidonie reminded her with a smile. ‘And then, who knows what trouble we would all have been in without him to inherit the throne from Elizabeth.’

‘She did the right thing though,’ Clementine mused, as she gazed across at the dead Tudor Queen’s unsmiling, blank eyed countenance. She took a deep breath and turned back to Sidonie. ‘I think that Elizabeth was wise not to marry.’

Her governess hesitated for a moment. ‘Marriage is not always a happy fate for a woman.’
 

She looked sadly at her pupil’s downcast face. Venetia’s departure had left the other girls feeling so flat, despondent and pessimistic about the future that even their fond mamas were beginning to wonder if perhaps their ambitions were doomed to failure. They’d expected their marble drawing room mantelpieces to be thronged with stiff ivory invitations once their daughters were known to be the closest friends of the new Comtesse Jules de Choiseul-Clermont but Mayfair seemed to be just as intent on snubbing them as ever. More so in fact when a whisper of rumour suggested that the Mesdemoiselles de Choiseul-Clermont who had graced Lady D’Eversley’s most beautiful ball were not exactly who they had claimed to be.

‘And it is so much worse now that they’ve all gone off to their country estates for the summer,’ Mrs Garland complained to Sidonie with a sigh. She’d taken to inviting her for daily little chats in her dressing room after breakfast - occasions that Sidonie had begun to dread with all her might but which were sadly unavoidable. ‘I’ve tried my best to persuade Mr Garland to buy a house, maybe in Essex so that we can be close to London, but he claims that Highbury is as rustic as he is prepared to go and that’s an end to the matter.’ She pursed her crimson rouged lips, her expression making it clear that she did not at all approve. ‘Just think how charming it would be to have our own country estate, Miss Roche.’

Sidonie gave a tepid smile. ‘Yes, that would be very pleasant,’ she agreed, feeling a little sorry for the absent Mr Garland, with his manful struggles against the overwhelming tide that was his wife’s ambitious desire to clamber as far up the social ladder as possible.

‘It’s not as though he can’t afford it,’ she said now resentfully, diving into the chocolate box that rarely left her side and popping a rose scented truffle into her mouth. ‘You’d think my husband was a pauper from the way that he talks sometimes.’ She got up from the yellow silk sofa and began to pace the room, her pink gauze wrapper floating around her as she walked. ‘Oh, what shall we do, Miss Roche?’

Sidonie cast Mrs Garland a speculative look, wondering if now was the moment to mention the plan that had occurred to her a few nights previously. ‘There is something that might help,’ she said at last in a quiet voice.

Mrs Garland whirled around and stared at Sidonie. ‘Really? You have a plan? What is it?’
 

Sidonie took a deep breath. ‘Paris.’

‘Paris?’ Mrs Garland looked confused and sank back down on to the sofa, her eyes fixed on the governess’ face. ‘In France?’

Sidonie smiled. ‘Yes, Paris in France.’

Mrs Garland frowned. ‘But what of it? I know that the girls have been asking to visit Venetia there but...’

‘You should let them go,’ Sidonie interrupted her. ‘In fact, you should all go.’

‘All of us? To Paris?’ Mrs Garland’s mouth dropped open and she clutched her gauzy and rather inappropriate wrapper to her ample bosom. ‘Whatever for?’

Sidonie sighed. This was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. ‘I hope that you do not think that I am speaking out of turn, but as London is not working out as you would wish, perhaps it is time for a change of scenery? Perhaps you don’t know, but England and all things English are the height of fashion in Paris at the moment and your lovely daughters would be welcomed there with open arms.’

Mrs Garland perked up and began to look a lot more interested now. ‘Would they indeed?’
 
Her fingers, which gleamed with several diamond and ruby rings, moved towards the chocolate box again.

‘I’m not promising them husbands, Mrs Garland,’ Sidonie said, watching as her mistress popped another truffle into her mouth. ‘Although I do have a few contacts in Paris who can help them on their way and of course, I am sure Venetia will be only too happy to introduce them into society as after all she has married into one of the most eminent families in France.’

‘My goodness.’ Mrs Garland’s eyes had begun to sparkle now as the full realisation of what Sidonie was suggesting struck her. ‘Versailles,’ she murmured. ‘Oh my.’

Sidonie smiled with relief. Finally. ‘At the very least, they will return to England in a year’s time with a very attractive veneer of French gloss and sophistication and a splendid wardrobe full of Parisian dresses.’
 

 
‘No man will be able to resist them,’ breathed Mrs Garland, utterly dazzled by a gorgeous vision of her own two lovely girls dancing in silk dresses in the hall of mirrors at Versailles alongside Marie Antoinette herself. She leaned forward and took the governess’ small brown hands in her own plump white paws. ‘Oh, Miss Roche, do you think that Mr Garland would agree to such a scheme?’
 

Sidonie smiled and shrugged. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

PART TWO

Chapter Eleven

Paris, March 1788

Clementine pulled off her blue velvet travelling hat and looked around her small but pretty cream and gold panelled bedroom with much satisfaction and also some disbelief that after all the talking and planning, they were finally in Paris. They’d endured a hideous four day journey from London that had encompassed muddy, bumpy roads; a turbulent sea crossing in the early hours of the morning and a horrible night spent scratching herself beneath the itchy flea infested sheets of what was alleged to be the best hotel in Calais.

