Prelude to Heaven (18 page)

She ducked back into the barn, concealing herself behind the bottom half of the Dutch door, but she dared to take a peek above it as she heard the carriage coming closer, and when she perceived a man and a woman seated in the vehicle, her panic eased. If a constable had come to arrest her, he would hardly bring a woman with him. And as the carriage passed the barn, heading for the stables beyond, the trunks strapped to the back of the vehicle gave her even more reassurance, and she concluded they were probably travelers who had lost their way.

Though she was reasonably sure she was not about to be arrested, her heart was nonetheless pounding with apprehension as she exited the barn and circled around to the stables where the carriage had come to a halt.

The man was assisting the woman to alight from the vehicle, and as she approached them, the couple noticed her. Tess was close enough to see astonishment cross their faces, and then they exchanged a quick, puzzled glance.

The woman stepped forward first. “Good day, madame,” she greeted Tess in French. “Would you know if Monsieur Dumond is at home?”

It was Tess’s turn to be astonished. These people had come for a visit? “You wish to see Alexandre?”

She didn’t miss the raise of the woman’s dark brows at her use of Alexandre’s Christian name, nor the quick appraising glance she cast over Tess’s pregnant form.

Heavens
, she thought, coloring up.
What must these people think of me
?

Whatever the woman might think, she was quick to conceal it behind a polite mask. “I am Madame Caillaux, and this—” She paused to place a gloved hand on the arm of the handsome man who had stepped up beside her. “This is my husband.”

He bowed. “Madame.”

“My...my name is Tess,” she stammered out, still trying to assimilate the fact that Alexandre had visitors. It seemed so incongruous. “I am...the housekeeper.”

The pair exchanged another quick glance, then Madame Caillaux repeated her question.

Tess flushed, knowing she must seem like a complete idiot. “I believe he is in his studio. If you will follow me?”

Madame Caillaux nodded and moved to go with Tess, but the man did not.

“I will take care of the horses,” he said, “and then join you.”

His wife followed Tess as she turned toward the château, but neither woman spoke. The nearest entrance to the house was through the kitchen, but she could not take a guest that way, and she started to take Madame Caillaux around the walled courtyard toward the front of the château, but the other woman stopped her.

“Through the kitchen is quickest,” she said, and smiled at Tess’s surprised glance. “Yes, I’ve been here before, many times. Alexandre and I are family, you see, so there is no need to stand on ceremony and take me through the front doors.”

Family? Tess’s mind was reeling as they made their way through the kitchen and down various corridors, but she knew it was not her place to ask questions. She led Madame Caillaux across the great hall, but when she started up the staircase that led to the drawing room, the woman did not follow. She stopped one foot on the stairs, and turned to find the woman staring at the portrait of Tess that hung on the wall. “When did Alexandre do this?” she asked.

“He finished it a few days ago,” she answered, her face burning, for the portrait only reinforced the notion that must already be going through the woman’s head that she was Alexandre’s mistress. Tess turned away. “If you would care to follow me to the drawing room, Madame,” she mumbled and turned her face away. “I will tell—”

“
Bonjour
, Jeanette,” Alexandre’s voice interrupted her, and both women looked up to find him on the landing. He descended the stairs and passed Tess as Madame Caillaux turned away from the painting.

“Alexandre!” the woman greeted, clasping his hands in hers. “It is wonderful to see you at last. But what is this all about?”

He kissed her on both cheeks. “I hadn't expected you to arrive so soon.”

“Well, what did you expect, then?” She laughed. “You insisted upon haste in your letter, so Henri and I did not wait a moment. We packed our trunks and, v
oila
!” She broke off, raising one hand in a delicate flourish. “Here we are, dying to know what has caused this need on your part for an immediate visit.”

“Where is Henri?”

“He is putting the horses in the stable. He will join us shortly.” She gave him a stern look. “If you had servants—”

“I do. I have a housekeeper.”

“Yes, so I see.” Her glance slid speculatively to Tess, who was feeling more and more the desire to sink through the floor with each passing moment. “Still,” Madame Caillaux went on, “one housekeeper hardly constitutes a household staff. I can't understand—”

“Jeanette,” he interrupted, “now is not the time for one of your lectures about my way of life.”

“Well, you could at least have allowed me to bring servants of my own.”

Tess watched the two of them talk with easy familiarity, more bewildered than before. Alexandre had written to them, inviting them to come here, an event that in any other family would be a commonplace occurrence. Yet the woman’s surprise indicated his invitation to be something quite out of the ordinary.

“Come.” Alexandre's voice brought Tess out of her reverie, and she glanced at him as he linked his arm through the woman's. “There is much we must discuss.” Over his shoulder, he told Tess, “We shall be in the drawing room. Would you send Henri there when he comes in? And make a pot of tea.”

He walked up the stairs arm in arm with his guest, leaving Tess staring after them in dismay. It was stupid to mind being treated as a servant, she knew, since that was exactly what she was, and yet, unreasonably, she did mind.

The reason was obvious, she acknowledged with chagrin. She wanted to be so much more to him than that, and she wasn’t. She was just the housekeeper. That, she supposed, was all she would ever be.

***

“What is this all about, Alexandre?” Jeanette asked, leaning back against the brocade sofa, facing him as he took the chair opposite her.

He didn't quite know how to begin. “Perhaps we should wait until Henri comes in. There is much I have to tell you.”

“I should say you do!” Jeanette removed her hat and tossed it to the other end of the sofa. “We were delighted to receive your letter, of course, but we could scarcely believe it.”

“You are my family. Is it so astonishing that I should write you a letter?”

