The Chateau on the Lake (6 page)

It is a few days before Christmas and the Academy is closed. The rain has pelted down all day and I have no inclination to walk through the downpour to visit Georgiana’s salon. Instead, I remain by the fire in my bedroom since I cannot intrude upon the Jephcotts in their new apartment. I stare into the flames, wondering if I should leave the school and rent a room somewhere, but such a course of action would do my reputation no good. In three years I shall have more independence but how am I to endure living with the Jephcotts until I inherit Maitland Hall? Sighing, I pick up my book.

I’m dozing over
Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France
when I hear the grandfather clock strike eleven and then a carriage draws up outside in the street. Within a few moments I hear a staccato knock on the front door.

Curious, I go downstairs and see that Sarah has opened the door to a visitor.

‘Mr d’Aubery!’ I say. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

‘I apologise for arriving at such a late hour but it’s Mrs Levesque.’ Rainwater drips off his hat and on to the floor.

‘What has happened?’ I ask, alarmed.

Mr d’Aubery hurries outside again and returns a moment later carrying Sophie in his arms. Silently, he places her on the hall chair and wipes raindrops from his eyes.

‘Sophie, what is it?’ I’m distressed to see that her face is contorted by sobs and she’s quite unable to respond to my question.

‘Perhaps it would be advisable to put Mrs Levesque to bed?’ says Mr d’Aubery.

I can only agree. ‘Sarah, bring a hot brick and a clean nightdress to my bedroom.’ I attempt to pull Sophie to her feet but she’s half-fainting from exhaustion.

‘Permit me,’ says Mr d’Aubery. He swings her into his arms as if she were no heavier than a child and makes for the stairs.

Once he has deposited Sophie upon the bed in my room he retreats and I peel off her damp clothing. Aghast, I study the livid bruising on her arms and stomach.

Her eyes are shocked and her mouth trembles so much that I don’t ask her if her husband has done this.

Sarah brings towels, one of my nightgowns and hot bricks wrapped in flannel. I rub Sophie dry and slip the nightgown over her head. Once she’s in bed and the blankets are tucked under her chin, she closes her eyes and a moment later she’s asleep.

Downstairs, Mr d’Aubery is in the library with Mr and Mrs Jephcott.

‘Mr d’Aubery, please tell me what has happened,’ I say.

‘Mr d’Aubery found your friend in a distressed state,’ Mrs Jephcott intervenes, lips tight with disapproval.

‘She’s overwrought so I’ve put her to bed.’

‘This is a disgraceful state of affairs,’ says Mr Jephcott, ‘and I sincerely hope none of the pupils’ parents come to hear of it. You will remove Mrs Levesque from my school first thing in the morning and she will not be admitted here again.’

My
school, he’d said! Hatred washes over me in a scarlet tide.

‘It’s late,’ says Mr d’Aubery, standing up and saving me from making an unseemly and unprofitable outburst.

‘I shall see Mr d’Aubery out,’ I tell the Jephcotts through gritted teeth.

‘What really happened?’ I ask as soon as the library door closes behind us.

Mr d’Aubery shrugs. ‘I was at Lady Woodhouse’s salon this evening when I saw Mrs Levesque talking to Mr Fielding. The tone of the conversation was… heated. I thought nothing of it at the time but later, when I left the house, I found your friend collapsed against the railings along the street. I went to assist her but she talked so wildly of drowning herself in the river that I dared not leave her.’

‘Oh, poor Sophie! And thank you. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t rescued her.’

‘I shall call upon the Levesque household tonight to convey the news that she is safely in your care. A twisted ankle might suffice as a suitable excuse, I believe? Besides,’ says Mr d’Aubery, his mouth curving in an ironic smile, ‘I wish to avoid Levesque challenging me to a duel if he discovers I have run away with his wife.’

The following morning when Sophie awakes she stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then sits up.

‘Oh, Madeleine!’ she says, eyes tragic. She covers her face with her hands. ‘I’ve been so foolish!’

‘Tell me.’

‘It would never have happened if Charles weren’t so cruel…’

‘I saw your bruises.’

‘Madeleine, it’s unendurable! A few months ago I told him I knew about his mistress. Do you know what he said? “What business is it of yours?” And then yawned in my face. So I slapped him.’ The corners of Sophie’s mouth lift in a wan smile. ‘For one moment I felt so powerful. But then he began to hit me. Since then he beats me all the time for the slightest thing and I’m so frightened he’ll kill me.’

A hot rush of anger races through my veins. Sophie’s position is even more intolerable than my own.

‘So when Jack Fielding began to flatter me I lapped it up,’ she continues. ‘He told me I was beautiful, and the way he looked at me made me
feel
beautiful. All those afternoons when he was painting my portrait his eyes ran over my skin like a warm caress.’ Her own eyes are defiant. ‘I fell in love with him, Maddy, and he said he loved me, too.’

