The Chateau on the Lake (5 page)

‘I love you, sweetheart. Never forget that.’
 

Sobbing, I bury my face in the softness of her nightgown.

At last I am drained of tears and so tired that all I can do is curl up in Mama and Papa’s bed. The last thing I see before I fall asleep is Mama’s note to Mr Thimbleby propped up on the dressing table.

 

 

Mr and Mrs Jephcott arrive promptly at two o’clock the next day.

Mr Jephcott comes straight to the point. ‘If your father’s Academy is to retain its good reputation, it must re-open very soon. Would you allow me to assume the position of Director?’

I’m relieved that he’s made the suggestion that appears to offer the most satisfactory answer. Papa liked Mr Jephcott and stated that he’d be happy for him to be closely involved in the running of the school. The staff will be relieved not to be turned off, but where does this leave me?

‘You would, of course, have a home and a position here for as long as you need it,’ says Mrs Jephcott, just as if she’s read my mind.

It’s a terrible decision to make, to give up the place that my parents worked so hard to build together, but is it possible for me to carry on here alone? More to the point, do I want to?

Silence stretches out until at last I speak. ‘The Academy will lose more pupils if it remains closed any longer. Perhaps we could work side by side for a few weeks? To give us the opportunity to see if the arrangement suits us all.’

Mr Jephcott claps his hands. ‘An admirable idea!’

I gaze listlessly out of the classroom window while my pupils whisper and giggle amongst themselves. I have resumed my teaching duties again over the past weeks but a terrible malaise has settled over me. It’s hard for me to comprehend that my life has changed so dramatically in such a short time.

I’d made the effort to attend Georgiana’s salon but the political discussions failed to engage me. I’d looked for Mr d’Aubery to thank him for his kindness to me at Mama’s funeral but there was no sign of him. Sophie, her eyes sparkling and her complexion positively glowing, was so entirely taken up by flirting with Mr Fielding that I became quite out of temper and left early, alone.

One of my pupils drops her book with a thud and I’m startled out of my reverie. I pull my thoughts back to matters in hand and ask Clarissa Gardiner to recite the poem she has supposedly been learning.

At last the bell rings and I’m thankful that lessons are over for the day.

I’m crossing the hall after the girls have all gone when Mr Jephcott calls me into Papa’s library. Mrs Jephcott smiles briefly at me from her seat beside the window.

‘Ah, Madeleine,’ he says. ‘As a courtesy I thought it time to appraise you of the changes I’m about to instigate in the Academy.’ He peers at me over the top of his glasses.

It’s strange to see this portly little person seated behind the desk, instead of Papa’s lithe figure. ‘Changes?’ I ask.

‘Of course there must be changes,’ he says, a trifle impatiently. ‘I’ve discussed the sad situation of your parents’ passing with the landlord and he is happy for me to take over the rent payments from the next quarter day. Additionally, my purchase of the adjacent property is now complete.’

‘That’s good news,’ I say, even though I find it hard to be excited by it.

‘So at last we can move forward with the improvements,’ says Mrs Jephcott.

‘As you’ll be aware,’ says Mr Jephcott, unrolling a large drawing, ‘I’ve been in consultation with an architect who has produced plans of the new arrangements.’ He beckons me closer and Mrs Jephcott comes to join us.

‘There will be new openings here between the two buildings on all four floors,’ he says. ‘The greater space will allow not only for additional classrooms on the ground and first floors but also for dormitories. The kitchens in the basement will be enlarged to serve the girls’ dining room, which will be here.’

‘In our drawing room?’

‘There’s no need for a drawing room in this side of the house any more since Mrs Jephcott, Lydia and I will have our own spacious private quarters in the new house.’

‘I see.’ And where am I to sit in the evenings? I wonder. ‘And the new dormitories?’ I ask.

Mrs Jephcott points to the second-floor plan. ‘All these large bedrooms on the second floor will comfortably house six girls each.’

‘But this one is my own room,’ I say. A flicker of fear or anger, I know not which, kindles in my breast.

Mr Jephcott smiles. ‘We can charge parents extra for those whose daughters would like a view overlooking Soho Square.’

‘So where do you intend me to sleep?’

‘The attics will provide a dormitory for twelve of the younger girls and further dormitories for staff and servants. We might squeeze in a partition to allow you some privacy, in respect of your former privileged position with the school.’

‘I imagine you would prefer a room of your own, however small?’ says Mrs Jephcott.

‘So I’m to be relegated to a poky cupboard in the attics?’ Outrage makes my hands and voice tremble.

‘Madeleine, dear,’ says Mrs Jephcott, a steely glint in her eye, ‘you must see that Mr Jephcott will be put to a great deal of expense to make these improvements? It’s essential that we use the space economically and make provision for as many girls as possible to bring in the necessary income. Your own salary depends upon it.’

I clench my fists and fix Mr Jephcott with a baleful glare. ‘And do I have no say in how matters will be arranged?’

