Christina Hollis (13 page)

While Mr Wright took a glass of wine, Adamson escorted Leonora off for a tour of the lawn. Arm in arm they strolled through the open garden doors.

‘A pretty couple,’ Mistress Constance began, but the parson anticipated her.

‘I hope you do not allow Mr Pettigrew to hear you saying such things, ma’am!’ He chuckled. ‘Our friend often says what a good match his Kitty would be for Philip!’

Madeleine feigned innocence. ‘Doesn’t Master Philip have a say in the matter?’

Mistress Constance and the parson exchanged a quick glance. ‘He’s so secretive about such things, Madeleine, that only the county gossip provides any information. He certainly wouldn’t stoop to tell us himself!’

Before Madeleine could reply, the circuit of the front lawn was completed and the happy couple came within earshot of the garden doors again. Mistress Constance quickly raised her voice.

‘Ah, Philip. I was telling Mr Wright how sorry you were to come home from Paris.’

Adamson led Leonora into the room as Betsy arrived to announce dinner.

‘Paris is long ago and far away now, Mother.’ He bent and kissed Mistress Constance lightly. ‘Don’t you agree, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’

‘Indeed, sir.’ Madeleine revived a little when he showed no signs of his earlier anger towards her. ‘And thought all the better of for it.’

The company laughed, and prepared to go in to their meal. The Reverend Mr Wright took Mistress Constance by the arm, and Adamson escorted Leonora.

Madeleine was left to tag along behind, like a cow’s tail.

The dining-room radiated a warmth that almost made Madeleine forget her earlier shame. The oak-panelled room was decorated with heavy velvet draperies in rich currant-red, enlivened by gold braiding and tassels. Although there were no mats or rugs, the wide floorboards had been polished to a shimmer of deep antique bronze.

While the party were conversing in the sitting-room, Higgins had dressed up the table and laid two extra places. Crystal glasses, fine silver and decanters were all on display while an arrangement of pink roses spilled over the purity of a white cloth.

The Adamsons and their guests all sat at one end of the long dining table, so that conversation would not be strained by distance. As hostess, Mistress Constance sat at the head, with the parson on her left and Leonora on her right. Madeleine sat beside Mr Wright. Although only the table’s width separated her from Adamson, she felt a great gulf opening between them.

He laughed, and spoke entertainingly to Leonora and her father. Adamson was never as animated when he spoke to Madeleine.

Except when he was angry with her.

Madeleine had to keep her wits about her during the meal. With such a battery of cutlery laid out her first reaction was one of horror.
        She had to devise subtle methods of delay so that she could watch the others. Looking for her handkerchief, dropping her napkin, or fiddling with the catch of her bracelet all gave her time to see which implement the others went for.

The only major mistake she was aware of came with the soup. In an eagerness of perpetual hunger Madeleine slit open her bread roll with a knife before noticing that everyone else had torn the bread apart with their fingers. Like peasants.

She saw, and remembered.

‘Do you find England differs greatly from your native land, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’ the parson enquired kindly.

Madeleine had been reprimanded for speaking with her mouth full before. This time she took care to swallow hurriedly before replying.

‘People seem much the same in both countries, sir. Although I must confess that your fingerbowls have me intrigued. At home we use vessels like this to drink from.’

Adamson paused in his conversation with Leonora.

‘Really? I never heard tell of that during our stay. It must be regional to your part of the country, mademoiselle.’

Yes—the poor part, Madeleine thought but smiled and said, ‘Indeed, Master Philip, it must be as regional as poverty is in England. I declare—I haven’t seen a poor person since I arrived at Willowbury!’

‘And a good thing too.’ Mistress Constance fanned herself with her napkin, setting her cap ribbons fluttering. ‘All the country people around here are well cared for, Madeleine. It’s only agents provocateurs sent over by the French that pass as beggarly malcontents here. Oh! Madeleine—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean...’

Madeleine shrugged off the apology with a smile.

‘Mademoiselle Madeleine couldn’t possibly be mistaken for an agent provocateur, could you, my dear?’ The parson chuckled. ‘In any case, those rascals are in for a shock if they think they can whip England into a revolution like their own. They can’t beat us fair and square, so they have to resort to that. Pah!’

The Reverend Mr Wright continued to mutter into his glass, but his daughter looked apprehensive.

‘It won’t come to that, will it? Not a revolution here in England?’

Leonora caught lightly at Adamson’s arm as she spoke and he smiled down at her indulgently.

‘There, Leonora—don’t distress yourself. I regret that your talk is upsetting the ladies, Reverend. Mademoiselle Madeleine in particular must be troubled by reference to the conduct of some of her countrymen.’

The parson dabbed at his mouth nervously with his napkin and changed the subject as instructed.

They spoke of the weather, the harvest to come and stock. Most of the details went over Madeleine’s head, but then, she was more concerned in impressing Leonora.

