Nine Coaches Waiting (18 page)

She turned.

"Berthe, would you like to wear it too, for your own dance on Tuesday? You've probably got another just as pretty, but if you'd like it-"

"Oh,
miss
!" Her eyes grew enormous and she gripped her hands together. "Me? Oh, but I
couldn't…Could
I?"

"Why not? You look lovely in it, and it was practically made on you, after all. If you'd really like it, Berthe, I'd be terribly pleased for you to take it I don't suppose anyone'll recognise it.”

"No, they won't," she said ingenuously. "It'll be hired waiters here tomorrow, and Ber-the servants won't be about. If-if you really mean it-" She began to thank me again, but I said quickly:

"Then that's settled. Fine. Now I'll better fly if I'm to get to that looking-glass before Madame comes upstairs."

Berthe dived once more for the cupboard. "Your shoes! Put on your new shoes with it! "

"No, no, don't bother," I said hastily, making for the door, “I must run. Thanks again, Berthe! Goodnight!"

Madame de Valmy's bedroom adjoined a small sitting-room which she used in the mornings. I went through, leaving the connecting-door ajar.

Her bedroom was a beautiful room, all soft lights and brocade and elegant Louis Seize, with a positively fabulous glitter of silver and crystal on the toilet-table. An enormous Venetian mirror flanked the bathroom door, apparently held to the silk panelling by the efforts of the whole cherub choir.

I stood in front of this. The long window-curtains mirrored behind me were of rose-coloured brocade. The lighting was lovely. As I moved I saw the gleam of the cobwebbed silver thread shift and glimmer through the white cloud of the skirt the way sunlight flies along blown gossamer.

I remember that the thought that surfaced first in my mind was that now Cinderella had no excuse to stay away from the ball. And-at midnight?

Impatiently I shook my thoughts free, angry that I could still fool around even for a moment with the myth that I knew was nonsense. I'd burned myself badly enough on that star already.

Someone was at the sitting-room door. Berthe must have come along with the silver sandals. I called: "Come in. I'm through here," and made a face at myself in the glass. Here were the glass slippers. Damn it, I didn't stand a chance…

A quick tread across the sitting-room. Raoul’s voice said: "Héloïse, did you want me?"

Then he saw me. He stopped dead in the doorway.

"Why-hullo," he said. He sounded a little breathless, as though he'd been hurrying.

I opened my mouth to answer him, then swallowed and shut it again. I couldn't have spoken if I'd tried. I must just have gaped at him like a schoolgirl caught out in some escapade. I know I went scarlet.

Then I gathered up my skirts in clumsy hands and moved towards the doorway which he still blocked.

He didn't give way. He merely leaned his shoulders back against the jamb of the door and waited, as if prepared to settle there for the evening.

I took two more hesitating steps towards him, and then stopped.

"Don't run away. Let me look at you."

"I must. I mean, I'd better-"

He said: "Sabine," very softly, and the laugh in the word brought hotter colour to my face and my eyes up to his.

I'm not sure what happened next. I think he moved a little and said: "All right. So you really want to run

away?” And I think I said, somehow: "no," and then "Raoul," as his shoulders came away from the doorpost in a kind of lunge, and then he was across the room and had me in his arms and was kissing me with a violence that was terrifying and yet, somehow, the summit of all my tenderest dreams.

I pushed away from him at last, both hands against his chest. "But Raoul,
why
?”

"What d'you mean why?"

"Why me? Your father called me ‘Jane Eyre', and he wasn't far wrong. And
you
-you could have anyone.

So… why?"

"Do you want to know why?" His hands turned me round to face the mirror again, holding me back against him. I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder-blade. His eyes met mine in the glass. "You don't have to be humble,
ma belle.
That's why."

An odd sensation took me, part triumphant and part forlorn. I said nothing. The cherubs peered at us blind-eyed. Behind us the rose and gold and crystal of the lovely room glowed like the Bower of Bliss. Raoul was watching my face.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could speak there came a slight sound from the other room. He turned his head sharply, and for a moment his hands tightened on my shoulders. Then he let me go and turned, saying coolly; "Ah, Héloïse. I was looking for you. I believe you wanted me."

I jumped and spun round. I felt the quick heat wash and ebb in my cheeks, leaving me cold and pale. We had been standing in full view of anyone entering the sitting-room. Héloïse de Valmy was there now, just inside the door, with Albertine beside her. She was speaking over her shoulder to someone- presumably one of the guests-behind her in the corridor, beyond my range of vision.