“Since we receive no more than one or two letters from you each year, it is always astonishing! We haven't heard from you since Christmas, by the way,” she reminded, pulling off her gloves and reaching up to smooth her chignon of dark brown hair.

He felt a rush of affection at this good-natured lecturing, knowing the concern for him that lay behind it. As he looked at her, he caught the hint of silver at her temples, making him appreciate just how quickly time slipped away. “It’s good to see you, Jeanette.”

She sniffed, trying to seem unimpressed by that. “Yes, well, we do live in Marseilles, not the other end of the world. You could come visit us occasionally, you know. And write more often.”

“Is my wife lecturing again?”

Henri’s voice caused them both to turn toward the doorway and Alexandre rose to greet him as he entered the drawing room “You're looking well,” he said, opening his arms to embrace the man he had always considered to be his brother, though they were not related by blood. “It's been a long time.”

“Too long,” Henri agreed, stepping back to study him. “And you are looking better than I expected, although I see you still don’t seem inclined to have your hair properly cut. Last time I saw you, you hadn't shaved for a month. You hadn't a clean shirt to your name and—”

“Now who is lecturing?” He smiled. “I’m glad you came, Henri. Thank you.”

The other man removed his wife's hat from the sofa and sat down beside her. Alexandre also resumed his seat, and all of them were silent for several moments, none of them seeming to know quite what to say next. Jeanette, as usual, spoke first.

“Let us dispense with all this mystery, Alexandre.” She leaned forward and reached out her hand for his. Squeezing his fingers with affection, she went on, “There is more to this than a desire to see us,
n'est-ce pas
?”

Alexandre didn’t reply at once, for this was even more difficult to explain than he’d imagined it would be. Pulling his hand from hers, he rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands together, staring down at them for a moment before he spoke. “I asked both of you to come here, but it was really Jeanette I needed to see.”

He looked at her and saw her eyes widen. “I? Alexandre, if you don't tell me, and quickly, what this is all about—”

“It's about Tess,” he interrupted, receiving a blank look from both Jeanette and her husband.

“Your housekeeper?” Jeanette’s eyes narrowed to a hard stare.

“Yes. You see—”

“Your
pregnant
housekeeper?”

The acidity in her voice told him exactly what she was thinking. “The babe isn't mine!”

Jeanette continued to stare at him through narrowed eyes, and he turned to Henri, who was smiling in some amusement. “It isn't!” he insisted.

They said nothing, and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I can see I shall have to start at the beginning.”

He proceeded to tell them how Tess had come to be in his home, and he was grateful that Jeanette managed to listen to the entire story without interruption, at least until he got to the part about why she was here.

“You want me to do what?” She stared at him as if he’d just asked her to jump off a cliff. “You want me to deliver the girl's baby? You asked us here so that I could act as midwife?”

“Your mother was the midwife in Fréjus,” he pointed out. “You assisted her many times.”

“Yes, but that was years ago!” She shook her head. “It would be best if old Françoise—”

“No.” His answer was vehement. “I will not ask her to do it.”

“I could ask her for you.”

“And have her look at me as she did at Anne-Marie's funeral when she comes? Have her say again what she said to me that day? No.”

“That was three years ago.” Jeanette spoke very softly. “And it was very difficult for her. She loved Anne-Marie—”

“And I didn't?” Alexandre rose and walked to the fireplace. He stared at the empty grate, seeing instead the condemnation in the old woman’s face. “No, I will not ask her. Françoise was right when she spoke to me at the funeral. Don't you understand?” He turned, looking at Jeanette, who was looking back him with an expression that conveyed she did understand, all too well. “She was right.”

“We could bring in a midwife from elsewhere,” Henri interjected. “Fréjus, perhaps.”

Alexandre shook his head. “It's too far from here.” He turned back to Jeanette. “Please. Do this for me.”

She rose to her feet and came to stand before him. She took his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes. “Of course I will. We're family, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he agreed, feeling again that rush of warmth and affection, knowing that he had been behaving more like a stranger than family to them the past three years.

“Now that we've settled that, isn't it time we had dinner?” Henri suggested, standing up. “Jeanette and I were in such a hurry to arrive, we stopped for only a brief meal in Sainte-Maxime, and that was many hours ago.”

“Excellent idea,” Jeanette agreed. “I’m famished. But first I would like the two of you to bring in the trunks so that I might unpack. Perhaps Tess could help me? That way, we can become better acquainted straightaway.” She cast an inquiring glance at Alexandre. “She doesn't know why we're here, you said?”

“No, she doesn't. I thought it best if you told her.” He paused, then added, “But not every detail, Jeanette.”

“Of course not. I will simply say that you thought she needed female companionship and that I have done midwifery before. Will that do?”

“Very well.” He looked at Henri. “Shall we bring in your trunks?”

The other man grinned. “I suppose we must. But if you had servants—”

Alexandre groaned, holding up his hands to stop Henri's flow of words. “Don't even think such a thing. The one I have has caused me enough trouble already.”

Tess paused in the doorway of the bedchamber given to Alexandre’s guests, a pile of linens in her arms. Madame Caillaux was at the window, looking out to the vineyards in the distance, and Tess heard her sigh deeply. “Such a shame,” she murmured.

If she was referring to the vineyards, Tess agreed with her, but she could hardly say so aloud. Instead, she lifted her hand and tapped on the door frame.

Madame Caillaux turned, smiling, and beckoned her to enter with a wave of her hand. “Come in, come in.”

Tess did so, placing the linens on a chair and pulling the cotton dust coverings from the bedstead. She placed them in the corridor, then pulled a sheet from of the pile of fresh linens. “I do wish Alexandre had told me in advance that you were coming,” she said as she spread out the sheet over the bare, horsehair mattress. “I would have had a room prepared for you, Madame.”