New World, New Love (13 page)

‘Why didn’t you leave the city when this outbreak of the fever first occurred?’ she asked Richard one evening when they had left the table for the drawing room and sat with porcelain cups of tea, which she had poured from a silver teapot.

‘As a boy I had the yellow fever, or something close to it. Nobody was ever sure, but it seems to have given me a certain immunity. As a result, not even the heat of summer can drive me out of New York. I have a rural home, but I prefer to go there on my own in the fall, when the trees are ablaze with colour and summer activities are over, all the neighbours having gone home to the city again.’

‘That sounds idyllic.’

By the end of nearly three weeks of convalescence Louise felt well enough to return home. She announced her decision after coming indoors from her daily stroll in the tree-shaded flower garden that lay at the back of the house. Richard, who had been reading a newspaper, put it aside and left his chair to protest at once.

‘It’s too early! You’re still convalescing and I gave my word to Charles that I’d keep you here until you had completely recovered your health.’

‘You’ve been very kind and I’m extremely grateful, but I’m well again.’

He gave in reluctantly. ‘At least you can go home with the good news I’ve just read in the newspaper. It is believed that the epidemic is on the wane at last.’

‘That’s truly wonderful news.’

‘Now I must tell you another of Charles’s requests that has been carried out. Everything in your apartment that might still have held the infection has been taken away and burnt.’

‘By whom?’ she exclaimed.

‘I know someone who controls much of the manual work in the city. He sent in a couple of men prepared to take the risk for a suitable payment, and afterwards some women went in to scrub the whole place clean.’

She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. ‘So, I’m going home to two empty rooms!’

‘Not at all! Everything removed has been replaced. I have relied upon an advisor at the shop to supply it all as economically as possible. We both know Charles’s funds are limited. I hope it will all be to your taste.’

‘In the meantime, he is in debt to you.’

‘It’s of no consequence.’

‘I shall repay every dollar,’ she stated determinedly. ‘Please give me all the receipts.’

Richard took them from his desk and gave them to her. Shortly afterwards she went home in one of his carriages with a hamper of food and some wine, which he had insisted that she take with her. Charles had returned her key to her before leaving for the camp, but it was with some trepidation that she turned it in the lock.

To her relief, the furniture in the first room remained untouched, except that she could see it had been recently scrubbed anew, as had the old black and white tiled floor. Even her old pots and pans had a fresh shine to them and she could tell that the crockery had been washed too, for it had not been replaced in exactly the same way on the cupboard shelves. But there were new drapes at the window and the red rug that had hung there was gone. In the bedroom there were also new drapes in a similar blue to before. Thick, more comfortable feather mattresses had been placed both on her bed and in her sister’s wall-bed, but the sheets and covers were her own and had been laundered before being neatly stacked on a chair.

Abruptly she rushed to the closet and flung the door wide, fearful of finding it bereft of her clothes, but again the infection had been washed out of them and nothing was missing. Her shoes showed signs of having being immersed in water. Her yellow hat had suffered the same treatment, leaving its brim wavy and beyond repair.

That evening Louise wrote to Delphine, telling her all that had happened. She wished she could have written to Charles, but as yet there was no contact between the city and the camp. She felt tired and soon went to bed. Her last thought before sleeping was that now life was returning to normal it should not be long before Charles was home again.

Louise was pleased to find four letters waiting for her at the post office when she went next morning to send Delphine’s letter on its way. She took them to a nearby park and sat on a bench to read them. None was from Delphine, but that did not surprise her, as she knew how all else could be forgotten when her sister was enjoying herself. Yet there was one from Mrs Hammond, saying that their visit of a month in the country would be extended for as long as the slightest danger of infection remained in the city. She closed by saying that the girls were having a happy time and her own social round was quite exhausting. Louise thought of Charles, whose round of another kind held the true meaning of the word.