A woman's voice returned a soft reply and I heard skirts rustle away. It was impossible to tell if Madame de Valmy had seen Raoul holding me, but I knew Albertine had. Avoiding her dark malicious eyes I came quickly out of the bedroom with Raoul behind me.

I said, stammering: "Madame… I was using your glass to -to try my frock. You said I might…

It was still impossible to tell whether she had seen. Her light- grey eyes looked me up and down without expression. As usual, they were unsmiling, but I could detect no hint of displeasure in her face.

She said, in her cold composed voice: "Of course. Is that the dress you have made, Miss Martin? It's very pretty. You must be an accomplished needlewoman. Perhaps one day you might do some work for me?"

So she had seen. I felt Raoul, beside me, make a little movement. The burning colour washed back into my face. I said quickly: "It would be a pleasure, madame. Goodnight, madame. Goodnight, monsieur."

I didn't look at him. I slipped past Héloïse de Valmy into the welcome dimness of the corridor, and ran back to my room.

The next day passed in a whirl. I spent all my time with Philippe, who, alone of all the people in the house, seemed untouched by the general excitement, and was, indeed, indulging in a bout of the sulks at being left out of the Easter revels.

Luckily I didn't have to face Madame de Valmy. Just after lunch Albertine-was there a spark of malice in the smooth voice and face as she said it?-brought me a message which asked if we could please direct our afternoon's walk to the village to make some small purchases, as none of the servants (had she or had she not hesitated on the phrase "other servants"?) could be spared?

I agreed politely, and chided myself, as I took a reluctant, foot-trailing Philippe down to Soubirous, for being over-sensitive, Madame de Valmy would surely not put me so brutally in my place a second time, and as for Albertine, a servant's malice couldn't affect me.

But I began to wonder, a few minutes later, if this last was true. As I paused in the sunshine outside Monsieur Garcin's shop to fish in my bag for Albertine's note, the bead curtains over the chemist's doorway rattled aside, and Albertine herself came out. Albertine, who "could not be spared" today; for whom I was playing errand-boy. She must have set out for Soubirous almost immediately after briefing me.

I stared at her in amazement. She showed no sign of confusion, but slipped by me with one of her dark sidelong looks and small- lipped Mona Lisa smiles. She went into the
confiserie
just beyond the café.

When I pushed through the swinging beads myself into the spicy dimness of the shop, I was tense and nervous and very ready to discover in Monsieur Garcin's voice and attitude that same sidelong malice that I had now certainly seen in Albertine.

I told myself firmly that this was only fancy. But as I emerged from the pharmacy I came face to face with Madame Rocher, the curé's housekeeper, and this time there was no doubt about the chilliness of the greeting. If the good Madame could have passed by on the other side she would undoubtedly have done so. As it was she simply stared, nodded once, and gave me
bonjour
in a tone nicely calculated (as from virtuous matron to viper-in- the-bosom) to keep me in my place, while at the same time allowing just the faintest loophole for a possibly legitimate future. Philippe she greeted, quite simply, with pity.

And later, when I bought some chocolate in the
confiserie
I thought Madame Decorzent's fat smile was a little stiff today and her prune-black eyes were curious, almost avid, as she said glancing from Philippe to me: "And when are you leaving us mademoiselle?”

I said coolly, through the sudden hammering of my heart: "We don't go to Thonon for a good while yet, madame. Monsieur Hippolyte doesn't get back for three more months, you know."

And I almost swept Philippe out through the tinkling curtain of beads into the hot sunlight. Albertine had done her work all right. The news, with its attendant rumours, was all over Soubirous.

I ran the gauntlet of sundry other stares and whispers before I reached the bridge and faced-with poor Philippe maddeningly a-whine beside me-the long trudge up through the water-meadows.

I hadn't realised before what hard going it must have been for Cinderella.

After tea I went to look for Mrs. Seddon, to talk to her about whatever rumours were being put about below stairs, only to be told that the fuss and overwork occasioned by the ball had brought on "one of her attacks", and that she had gone to bed, unfit to speak to anyone. So I stayed with Philippe, my mind hovering miserably between remembered (and surely disastrous?) ecstasy, and my apparently imminent dismissal from Valmy. I am glad to remember that some of my worry was on behalf of Philippe…

By the time Berthe came up that evening to serve Philippe's supper, I was in a fairly lamentable state of nerves, and more than half inclined to shirk facing my host and hostess downstairs. Then Philippe chose to throw a tantrum, and refused with tears to go to bed at all unless I would come up later "in the middle of the night" and take him to peep at the dancing from the gallery. I promised, and, satisfied, he disappeared quietly enough with Berthe.

I shut the door on them, and went to run my bath.