It’s worse than I had realised. ‘What does he think of the way Charles beats you?’ I say carefully.

She shrugs. ‘I think in some strange way it excites him.’

‘Does Charles know about Jack?’ Anxiety makes me bite my lip. If Charles Levesque knows, Sophie will certainly risk losing her son.

But she shakes her head. ‘It would be certain death for me if he did.’

‘What happened last night?’

‘Yesterday I discovered from that odious gossip Mrs Hill that Charles has set up his mistress in a town house in King Street.’ Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. ‘Still, I didn’t care because I knew that Jack would be waiting for me at Georgiana’s salon last night. You see, we’d talked about running away to Italy and setting up home together.’

‘You hadn’t!’

‘I thought that if I took Henry, then I’d be free from Charles for ever.’

‘But you argued with Jack last night,’ I say, remembering what Mr d’Aubery told me.

‘I saw him flirting with Laetitia Bowes, persuading her to have her portrait painted. Hard words were exchanged between us. And then he told me he’d never loved me after all.’ Tears well up in Sophie’s brown eyes. ‘He laughed and said he’d never had any intention of running away with me. He said…’ She breaks off and gulps for breath. ‘He said he makes love to all the ladies he paints because then their skin glows and their eyes shine.’

I rock her in my arms as she sobs, and reflect on the cruelty of men and the foolishness of women.

 

 

‘I’ll put your box here, miss.’ The workman hefts the box containing all my worldly possessions off his shoulder, crashes it to the bare floorboards. ‘Shall I close the door?’

‘No! No, thank you,’ I say.

He nods and departs.

I look around me in dismay at the claustrophobic compartment. A narrow bed is pushed against the flimsy partition wall and there is, perhaps, two feet of space all around it. A row of hooks on one wall and a triangular washstand jammed into the corner complete the furnishings for my new bedroom. Panic begins to flutter in my chest. A small window looks out over the rooftops and I hurry to open it, but it’s stuck fast.

Confined spaces have made me anxious ever since a mischievous school friend shut me in the coal cellar. Sophie had come looking for me, heard me sobbing and released me. I’ve never forgotten the fear I felt then and even now an icy shudder runs down my back at the memory. How can I possibly bear to live in what is little more than a cell for the foreseeable future?

Full of hatred for the vile Jephcotts, I hang up my clothes on the hooks and then go downstairs to sit in one of the classrooms while I prepare tomorrow’s lessons.

When I have completed my task and tidied the books away I set off for Georgiana’s salon. Sophie, following her return to her husband, has begged me to discover if there has been any gossip following the end of her affair with Jack Fielding. Since I’ll do whatever I can to delay my return to the horrid cell, I’m pleased to have an excuse to go out. Besides, I have another reason for attending.

Georgiana comes to greet me with a kiss. ‘Is Sophie not with you tonight?’ she asks.

‘I believe Henry had toothache,’ I lie.

‘Poor little boy!’

Since Georgiana is an inveterate gossip and she isn’t questioning me about Sophie’s affair with Jack Fielding, I am encouraged to hope that she has no inkling of my friend’s collapse.

‘Is Mr d’Aubery or the Marquis de Roussell here?’ I ask.

‘The marquis is here.’ Georgiana leans towards me and lowers her voice. ‘Though for my part I find him very dull company and rather hope he’ll take himself off before too long.’

She drifts off to greet a new arrival and I make my way through the throng.

The marquis is talking in his execrable English at Daniel Stowe and when the poet sees me coming he grasps the opportunity to escape.

‘I wonder if you would assist me in a small matter?’ I say to the marquis, in French.

‘If I can, Mademoiselle Moreau,’ he says. ‘And it is always a pleasure to converse in my own language rather than this barbarous English.’

I hold out my hand. ‘I wonder if you would look at my ring?’ I’ve been thinking about something Mama said as she lay dying and then I remembered that Mr d’Aubery had questioned Papa about his signet ring.

The marquis takes out his quizzing glass and peers at Papa’s moonstone ring.

‘It belonged to my father,’ I say. ‘He died recently and, since he never cared to talk about his family, I wondered if you might know anything about them? He said that this ring had been passed down from father to son for generations in his family.’

De Roussell studies the crest of the leaping deer engraved on the stone and then glances up at me. ‘It’s a very fine moonstone and I believe I recognise the crest. Which part of France did your father come from?’

‘My mother said he originated from Fontainebleau. His name was Philippe Moreau.’

‘Ah! Then I’m right. Philippe Moreau is the name of the eldest son of Louis-François Moreau, Duc de Limours. The family seat, Château de Lys, is near Fontainebleau, I believe.’

Stunned, I shake my head. My father, the son of a duke! During my childhood I had woven stories in which I was a long-lost princess, but this was no less fantastical.

‘Is the Duc de Limours still alive?’ I ask.

De Roussell shrugs. ‘As to that I cannot say. But there is another son, I believe.’