‘Your teaching skills are known and acknowledged,’ he says, ‘and we would, of course, be very sorry to lose you.’

I hear the implied threat in his words and a wave of fear overwhelms my righteous anger, forcing me to drop my gaze. There is nowhere else for me to go.

Mrs Jephcott sighs. ‘I do hope you aren’t going to be awkward, Madeleine. Changes are often difficult to accept at first but it’s necessary to do what is required for the greater good.’

I’m too furious and unhappy to answer. I leave the room before I say something I may regret.

 

 

The proposed building works commence and before long there is enough banging and hammering all day to wake the devil. Sometimes I have to shout over the noise to make myself heard in the classrooms. As I walk downstairs one day, I find two workmen carrying Mama’s favourite chaise-longue out of the drawing room.

‘Where are you going with that?’ I demand. I glance through the doorway and see that the carpet is being rolled up too.

‘Mrs Jephcott’s orders,’ says one of the men. ‘We’re to strip this room and take the furniture to their new apartments. Excuse me, miss, but we’ve got a job of work to do.’

I retreat to my bedroom and weep, wondering how long it will be before I lose that too. I’m powerless to fight against the implacable Jephcotts.

 

 

I call upon Sophie several times in the ensuing weeks but rarely find her at home. My loneliness and despair mount and, if I had hoped to find solace in friendship with Lydia, I have been disappointed. One Saturday in November I make another overture towards her.

‘It’s a perfect day for a ride in Rotten Row,’ I say. ‘Will you come with me, Lydia?’

She bites her lip and looks away. I know already that she’ll refuse.

‘Why do you always rebuff me?’ I ask.

Shrugging, she looks at her feet.

‘Please tell me!’ My feelings are hurt.

‘I can’t,’ she mumbles.

‘Have I offended you?’

Lydia sighs. ‘I can’t look at you without remembering that terrible night when your father died. I want to put it all behind me. I’m sorry, Madeleine, but it’s too uncomfortable for me to be your friend.’

Feeling miserable, I retire to my lonely bedroom. I must face up to the fact that there is no comfortable position for me in the school any more. I twist my father’s ring around my finger, losing myself in the changing colours of the luminous depths of the moonstone. It used to be said that anyone who looked deep into a moonstone could see into the future but I’m not sure I want to know what is going to happen to me. I do know there must be change ahead.

 

 

The change, when it arrives in early-December, comes in an entirely unexpected way, in the form of a letter. I remove the wax seal and unfold it. It’s a response to Mama’s letter that I posted to her lawyer, Mr Thimbleby.

Carefully, I fold the letter and put it away in my pocket, only to take it out and read it again a few minutes later. Nothing can bring back my beloved parents but at least this legacy will bring me a measure of independence. All at once a tiny bubble of hope begins to swell inside me and I long to share it with the only person I know who will be happy for me.

Ten minutes later I’m buttoning my coat against the chill winter air and hurrying towards Sophie’s house, hoping that for once she will be at home.

It seems that my wish is to be granted. However, when I’m admitted to the drawing room, I’m shocked to see that one of her eyelids is purple and swollen and there’s a cut on her cheek.

I turn her face to look at her bruises in the light. ‘Sophie, what happened? Was it Charles?’

‘I’d prefer not to talk about it,’ she says.

‘But…’

‘It’s only been once this week. It’s just that he caught my face this time.’

‘Can’t you tell your father?’

‘I have,’ she says brusquely. ‘He tells me I should practise being a better wife.’

I’m appalled that Charles Levesque beats his wife and there is nothing in law that she can do.

‘Never mind that. I have something to show you.’ Sophie takes me by the hand upstairs to her bedroom and points to the large painting hanging over the bed. ‘What do you think?’

I draw in my breath. I have to admit that Jack Fielding has talent. His portrait of Sophie shows her languorously reclining on a chaise-longue, her form draped in almost transparent gauze. He’s captured her mischievous expression and enigmatic smile but also imbued her with a brooding sensuality.

‘It’s wonderful! You look…’

Sophie smiles faintly. ‘Charles says it makes me look wanton and wouldn’t let me hang it downstairs.’

Privately I agree with him.

We return to the drawing room and after Sophie has called for tea I tell her my own news. ‘So now that I have an income,’ I say, barely able to take my gaze off her bruised face, ‘I thought we might go on a trip together. We’ll take Henry with us and go to Bath, to drink the waters and visit the Assembly Rooms.’

The smile fades from Sophie’s face. ‘Ordinarily I’d be delighted but my diary is too full for me to leave town at present. I’m so sorry, Maddy.’

‘I can’t go unaccompanied.’

‘And I’ve neglected you shamefully of late, haven’t I? Perhaps Lydia would go with you?’

I shake my head. ‘Sophie, I’m so miserable, I can’t stay at Soho Square much longer!’

She bites her lip but still doesn’t offer to accompany me to Bath. I try not to let my disappointment show but my pleasure at the exciting news has faded.