Dressing for my first dance… and Raoul somewhere among the throng of dancers… I should have been happy, eager, excited. But my fingers shook as I opened a fresh tablet of scented soap, and later on when I was sitting in my petticoat brushing my hair, and a knock sounded on the door, I turned to face it as if it were a firing-squad.

"I'll go," said Berthe, who had disposed of Philippe and was helping me. She opened the door a little way, had a short muffled colloquy with whoever was outside, then shut the door and came back into the room holding a box.

I was still sitting at the dressing-table, hair-brush suspended. Berthe came over to me. She looked a little flushed as she handed me the box, and she avoided my eye.

"This is for you." Her tone-like her whole bearing that evening-was subdued and a little formal.

For a moment I thought of asking her what was being whispered, then I held my tongue. I didn't want to meet him- and Monsieur and Madame-fresh from Albertine's brand of backstairs gossip. The woman's glance had been smirch enough.

Et tu, Berthe,
I thought, and took the box from her.

It was light and flat, with a cellophane lid glassing the dark heartshaped leaves and fragile blossoms of white violets; milk- white blooms, moth-white, delicate in dark-green leaves. There was the faintest veining of cream on throat and wing.

A card was tucked among the leaves. Without opening the lid I could see the single letter in an arrogant black scrawl: -
R
.

I finished dressing in silence.

Then I pinned the violets on, said quietly: "Thank you, Berthe," and went towards the music and the laughter.

The ball was well under way, and I was thankful to see that Monsieur and Madame de Valmy had finished receiving. Their place near the banked flowers at the foot of the great staircase was empty. Now the hall was brilliant with a shifting mass of people. I hesitated on the gallery, having no mind to make an entrance alone down that impressive flight of steps; then three young women came chattering past me from some room along the corridor, and I followed as inconspicuously as I could in their wake.

It was easy enough to slip unremarked through the throng and into the ballroom itself, where I found a corner sheltered by a pillar and a bank of azaleas, and settled down quietly to watch the dancers.

I couldn't see Léon de Valmy's chair anywhere, but Héloïse, looking wonderful in a gown the colour of sea-lavender, was dancing with an elderly bearded man on whose breast the blue ribbon of an Order showed. I saw Florimond over by one of the windows talking, or rather listening, to a terrifying-looking old woman with a beak of a nose and improbable blue hair. He was leaning forward slightly, that flattering air of his assuring her that she was the most amusing and intelligent woman in the room. For all I know she may have been. But had she been the dreariest hag on earth I am sure that Florimond would have looked exactly the same.

I turned to look for Raoul. On a swirl of music the dancers near me swung and parted and I saw him. He was dancing with a blonde girl with slanting eyes and a beautiful mouth. She was in black, with a high neck and a straight-cut skirt that spoke of Madame Fath and made her look incredibly slender and fragile. She was dancing very close to him and talking rapidly, with flickering upward glances through her long lashes. I didn't see him speak, but he was smiling. They were a striking couple, and danced so beautifully that more than one glance was thrown in their direction and-I had nothing else to do but see it-more than one significant eyebrow lifted in their wake. It would seem that Mrs. Seddon had been right: where Raoul went, rumour walked. I wondered who the girl was. When-if-he danced with me, what would the eyebrows do then?
Who's the new girl? My dear, nobody, obviously. And my dear, the dress… The governess?… Oh… Oh, I see…

The music stopped, and people drifted to the sides of the ballroom. I was hidden by the crowd. Nobody had noticed me. I sat still, glad of the sheltering pillar and the massed azaleas. Beside me a trickle of water ran down a little scale, soulless as the music of a spinet. There was a tank of fish here, too, and the water dripped into it from a bank of moss. The azaleas threw patterns on the water, and gold and silver fish moved warily underneath.

The music started again, obliterating talk, laughter, and the tiny tinkle of water. The glittering dresses took the floor. This time he led out an elderly woman with a dreadful gown of royal blue and magnificent diamonds. And then a dark hawk of a woman with a clever hungry face and hands like yellow claws. And then the lovely blonde girl again. And then a well-corseted woman with dyed hair who wore dramatic black with emeralds. And then a white-haired woman with a gentle face. And then the blonde again.

The fish hung suspended in water green as serpentine, fins moving rhythmically. A petal, loosed from a pink azalea, floated down to lie upon the surface. I remembered my promise to Philippe. I got up, shaking out the folds of my skirt. The fish, startled, shuttled about the tank under the hanging mosses.

When a voice said: "Mademoiselle," just behind me, I started like a guilty thing upon a fearful summons, and dropped my handbag, missing the tank by millimetres.