The next letter was from Madeleine, full of concern for her and Delphine, another from Blanche being on the same anxious note. Louise made up her mind to write and reassure them both without delay. The last was from her Aunt Violette, which was mostly a medical report on her sick husband, who was growing weaker every day. Louise recalled her time with them in London and how the couple had been so much alike in enjoying life to the full, still unfashionably in love with each other. She wished so much that she could visit and help Violette at such a stressful time, but a whole great ocean stretched between them.

Putting the letters away in her purse, Louise left the park and went to the bank, where she had a banker’s draft drawn up to settle the debt owed to Richard. After delivering it at his mansion, she set off again to see Miss Sullivan. As soon as she entered the shop the woman sprang up from her desk, her eyes icy, and rushed forward to grip the door open as if Louise would be leaving again immediately.

‘How dare you come back here!’ the woman screeched. ‘Not a word from you for over a month! Not a message! At least you could have let me know that you were dancing off into the country with your sister! And all the trouble I had with Mr Lombard demanding to know your whereabouts as if I were hiding you somewhere. He had the audacity to stride past me into the work room and question everybody there. That’s when one of the girls remembered that you had said something about your sister going to the country and you packing for yourself. Then we realized where you had gone.’

‘She misunderstood me. I did the packing for my sister. I’ve been ill with the fever.’ She noticed how the milliner instinctively recoiled. ‘But I’m perfectly well again now. I could have sent word when I was convalescing, but I wanted to explain personally. If it’s possible, I should like to return to work.’

Miss Sullivan, mollified, gave a slow nod and released the door for Louise to shut it. ‘In that case I’m prepared to reconsider your appeal. There’s scarcely any business at the moment, so many people out of town or scared to go anywhere that isn’t absolutely necessary, but I want to build up a good stock for the fall and winter. The new fashion plates have come from London. I’ll show them to you now.’

She was glad to have the Frenchwoman back again, for she had a skilful touch and imagination that outstripped her two best milliners, competent though they were. Louise, studying the London designs, was pleased to see that large hats, always the most flattering, were still shown, although with more restrained trimming, and there were smaller hats as well, which showed the direction in which fashion was moving.

The epidemic was declared at an end. Those who had survived the camp began to come home, but they were pitifully few in number compared with all those who had gone there. Louise began to watch for Charles, knowing he would come to her immediately, and expecting every knock on the door to be his. When it came, she rushed forward to open it and saw Richard standing there, his face grave.

‘What’s happened?’ A sick dread plummeted down into the pit of her stomach. ‘Is it Charles?’

He nodded, closing the door after him. ‘I received the tragic news this evening and I’ve come at once to tell you.’

‘The fever? When did it happen? Early on?’ Her voice was a strangled whisper.

‘No.’ He led her across to a chair and sat down opposite her, taking both her hands into his. ‘It happened today in the exodus from the camp of the last survivors. I’d sent his horse for him to ride home and he was already in the saddle, intending to be the last to leave. Then he saw that help was needed in moving a cart carrying convalescent women and children. He dismounted to put his shoulder to the cart with the others, but the man beside him slipped as it jerked forward and they fell together, the heavy wheel crushing Charles’s chest. He died instantly.’

She stared at Richard, her eyes wide with shock, all colour drained from her face. For a few moments she sat immobile, her back very straight. The power of speech seemed to have left her. Then a great heart-wrenching sob burst from her and she bowed her head, her whole body shaking, and thumped her fists up and down on her knees as if her grief was beyond her strength to bear. All the time her tears fell unchecked on to her green skirt, making darker spots in a pattern of their own.

Richard found her terrible grief all the more harrowing for her silence after that one great sob and, remembering the utter desolation of his own bereavement, he knew that at the present time she was beyond comfort. Yet still he made an attempt.

‘My dear young woman, try to take consolation in knowing that even if Charles had foreseen his death, he would still have gone to the camp to try to save the lives of others.’

At first he thought she had not heard his words, but eventually she gave an almost imperceptible nod. He had to strain his ears to hear her words.

