Christina Hollis (6 page)

‘Now, Madeleine, when I introduce you as being French, I doubt if anybody will want to converse with you for very long. We all tend to keep ourselves to ourselves here and don’t have much to do with the Parisians. Don’t take it to heart!’

Madeleine heaved a silent sigh of relief. That was the best news she could have hoped for. Only another day and she would be away from the Parisians who could betray her. All she had to do was make sure she did not betray herself.

The subscription concert was held in a cool, ice-blue salon. Madeleine could not take her eyes off the chandeliers, twinkling with more candles than the people of the Place de Grève used in a year.

More disgraceful statues held court above long side tables laden with refreshments. Madeleine wondered when the eating was to start.

Dozens of chairs had been set out in a semi-circle before a wooden dais. Adamson showed his mother and Madeleine to their seats. From time to time a discreet nod from one or other of the Adamsons acknowledged the arrival of an acquaintance, but they exchanged few words either with each other, or with their English companions.

Madeleine amused herself by having a good look around until Mistress Constance counselled caution. It was evidently not the done thing to squirm about in one’s seat and stare at the other scantily clad women in the audience.

When everyone was seated, the orchestra filed in. Amid the politely muffled applause of many gloved hands, Mistress Constance leaned across Madeleine and tapped Adamson on the knee with her fan.

‘I was right to make you change, Philip,’ she whispered gleefully in French so that Madeleine would not feel left out. ‘You might have been mistaken for one of the band!’

Adamson did not seem amused. Only when the music began did Madeleine see his face start to lose its tight, preoccupied expression.

The first piece played was a jolly arrangement for two pipers, a merry street sound refined by the addition of violins and the grace of professionals.

When it ended Madeleine started to clap. If Mistress Constance hadn’t nudged her sharply, the silent scorn of the people who turned to stare would soon have stopped her.

The second piece had a little old man crouching over a keyboard and thudding out a clockwork rhythm. For all his industry it was the fiddlers who had the best of the tune. Madeleine was delighted to watch two of them sawing away in such harmony.

Place de Grève and its toil and tears seemed so distant, although it was barely a stone’s throw away across the city.

Adamson had unbent sufficiently to nudge Madeleine during a slow passage in the music. When she looked at him he nodded towards the front of the audience.

A stout man was dozing in his seat. Only sharp nudges from his starchy wife were keeping him upright.

‘A true music lover,’ Adamson observed drily.

At the interval Adamson escorted his mother and Madeleine towards the refreshment tables. Madeleine dashed forward to stake her claim, or would have done if Adamson had not caught at her arm.

‘This is a respectable English gathering, mademoiselle. We must form an orderly queue.’

Madeleine enjoyed the feel of his strong fingers about her wrist and didn’t take offence. Several people whispered and smiled at this closeness, and to Madeleine’s disappointment Adamson let go of her arm as soon as he realised they were attracting attention. He collected three glasses of lemonade while his mother and Madeleine received little plates of sugared almonds, fondant creams and pastry cases of tipsy cream and conserve.

‘Pleasant. But I would rather have a nice cup of tea and a slice of heavy cake in my own home,’ Mistress Constance murmured before advising Madeleine not to eat quite so quickly.

Madeleine was puzzled. The room was stifling, yet still Mistress Constance wanted tea.

She finished her sweetmeats and lemonade, then started to nibble away at the sugar frosting the rim of her glass.

‘Not here, dear.’ Kindly but firmly Mistress Constance took the glass. ‘There’s plenty of sugar back at home if you need it.’

This was even more mystifying to Madeleine. Why did the aristos display things that weren’t for eating? And the food kept coming. Breakfast, morning coffee, luncheon, tea, dinner—not to mention the snacks. Goodness only knew when she would get the chance to eat the things she had squirrelled away so carefully under her pillow, back at the villa.

They settled down again ready to enjoy the second half of the sub. Adamson actually strained himself to ask Madeleine what she thought of the entertainment so far, although he was dismissive of her excitement.