The owner of the voice stooped a little ponderously to pick it up for me. I might have known he would come sooner or later to comfort the wallflower.

"Monsieur Florimond!" I said. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry." He handed me the bag with a smile. "But you must not fly away now, mademoiselle. I'm depending on you for an alibi.”

"An alibi?"

He made one of his wide gestures. "My dear, I don't dance and I've talked myself to a standstill. I thought perhaps if I cornered you quickly we could resume our flirtation, which is something I can do at any time without effort."

"And," I said, watching how his hand hovered already over his pocket, "have a quiet smoke at the same time? All right Monsieur Florimond. I’ll be your chimney-corner."

"A sympathetic woman," said Florimond, unabashed, taking out his case, "is above rubies."

"Don't you believe it. No woman is above rubies," I said, sitting down again. "No thank you, I don't smoke."

"Above diamonds, pearls, and rubies," said Florimond lowering himself into the chair beside me with a sigh, and proceeding, as to an elaborate ritual, to light a cigarette. He beamed at me through the resultant cloud of smoke. "That's a very pretty gown, my dear."

I laughed at him. "Shakespeare," I said, "congratulating Minou Drouet on a neat phrase? Thank you, monsieur."

His eyes puckered at the corners. "I meant it. But you're rather hiding your light under a bushel, aren't you? I've been watching for you, but I haven't seen you dancing."

"I don't know anyone."

"Oh,
là-là!
And didn't Héloïse introduce any young men?"

"I haven't seen her to speak to. I came down late."

"And now she is-ah, yes, there she is, dancing with Monsieur de St. Hubert." He scanned the floor. "Then where's Raoul? He knows everybody. Perhaps he-"

"Oh, no, please!" The exclamation burst out quite involuntarily. I met Florimond's eye of mild inquiry and finished lamely: "I-I was just going upstairs. I promised Philippe to go and see him. I-don't bother Monsieur Raoul, please?"

"Upstairs? And not to come down again, is that it?" The kind eyes surveyed me. "And is that also why you came down so late and then hid among the flowers?”

"I don't-what d'you mean?"

His gaze fixed itself on the violets. He didn't answer. My hand moved in spite of me to cup the flowers, a curiously defensive gesture and quite futile. I said: "How did you know?" and touched the violets with a finger-tip. "These?"

He shook his head. "My dear," he said gently, "haven't you learnt yet that every breath the Valmys take is news in the valley?"

I said bitterly: "I'm learning." I looked away from him. A fish was nosing at the azalea-petal, butting it gently from underneath. I watched it absorbedly. The dance-music seemed to come from a great way off. Here among the flowers was a little walled garden of silence broken only by the liquid arpeggios of the dripping mosses.

At length he spoke. "You're very young."

"Twenty-three." My voice tried hard not to sound defensive.

"Mademoiselle"-he seemed to be choosing his words-"if you ever thought of leaving Valmy, where would you go?"

I stared at him through a moment of whirling silence. Here, too. It was true. It hadn't been imagination to see those dragon's-teeth of scandal springing up in Albertine's malicious wake. Madame de Valmy or (something caught at my breathing) Monsieur himself had said something, hinted something about dismissing me. And Florimond the kind had sought me out to talk to me about it. Everybody, it seemed, was making my connection with Raoul their business.

I don't quite know what I was thinking about it myself. I couldn't see beyond the fact that I loved him; that he had kissed me; that he was here tonight. I wanted to see him; dreaded seeing him. About Raoul's feelings and purpose-his "intentions"-I didn't think at all. He was here, and I loved him. That was all.

I pulled myself together to hear Florimond saying, kindly: "Have you friends in France, or are you on your own over here, mademoiselle?”

I said in a tight little voice: "I don't know anyone in France, no. But I am not on my own, monsieur."

“What do you mean?"

"Monsieur Florimond, you are being very kind, and don't think I don't appreciate it. But let's be frank, now that we've gone so far. You are concerned about me because I was seen kissing Raoul de Valmy, and I'm to be dismissed. Is that it?”

"Not quite."

I said, surprised: "Then what?"

He said gently: "Because you are also in love with Raoul de Valmy, child." I said, rather breathlessly: "So-what?"

"What I said. You are too young. You have nobody here to run to. You are too much alone."

"No. I told you. I'm not alone."

He looked a query.

I said very evenly: "Is it so very impossible that I should be able to run-as you put it-to Raoul?"

There was a pause. The words seemed to repeat themselves into the silence. The clasp of my bag was hurting my fingers when I gripped it. I looked at him. "Yes, monsieur. We are being frank, you and I. Is it so very impossible that Raoul should-care for me?" "My dear-" said Florimond, and stopped. "Yes, monsieur?"