‘I know, and I shall always love him all the more for it.’

He was surprised. ‘I knew you were close friends, but I hadn’t realized that your feelings for each other went beyond friendship.’

She stood up slowly as if in a trance. Drifting across to the window, she looked out as if she expected to see Charles coming along the street. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said in the same barely audible tones. ‘I doubt if anyone could. Now so many things have been left unsaid. So many years lost.’

The relationship she had shared with Charles had been unique. They had both been aware of the love developing between them, but had been content to let it follow its own pace, both unsure where it would lead them. She had never felt closer to another human being and doubted that she ever would again. Yet they had never kissed, biding their time until the moment came. She drew her fingertip lightly across her brow as if the touch of his lips might still linger there from their last moments together.

Richard came across to her side. ‘Would you like to come with me now and stay for a while as before? At least you’d not be on your own.’

She took a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes, although her tears continued to flow copiously. ‘Thank you, but no. I need to be alone. It was thoughtful of you to come as quickly as you could to tell me.’

Reluctantly he left her. A week later he escorted her to the funeral. At Charles’ graveside she threw a single white lily, symbol of the France into which they had both been born, on to his coffin.

N
ews finally arrived late in September that set all the émigrés rejoicing. Louise rushed immediately to buy a newspaper, in which she read that at the end of July the tyrant, Robespierre, had finally been deposed and he and his confederates had been executed on the guillotine, where he had sent so many innocent people to their death. The Reign of Terror was at an end!

Her joy was in knowing that Justice had raised its head again in France. By now her homeland would be readjusting itself after years of turmoil, with a new government in power, who – judging from the newspaper’s report – would be concentrating on winning the war against France’s enemies. There would still be no return for any homesick Frenchmen and women listed in France as émigrés, for only those who had supported the Revolution were wanted there. In any case, all who had fled were mostly like herself in having had all their income and property sequestrated. There was nothing to go home to any more, no matter how those like Alexandre longed to return.

Delphine returned from the country in mid-September, Mrs Hammond having been extra cautious about coming back to the city too soon. As soon as Delphine entered the apartment she burst into tears and flung her arms around Louise in an emotional embrace. ‘I could have lost you through that terrible fever!’

Louise, almost crushed, released herself breathlessly. ‘But here I am, fit and well!’ She paused. ‘All thanks to Charles.’

Delphine drew back soberly. She had received the news of his death in a letter from her sister and was deeply sympathetic. Before leaving for the country, she had seen how very fond her sister had become of him. ‘I was so sorry about what happened.’

Louise nodded. As yet she could not talk of Charles, the pain was too great. ‘I’ll make some tea,’ she said briskly, ‘while you tell me about your stay in the country.’

‘It was all right for the first four weeks, but nothing went right after that.’ Delphine removed her shawl as she went into the bedroom to look at the new drapes and tidy herself.

It was always a special occasion when they had tea, which was expensive, and today Louise was marking her sister’s return. She had the teapot and cups on the table when Delphine emerged. ‘What happened?’

‘We had lots of parties and good times, and on the whole Margaret behaved herself fairly well.’ Delphine sat down and took the cup handed to her. ‘But when our visit was extended she seemed to go mad. It was as if she felt she’d been reprieved from losing the freedom that we’d both been enjoying.’

‘What happened?’

‘She started bribing a servant to bring her bottles of wine, just because Mrs Hammond doesn’t approve of intoxicants, and we drank it at night in our room. It was a poor wine and I hardly touched it, but Margaret would often end up vomiting.’

‘Didn’t that cure her?’

‘No! Once at a party she became publicly tipsy on champagne. Her mother was furious! Naturally the woman no longer thought me a good influence and declared I was responsible for Margaret’s behaviour, because I’d influenced her with my French ways. But there’s more. Margaret had started flirting as if she’d never seen a young man before. Although previously she had done plenty of slipping away at parties for kisses, she started climbing out of the window at night to keep trysts with one or another of them.’