Louisa Rawlings (26 page)

“I remember a tea party on the lawn.”
By Saint Barnabé
, she thought,
why did I say that?
But it seemed natural to assume there had been parties on the lawn.

Adelaïde nodded. “Yes. Yes. Your birthday.”

“Which one?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Nor can I. I just remember baskets of roses and peonies.” A misty picture rose up in her mind. Dreamy. Far away. “And a tall, handsome man. I don’t think it was Beau-Père.” She shivered. Somewhere in her mind she actually saw it. What nonsense! She shook off the ghost. “It must have been Uncle Simon.”

“Yes. He was there, that day.”

They sat on the bed together, hugging, exchanging remembrances, laughing a great deal, crying at times. The candle began to flicker. For the first time Topaze was aware that the room had become quite dark. “But it’s night,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight o’clock, I think. You must be hungry for supper, my sweet child. Come.”

“I can’t leave the room. Beau-Père wants me locked in.”

“I defy him. Come.” She looked up as Madame Revin came into the room, bearing a candle and a small plate of food. “That won’t be necessary, Madame Revin. Véronique is coming to the table this evening.” She smiled. “You may lay two covers. I feel well enough to sup with the family tonight.”

“Oh, Madame la Comtesse! What sweet joy for all of us. To have Mademoiselle Véronique home at last, and you at supper!”

Adelaïde rose from the bed and looked about the cheerless room. “For shame, that my daughter should have spent a moment in this place. After supper, I want her moved to the suite next to mine. The one with the blue
boiserie
.” She turned to Topaze and held out her hand. “Come. Have you seen Nanine yet?”

“Nanine? Is she still alive?” It seemed a logical question: Lucien reckoned she must be seventy-two by now.

“Of course. I kept her on, with a small pension, to live out her days in tranquility. Come along.”

Nervously Topaze followed Adelaïde through the corridors. Nanine. The nurse who knew every inch of her, every curl, every feature of her face. The nurse whose acceptance, according to Lucien, was critical. Her heart was thumping as Adelaïde tapped on a paneled door. At a muffled response, Adelaïde opened the door and ushered Topaze in.

Nanine sat in a padded rush chair, her slippered feet on a footstool, with a large shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders. She seemed incredibly old, from the snowy hair that peeped from beneath her lace cap to the wrinkles that lined her face. She smiled and lifted her head at the sound of their entrance. Her eyes were filmed with white. “Who is it?” she asked of the little maid who stood by her side.

“Nanine, it’s I,” said Adelaïde. “And I’ve brought someone to see you.” She pulled Topaze to the old woman and joined their hands. “Say something to Nanine,” she instructed.

The bones through the delicate skin felt like the thinnest twigs of a tree.
Blind!
thought Topaze. Lucien wouldn’t have known it. But there was nothing to fear now. She felt a surge of relief. “Nanine,” she said gently. “Do you still like orange comfits?”

The thin mouth spread in a grin. The broken tooth that Lucien had described had vanished, leaving a space. “Is it my little Véronique?”

“How did you know?”

“Because your voice is the same. Because you always remembered to bring me orange comfits.” The blind eyes seemed to glint with devilish glee, for all their sightlessness. “Because I’ve heard whispers and gossip among the servants.”

“What a sly muffin you are, Nanine.” She kissed the old woman on the top of her head.

“Now let me feel your face.”

“Of course.” Topaze knelt before the old nurse and guided the frail hands to her face.

Nanine’s fingers were gentle but thorough as they traveled across her chin and mouth, traced the plane of her nose, the curves of her cheeks. The old woman frowned, then dropped her hands. “No. You’re not Véronique.”

Topaze’s heart stopped. “What do you mean?” she managed to say.

“My Véronique was a simple girl. This is a beautiful woman before me. Can it be so? Adelaîde, has our little pet become a beauty?”

Adelaîde dabbed at fresh tears. “She has indeed, Nanine.”

“I wish I could see her.”

“Pooh!” said Topaze, feigning petulance, though her heart had resumed its normal beat. “You pretended not to know me. You wicked Nanine. You shouldn’t tease me like that. Next time I visit, I shall bring you licorice. Because I know you hate it!”