‘This is a poor showing,’ he maintained. ‘When Allenby entertained last week we had musicians far superior to these. Now, they really would have given old Bach a run for his—’

He stopped. A tangle of young latecomers had arrived and, to the disgust of more respectable patrons, were having hilarious fun in finding their seats. One little blonde girl in particular seemed to be revelling in the disapproval of her elders. Pulling faces at those who turned to stare, she reduced her silly young friends to giggling hysterics.

Philip Adamson was not laughing. Neither was he joining in the growing chorus of disapproval.

One look at the recognition on his face was worth a thousand explanations to Madeleine.

The audience was in a susurration of complaint as the girl and her companions frolicked about the spare seats at the back of the salon. Only when a humourless butler put in a few sharp words did they reach something approaching quiet.
        ‘Philip! Turn around quickly—there’s a chance she might not see us!’ Mistress Constance hissed across Madeleine. Only when she brought her fan down with a sharp rap on her son’s knee did he start and look at her directly. He was still grinning.

‘I’m going to speak to her, Mother.’

‘Philip, I forbid it! Leave the girl alone!’

The musicians began playing again, but Adamson was paying no attention. He was more interested in the little blonde girl. As he started to make tiny gestures to the group at the back of the hall, Madeleine tried to distract his mother from her distress.

‘Who is she, Mistress Constance?’

‘Oh, oh—the shame of it...’ The older woman snuffled into her lace handkerchief. The audience about them moved restlessly while the conductor turned to frown at this further rippling interruption.

Madeleine was about to repeat her question, but she was cut short. In a sudden movement Adamson leapt up, pushing his way along their row to leave the room in a rush. Mistress Constance stifled a wail of anguish. Thoroughly unsettled by now, the conductor turned to face the audience and brandished his baton for silence, but Madeleine was not interested.

‘What is it? Why’s he gone off?’

Mistress Constance flounced the lace about her neck and wrists in agitation.

‘Our reputation is lost forever now...as sure as eggs are eggs! Go after him, Madeleine! Try to make him see reason!’

Madeleine shifted nervously in her seat. To get up and leave in full view of all these people in transparent muslin was the last thing she wanted to do. On the other hand, she now saw the little blonde girl slip out in pursuit of Philip Adamson. Curiosity, tinted a pale green after the way she had seen him look at the other girl, now forced Madeleine out of her seat.

She looked around, and was a little heartened to see that all the girls of her own age were wearing the scandalous new fashion. She was not out of place.

Risking more wrath from the conductor, Madeleine stood up and inched her way along the row of occupied seats. There was not a murmur of complaint at her silent passing. Some of the gentlemen even smiled at her, although Madeleine recognised those sort of looks far too well. She had more sense than to return them in this company.

Once out in the hall Madeleine could breathe a sigh of relief. Closing the door thankfully behind her, she took stock of the situation.

This house was built along similar lines to the Adamsons’ villa, but on a much grander scale. It smelled even newer and more expensive.

A rattle of conversation was hurrying out from a half-open door opposite. Madeleine could make out the voice of Adamson, although his English meant nothing to her.

She knocked at the door and went in. Silence fell like a lead weight.

The first thing that Madeleine noticed was that this room was set with even more tables of food. Fine white tablecloths fluttered in a breeze from open garden doors. Then she saw Philip Adamson. He was standing in the far doorway, clasping both of the little blonde girl’s hands to his chest.

‘Oh...mademoiselle...’

Adamson dropped the girl’s hands as though they were red hot and folded his arms. He’s guilty! Madeleine thought with astonishment. He’s tortured with it! I really must get to the bottom of all this.

‘Miss Pettigrew and I were just—talking, mademoiselle.’

The girl shot Madeleine a look that said the talk was far from innocent. Turning away pointedly, she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed Adamson on the lips before fluttering out of the room. Madeleine was unable to respond to the few words of farewell that were thrown at her. She was too staggered by what she had just seen. Aristos actually kissing!

In broad daylight!

At least Adamson had the common decency to look ashamed.

‘That was—that was Miss Kitty Pettigrew,’ He said brusquely. ‘A—friend.’