He took a deep breath. "You and Raoul?… No, mademoiselle. No and no and no."

I said, after a little pause: "Just how well do you know him, monsieur?"

"Raoul? Well enough. Not intimately, perhaps, but-" he stopped again and one large hand tugged at his collar. He didn't meet my eyes. He said:
"Hell!"
unexpectedly and explosively, and began to grind out his cigarette in the earth of the azalea-tub.

I was too angry to let him off. "Then since you don't know him so very well, perhaps you'll explain what you meant."

He looked at me then. "My dear, I can't. I should never have said it. I've already done the unforgivable. I mustn't go farther."

"Monsieur de Valmy being your host?" He almost jumped. "You're a little too quick for me, my dear. Yes, that and other reasons."

I was still angry. I said: "Since we're talking in riddles, monsieur, what makes you think that all tigers breed true."

"Mademoiselle-"

"All right," I said, "we'll leave it. You've warned me. You've eased your conscience and it was very kind of you to bother. Shall we just wait and see?"

He breathed a great, gusty sigh. "I was wrong," he said. "You're not as young as I thought." He was groping for another cigarette, grinning amiably at me. "Well, I've said my piece-unwarranted cheek, and you've been very nice about it. And don't forget, when you do do that running, you've got at least one other person in France to run to."

My anger died. "Monsieur Florimond-"

"There," he said, "and now we'll drop the subject. What about that flirtation we were in the middle of? Do you remember just where we'd got to? Or would you rather have a quick game of chess?"

I gave a shaken little laugh. "It would certainly be quick. Compared with me, Philippe's a master. You'd mop me up in three minutes."

"A pity. There's nothing like chess and tobacco, judiciously mixed, for taking the mind off the advice of a doddering old fool who ought to know better." A large hand patted mine paternally, and was withdrawn. "Forgive me, child. I couldn't help it, could I, if the advice came too late?"

I smiled at him. "Monsieur Florimond, even if this isn't the right moment in our flirtation to say so, you are a darling. But yes… much too late."

Raoul's voice said, above me: "So here you are! Carlo, what the devil d'you mean by hiding her away in this corner. Damn it, I've been watching the doors for a couple of hours I I'd no idea she was finding you and the goldfish such fascinating company. What was the sombre discussion
, mon vieux?
What's much too late?"

"You, for one thing," said Florimond, calmly. "Now take Miss Martin away and dance with her and try and atone for leaving her to the goldfish."

Raoul grinned. "I'll do that. Linda, come here."

Florimond's eyes followed me, still with the pucker of trouble about them. Then I forgot them as the music took us.

His voice said at my ear: "It's been an age. Had you been there long?"

"Not really."

"Why were you so late?"

"I was scared to come down."

"Scared? My God, why? Oh, of course, Héloïse."

"She saw us; you know that."

"Yes." He laughed. "D'you mind?"

"Of course."

"You'll have to learn not to."

My heart was beating anyhow up in my throat. "What d'you mean?"

But he only laughed again without replying and swept me round with the music in a quick turn. A pillar swirled past, a group of men, a wheel-chair…

Léon de Valmy.

He was watching us, of course. A shadow at the centre of the kaleidoscope; a spider at the knot of the bright web… the stupid fancies rose from nowhere in a stinging cloud. I shook my head a little, angrily, as if that would dispel them. Damn the man, I wasn't afraid of him… was I?

As, momentarily, the dance took me round to face him again, I looked straight at him and gave him a brilliant smile.

He was taken aback: there was no doubt about that. I saw the black brows lift sharply, then his mouth twitched and he smiled back.

The other dancers came between us and cut him off from view. I was left with the sharp impression that my employer's smile had been one of quite genuine amusement, but that it was amusement at some joke I couldn't see. It was an impression that was quite particularly unpleasant.

"Raoul," I said suddenly, urgently.

"Yes?"

"Oh-nothing."

"Just
Raoul
?"

"Yes."

He slanted a look down at me and smiled.
“Soit,”
was all he said, but I had the odd feeling that he understood.

When the dance finished we were at the opposite end of the room from Léon de Valmy, and beside one of the long windows. Raoul showed no sign of leaving me. He waited beside me in silence. He seemed to be oblivious of the crowd surrounding us, though the eyebrows were certainly at work. I caught a few curious looks cast at us, but I wasn't worrying about them. I was busy trying to locate Madame de Valmy in the crowd, and to see her without actually catching her eye. But she wasn't there.

The music started again. Raoul turned back to me.