Nanine cackled. “But I duped you, isn’t it so?”

Topaze laughed. “You did indeed. I thought you’d been talking to Beau-Père, or that cross old Bonnefous.”

They spent the next quarter of an hour recalling stories from the past. Lucien had been an observant member of the Chalotais household, that was clear. The two women couldn’t stop exclaiming at the sharpness of Véronique’s childhood memories. At last, seeing Nanine droop sleepily, Adelaïde pulled Topaze along to her own
appartement
, to stay with her while she dressed for supper.

That effort exhausted Adelaïde. She sipped a glass of spirits and rested on an
ottomane
, instructing her maids to find a suitable gown from her wardrobe for Mademoiselle Véronique’s use until more could be ordered. She beamed as Topaze was transformed before her eyes. She laughed. “Take off that dreadful cap, my pet. Only a bourgeoise dresses like that! Oh, how long your curls are. We shall have to do something about your hair. Everyone is cutting it these days.”

“Whatever you say, Fleur.” Topaze was too dazzled by the magnificent gown she’d been given to argue.

They were late going down to supper. Adelaïde wanted to make a grand entrance, to discomfit Hubert and the rest. He was seated at the head of the table; Père François and Bonnefous were to his right, Léonard to his left. And Justine, resplendent in a blue silk mantua, sat at the foot of the table. In Adelaïde’s chair.

The room fell silent at their appearance. As Adelaïde had hoped, they seemed distinctly uncomfortable. Père François murmured an Ave Maria. Justine gave a little squeak of chagrin, Bonnefous scowled,Léonard’s face turned red. Only Hubert appeared to have accepted the inevitable. He rose from his chair and took Adelaïde by the arm. “My dear, are you well enough to join us for supper? Justine, I believe you’re in the wrong chair.”

“No, I’m not.” There was more stupidity than malevolence in Justine’s painted face.

“
Justine…
” At the menace in his tone, the girl relinquished the chair at once, taking the seat next to Léonard.

Assisted by her husband, Adelaïde de Chalotais took her rightful place. “Thank you, Hubert. Will you seat my daughter now?” She stared fixedly at him. “She
is
my daughter, you will agree?”

He shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Yet you would have kept her from me.”

“My dear, I only sought to protect you from impostors.”

“Spare me your concern, husband. I think I know precisely what you were trying to do. But now I trust you will welcome my daughter.”

“Of course.” He gave Topaze a grudging smile and seated her between Bonnefous and the priest.

“And you, Monsieur Bonnefous,” continued Adelaïde. “Do you accept this girl as my daughter?”

He nodded. “A mother knows her own child.”

“Père François?”

“My dear Madame la Comtesse, I assure you I
never
doubted the girl. I accepted her from the very moment I laid eyes upon her. And if she is truly penitent”—he crossed himself—“God will accept her as well.”

Topaze thought:
Wicked hypocrite.
But he was determined to have her confession, she could see. Well, by Sainte Christine, she’d give hime a confession to curl his wig!

“Well, what shall we do to welcome your daughter home, madame?” asked Hubert as the servants brought around platters of food.

“I should like to give a ball. And invite our neighbors. You remember the de Montalemberts, don’t you, my lamb?”

Père François looked horrified. “But, madame, surely the stories of poor Véronique’s fall from grace are well known by now.”

“All the more reason.”

He smiled uneasily. “Yes, of course. We must give the appearance of…respectability. Véronique’s reputation, after all… But I strongly urge a
mariage de raison
as soon as possible.”
 

Topaze was indignant. She wasn’t about to spend the next two months before Véronique’s birthday fending off unwelcome suitors! Or, even worse, being trapped into a hastily arranged marriage of convenience! She turned to Adelaïde. “Fleur, you can’t allow this. Must I be forced into something I don’t want to do?”

“But to save your reputation, my dear…”

She hadn’t forgotten Véronique could be willful. She stuck out her chin. “I won’t do it.”

“Shame!” Père François scowled. “You have flouted the laws of God and man. Will you now flout your mother’s wishes?”