‘We do have them in Paris, sir.’ Madeleine grinned at him, but he had gone from embarrassment to anger in a flash.

‘You have brought me a message from my mother, no doubt,’ he said, with sharp disdain.

‘Mistress Constance would prefer you to go back inside, Master Philip.’

Adamson looked back towards the garden. Fine net curtains had been suspended over the open garden doors to keep flies from the food. He paused before drawing one curtain back.

‘It was not you, then, who considered me worthy of your company.’

He stood on the threshold, half turned towards her. Dying rays of sun touched his hair with the colour of new gilding. Beyond the garden wall the sky was painted in a shade of old rose nearly matching his fine clothes.

There was no trace of the happy animation he had shown at the sight of Miss Kitty Pettigrew. In the evening silence he seemed even sadder and more solemn than ever.

‘Come back to the music, Master Philip. That’ll cheer you up!’

In an impetuous gesture Madeleine dashed forward to take his hand, but Adamson was not a man to be ordered about, even by the well-meaning. He shook off her hand almost roughly.

‘I intend to make my excuses to our host and return to our villa directly. I would be grateful if you could inform my mother that the coach will be sent to collect you both at ten o’clock. Good evening, Mademoiselle Madeleine.’

He left, hurrying the door shut behind him a little too briskly.

Adamson had gone, and nothing Madeleine could have done or said would have stopped him.

When the glasses had stopped trembling she went to the table to inspect the cold collation. It seemed a pity to waste such an opportunity, so Madeleine ate three slices of cold mutton and wrapped a couple more pieces in a napkin to take home for her hoard.

She nearly wiped her greasy fingers down her dress, but thought better of it at the last moment. There was plenty of tablecloth for that, so she wiped her fingers there instead.

Slipping back to the music-room as quiet as a mouse, she chose her moment to scuttle across to her seat.

‘Well?’ Mistress Constance beamed roundly.

Madeleine passed on Adamson’s message. For the life of her she couldn’t think why Mistress Constance seemed so crestfallen.

Neither woman had much enthusiasm for the rest of the evening’s entertainments, but for very different reasons. After her secret feasting, Madeleine had to force her supper down when the time came.

Mistress Constance did not seem to see that her companion’s healthy appetite had lessened. She was more concerned with keeping a good distance between them and the little blonde girl.

‘I’m surprised young Kitty Pettigrew’s out and about so openly.’

Madeleine was none the wiser. She decided to play along and see what happened. Tutting gravely, she shook her head in pretended despair.

‘Do you know, Madeleine, I wonder at the resilience of the young? To have suffered such a disappointment when so obviously bound for the altar—’ Mistress Constance said slowly.

It was the opening that Madeleine had been hoping for.

‘Then she’s been jilted?’

‘Ssh! We never mention it, dear. It was all over the county at the time, but died down when she escaped to Europe. Philip has no business stirring up matters that are no concern of his!’ In response to Kitty’s laughter and disgracefully low neckline Mistress Constance drew her own stole even more primly about her shoulders. ‘It certainly seems that Miss Pettigrew has recovered from her disappointment.’

‘Miss Pettigrew looks very young, madame.’ Madeleine watched Kitty laughing with the young men and girls who surrounded her. She thought of the more serious look that had passed between the girl and Adamson. ‘Perhaps she needs time to spread her wings in the sunshine, and flutter from one to another for a while, like a butterfly.’

Mistress Constance was about to complain at this, but a footman eased his way towards her with a welcome message.

‘The coach is here,’ the older woman said, with a last surreptitious glance in Kitty’s direction. ‘Let’s make our escape!’

The household was subdued when they returned. Madeleine was relieved when Mistress Constance suggested they retire immediately. Philip Adamson was nowhere to be seen, but by the oppressiveness of the atmosphere he could not be far away.

Madeleine went into her room and shut the door. She was glad to be alone with her thoughts at last.

Suddenly she remembered the slices of mutton in her bag. Taking them out, still wrapped in the napkin, she went to stuff the parcel under her pillows with the rest of her hoard.

There was something wrong. The sheets were different—the pillows had been changed. Someone had been there.