I hardly remember taking my leave of the marquis or saying my goodbyes to Georgiana in my hurry to tell Sophie of the news.

When I arrive, quite out of breath, at Sophie’s house, she’s in the drawing room and looks up at me with an anxious expression. ‘Did you hear any gossip about me?’ she asks.

‘None at all.’ I run and clasp her hands. ‘But you can’t imagine my news,’ I say. ‘I showed Papa’s ring to the Marquis de Roussell and he tells me that Papa was the son of a duke and that I may have an uncle, too!’

‘No!’ Sophie shrieks in delight. ‘You
must
seek them out.’

It’s an exciting but breathtakingly impossible idea, travelling to revolutionary France to find them. ‘I couldn’t. It’s so far away, and they probably don’t even know I exist.’

‘Maddy, you’ve wondered about them all your life. And now that your parents aren’t here to stop you…’

I close my eyes as a shaft of pain pierces my heart again.

She hugs me, sympathetic tears welling in her own eyes. ‘Whatever difficulties life presents us with, Maddy, at least we will always have each other.’

We talk about my discovery until it’s too late for me to stay out any longer.

I return to Soho Square and eventually fall asleep in my nasty cell, my mind full of images of unfamiliar places and shadowy, faceless relatives.

 

 

Christmas Day comes and, although the Jephcotts dutifully include me in their festivities, I’m desolate. Echoes of earlier Christmases haunt me. I cannot help but remember the affection between the three of us when Mama and I sat by the fire roasting chestnuts, while Papa serenaded us with carols. Soho Square holds too many loving memories for me not to feel miserable now that Mama and Papa have gone. The school they established together is no longer my beloved home.

The day after Christmas I walk to the Levesque house to take my gift of a set of pewter soldiers to Henry, who throws his arms around me in delight.

Sophie has tears in her eyes as she greets me.

‘Henry,’ I say, ‘perhaps you would take your soldiers up to the nursery?’

‘What’s the matter, Sophie?’ I ask as soon as the door has closed behind him.

‘Maddy, I don’t know what to do,’ she whispers.

‘Is it Charles again?’

She shakes her head. ‘I’m going to have another baby.’

‘But that’s wonderful news!’

‘No, it isn’t. It’s not Charles’s child.’

‘Not…’ Shock silences me.

‘Charles hasn’t been near my bed for months.’ She looks at me now, her eyes full of fear. ‘It’s Jack’s baby. If Charles finds out he’ll kill me.’

I don’t doubt it. At the very best he’ll turn her into the streets and never let her see Henry again. ‘Sophie, what will you do?’

‘What can I do, apart from take Henry and run away?’

‘Charles wouldn’t rest until he found you.’

‘Maddy, come with me?’ Her eyes plead with me. ‘You want to find your papa’s relatives. We could go to France together.’

I’m aghast. ‘Sophie, talking about it is one thing, actually travelling on our own to France is quite another.’

‘Mary Wollstonecraft did. And several other ladies of our acquaintance.’ She grips my wrist, a fevered light in her brown eyes. ‘
Please
, Maddy! I’m so frightened.’

A tingle of excitement begins to runs through my veins. I cannot bear to remain in Soho Square for much longer and, more than ever, I want to find my French family. Could we really find a way to travel to France in its present state of upheaval? ‘I suppose we could ask Miss Wollstonecraft’s advice on how to go about it,’ I say.

‘We must call on her today,’ urges Sophie.

‘But, Sophie, if Charles hears what we’re intending, he’ll put a stop to it. You must ask his permission to travel. If you can persuade him to allow you to go, he’ll have no need to come racing after you. If we leave here before your condition becomes apparent we can live quietly in France until the baby is born. And then…’

‘And then what?’ asks Sophie.

‘You must have the baby adopted.’ She makes a mew of distress and I grip her hand. ‘If you want to keep Henry at your side, you have no other choice.’ I watch her face crumple. It hurts me to be so brutal but she must face facts.

‘So the price of my adultery is that I must choose between my children?’

I don’t answer. Nothing I can say will change that cruel truth. ‘Let’s ask Charles now,’ I say.

‘Will you do it?’ Sophie’s face is full of fear.

Five minutes later I knock on the door of Charles Levesque’s study. Sophie grips my hand as I ask his permission for her to undertake the journey.

Charles shakes his head so that all his chins wobble and glares at Sophie. ‘Go if you want to, Madam, but you’re not taking my son.’

‘Oh, but…’

‘Henry stays in his nursery. I’m not having him dragged about all over the place and at risk of contracting some foreign disease. The continent is full of vermin and dangerous fevers.’ He glances at the clock. ‘You’ve delayed me. I doubt I’ll return for dinner tonight.’

After he has gone, Sophie weeps on my shoulder. ‘I’ve no choice but to leave Henry behind, have I?’

‘Not if you want to see him again,’ I say.