Hubert shook his head. “In this case, I agree with Véronique. There’s no reason for haste. Her reputation is long since damanged; I doubt if we’d be able to arrange a very advantageous match under those circumstances. Let her heart seek out a suitable husband.”

Topaze looked at him in surprise. She wouldn’t have expected him to take her part against the others. She smiled. “Thank you, Beau-Père.”

His eyes were cold. “
Suitable
, I said. If you shame your mother and me again, I’ll turn you out of this house for good. Or have you locked in a convent.” She shivered. He might accept her as Véronique—though with ill grace—but he didn’t like it. Or her.

During this conversation, Justine had been picking at her food in sullen silence; clearly she was accustomed to Adelaïde’s place in the dining salon as well as in the master’s bed. Léonard had scarcely touched his food at all, glancing at Topaze from time to time, then looking away. Hubert frowned at his son. “Eat your supper, Léonard.”

He looked so unhappy it touched Topaze’s heart. She smiled across the table at him. “Are your arms better this evening, Little Gnat?” He blushed and played with the food on his plate.

Justine laughed. Her voice grated like steel on stone. “He won’t answer you. He doesn’t like to talk to girls. Do you, Léonard? Answer me, you silly creature.”

Léonard pushed back his chair and started to rise.

“Sit down,” ordered Hubert. Then, more gently, “I want you to stay. As for you, Mademoiselle Dubois, Léonard is my son. My seed. Imperfect at best, but deserving of your respect. Don’t forget that again.” Justine trembled, plainly cowed by his look.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Bonnefous cleared his throat. “It was a fine day today. The gardens have begun to bloom. Spring moves apace.”

“Yes,” agreed Père François. “I found a bird’s nest on the ground yesterday while I was walking. Beneath the willow tree near the grotto. Nothing but feathers in the nest. One of the dogs must have eaten the little nestlings.”

“Poor birds,” murmured Topaze.

Léonard’s jaw began to work furiously. “I—I did it,” he blurted out at last. “I’m sorry, P-P-Papa.”

“What did you do?”

“I was climbing in the t-t-tree. I must have knocked down the nest.”

“Yesterday?”

“Y-yes.”

Hubert sighed and leaned back in his chair. A man at the edge of his patience. “No you didn’t. I watched you yesterday. You climbed a birch tree. Not the willow.”

Léonard brightened at once. “It wasn’t me?”

“No. Now eat your supper.”

Léonard smiled, nodded, and picked up his knife.

Topaze looked at Adelaïde de Chalotais. She’d been silent for much of the meal. Her eyes were now closed, and she seemed to be in pain. “
Fleur!
” Topaze sprang from her chair and ran to Adelaïde’s side. “Quickly. Take her to bed. Send for a doctor.”

Adelaïde opened her eyes. “No. I’m just tired.” She reached up and stroked Topaze’s cheek. “Joy can be wearying too, you know. And oh, my sweet child, my heart is filled with joy.”

“Let me help you to bed, then.”

“No. Finish your supper. Ring for Madame Revin. She can help me. Come to my boudoir in the morning. We’ll have tea together, as we did in the old days.”

After Topaze had seen Madame de Chalotais assisted from the room, she returned to her place at the table. She had little appetite, but the more she could study the inhabitants of Grismoulins, the safer her position would be.

Justine stood up and flounced to Adelaïde’s chair, sitting down with a great show of vexation. “Thanks be to God the gibcat’s gone at last! I haven’t been so bored since that day in Paris.” She smiled at Hubert. “Do you remember, sweetling? The day you went to the chocolate and left me with that unpleasant Madame de Ventvert.” She smiled at Topaze, who eyed her with curiosity. “In Paris,” she said grandly, “to ‘go to the chocolate’ means that you’ve been invited to the king’s
levée
. I don’t suppose you’ve heard those things where
you’ve
been. Hubert brought me a sweetmeat that day, straight from the king’s own table! And you should have seen my gown. Why it—”

“Enough of your chatter!” snapped Hubert. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired. Messieurs.” He stood up, bowed to Bonnefous and the priest. Then he turned to Topaze. His expression was strange. An odd smile. A weariness. And something else, quite unreadable. “Welcome to Grismoulins, Véronique,” he said.