This was all in the past now though and she gave a little sigh of contentment as she briskly crossed the room, pushed aside the heavy pink silk curtains that smelled faintly of musty lavender scent and flung open the tall windows that looked out over a cobbled courtyard with an imposing stone gate that led out on to the Rue de l’Université. It was mid afternoon and the busy, bustling street hummed with the conversation of passersby, the sounds of carriage wheels turning and the shouts of street vendors advertising their wares. Everything sounded so much more delightful in French, as she’d discovered during their long carriage ride through Paris past countless
epiceries
,
boulangeries
and
patisseries
, the delicious smells of their wares wafting tantalisingly towards her famished nostrils.

‘Boulangerie,’ she whispered to herself, enjoying the way that the word rolled around her mouth. ‘Booolooonjerreeeee.’ They’d all worked hard on improving their French during the past few months and she’d been amazed by how far she had come under Sidonie’s careful teaching. The thought of being here in Paris and of conversing with actual French people no longer held any fears for her, in fact she relished the prospect.

She sat down on the edge of her pink silk curtained Polonaise bed, which was set into a snug little alcove and had a small black ebony crucifix hanging on the wall above. It was very difficult to resist the urge to put her head down on the white lace edged pillow and go to sleep, but resist she absolutely must for she was finally in Paris and determined not to waste a single moment of this adventure. Plus she was desperate for some food and knew that going to sleep now, before she had eaten something would result in feeling so much worse when she eventually woke up.

There was a knock on the door and Sidonie came in, smiling, serene and neat as a pin as usual. ‘Do you need to have a sleep?’ she asked with concern when she saw that Clementine had taken to the bed. ‘Your mother was hoping that you would able to go shopping this afternoon. As you can imagine, she’s desperately keen to get to Mademoiselle Bertin’s famous shop and spend all of your father’s money on hats and goodness knows what else.’

Clementine shook her head. ‘I am very tired,’ she admitted, ‘but I don’t want to miss a single thing.’ She stood up and fondly embraced her governess, resting her head for a moment on the other woman’s shoulder. ‘I can’t believe that we are finally here! Are you glad to be back in Paris, Mademoiselle Sidonie?’
 

Sidonie smiled and nodded. ‘Of course. I’m very much looking forward to showing you around.’ She helped Clementine back into her blue velvet travelling coat and picked up her discarded fur muff. ‘Your mother and sister are both waiting for you downstairs.’

Clementine sighed. ‘I wish that Papa had been able to come with us,’ she said sadly. Mr Garland had initially planned to make the crossing to France with them but unexpected and last minute business had kept him in London for the next few months. ‘He will miss everything.’

‘He will be with us soon enough,’ Sidonie said with a smile as she closed the bedroom window. ‘Now, don’t keep everyone waiting and hurry on downstairs.’ She gave her pupil a quick hug.

‘Are you coming with us?’ Clementine asked as she slipped her hands into the muff and went to the open door.

Sidonie shook her head. ‘No, I have some important letters to write,’ she said with a regretful sigh. ‘You will love Mademoiselle Bertin’s shop though and I expect to hear all about it when you return.’

Clementine hurried down the sweeping wooden staircase to the large, bright entrance hall below which had huge glass and wood doors that led out to imposing marble steps down to the courtyard, which in summer was lined with large terracotta tubs filled with crimson, peppery scented geraniums. Her mother and Eliza were clearly desperate to go and spend money and swept impatiently out to the waiting carriage as soon as she appeared, leaving her to trail awkwardly behind them.

‘You took so long to come back downstairs that I thought you had gone to bed,’ Eliza reproved as her sister climbed into the carriage beside them. ‘I wish that you wouldn’t dawdle so much, Clementine. It’s really tiresome.’

The carriage swept out through the now open gates on to the Rue de l’Université, one of the most fashionable streets in the elegant Faubourg Saint Germain on the left bank of the city, where their nearest neighbours were ambassadors, foreign princes and the
crème de la crème
of the French aristocracy.
 

Mrs Garland, who didn’t know Paris at all, had been in an agony of confusion and doubt about where they should rent a house until Sidonie, who knew Paris like the back of her hand, gracefully took over without seeming to at all. She asked one of her old friends, the Vicomtesse d’Albret, a wealthy widow to find a suitable abode, which that lady did with great aplomb, swiftly snapping up the house on the Rue de l’Université after its owners became suddenly impoverished thanks to shocking gambling debts and were forced to retrench to their country estate until they had recovered.

Clementine was not aware of any of this as she leaned her chin on her hands and watched colourful, beautiful Paris go by the carriage’s windows as it slowly jolted and rumbled through the narrow, muddy streets of the Faubourg. They went past gorgeously dressed, fashionable couples carrying pampered little dogs under their arms; ragged urchins who grinned cheekily up at her as she swept past and pretty, red cheeked street girls selling bunches of lavender, meat pies or milk from pails strapped to their plump shoulders. Everything was fascinating to Clementine and from that moment on, she entirely lost her heart to Paris.