This wasn’t difficult. The girl was so nervous, she looked to Madeleine with some awe. This was despite the fact that Madeleine had begun the meal still wearing her cotton mittens. Only when Mistress Constance gave her a reminder were they removed to their proper place beside her plate.

There was so much to remember. Keeping company with Mistress Constance had prepared her for most things, but Madeleine was still apprehensive as the ladies were escorted back to the sitting-room after dinner.

‘I hope you enjoyed the meal as much as I did, mademoiselle,’ Leonora chirruped. ‘Our circumstances prevent me from enjoying society as much as I might, but of course dear Philip is very kind.’

I’ll bet he is, Madeleine thought, smiling carefully.

‘Unfortunately I lack the English social graces you excel in, Miss Leonora. I found it difficult this evening as Master Philip and his mother were acting as host and hostess. I must admit to feeling a little cast adrift!’

‘Then that must be rectified at all costs, mademoiselle.’ Suddenly Adamson was beside them. ‘Perhaps you and Miss Leonora could become better acquainted while we take a last walk around the grounds?’

That was a surprise. Madeleine smiled coyly and murmured about not wishing to disturb their companionship, but Adamson was not to be denied.

‘I should be honoured by your company, Mademoiselle Madeleine. Does that not make the request an order?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, but beneath the meekness was a tinge of defiance.

Romance dulled by duty, Madeleine followed Leonora and her Philip out into the dusky garden.

Peacock silhouettes mounted the gently sloping tree branches. The noisy birds were reduced to black shapes muffled against the deep blue of approaching night.

‘Aren’t you going to take my arm, mademoiselle?’ Adamson called as he turned to see what had delayed her. ‘I’ve never taken the place of a briar between lilies before. The thought appeals, I think.’

Leonora giggled, and Madeleine accepted Adamson’s offered arm grudgingly. All three walked to the post and rails fence that separated lawn from river-bank.

‘If we’re very quiet, the badgers may come down to drink. What breeze there is seems to be in our favour.’

‘Philip... I don’t know...’ Leonora began to move away.

‘You aren’t afraid, are you, little one? Mademoiselle— what about you? Badgers are a little smaller than my mother’s heifers, but no less heavy-footed!’

Madeleine didn’t know what a badger was, but the confiding lilt of his voice made her hang on tight to his arm. Such a pleasant fragrance always hung about Adamson, redolent of spice and expensive spirit. It mingled with the smell of his new jacket crackling beneath her fingers.

He calmed Leonora and all three looked down into the water. Made oil-dark by twilight, it was dimpling with swirling plashes as trout played.

The yelp of a moorhen echoed through the watermeadows. Water bats slipped from their willow-roosts and started to hawk through the shadowy trees. Swooping to sip from the river, they made the tiniest of splashes, as though elves were dancing on the water.

All the activity did at least prise Madeleine’s attention from Adamson. When he moved to speak it was as though she was hearing his voice for the first time, and she jumped.

‘You two young ladies aren’t getting cold?’

Madeleine had been enjoying the peace and quiet too much to notice the light breeze. In contrast Leonora shivered daintily and asked to be escorted back.

‘I should like to have stayed a little longer,’ Madeleine said regretfully as they prepared to return. ‘I would like to know what makes all those little night noises. Mice, I suppose.’

Leonora squeaked at the very thought.

‘Perhaps another occasion can be arranged for us to enjoy the evening air together, mademoiselle.’

He was speaking to Madeleine but looking at Leonora. After helping the young girl to rearrange her wrap, he began rubbing her cold hands between his own. They laughed together with the ease of long companionship, and Madeleine felt even more of an outsider.

Mistress Constance and the parson stood at the garden doors, watching the trio wander back across the lawn.

‘Time for us to go home, I’m afraid,’ Wright called.

Leonora complained bitterly until Adamson reminded her with a laugh that young ladies should be meek and submissive in all things.

There were the usual leaving gifts to be collected from the pantry. Adamson and Leonora went off together to fetch them.

They were still laughing.

Madeleine tried to make polite conversation with the parson and Mistress Constance, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her mind kept wandering back to what Philip Adamson had said beside the river. Did he mean to invite her out alone?

That seemed highly unlikely. Madeleine knew she would probably be just a handy chaperon for his idlings with Leonora Wright.

She knew that would be unbearable.

As they left, arrangements were made for the Adamsons to visit the vicarage for dinner at a future date. To Madeleine’s astonishment it seemed she was included in the invitation.

She smiled her thanks. Leonora was smiling too, and hugging Adamson in her delight. How much of this was excitement at the chance to play hostess and how much an excuse to snuggle up to him Madeleine did not like to guess.

While Mistress Constance and Madeleine started up the stairs to bed, Adamson accompanied the parson and his daughter back home in their pony and trap as a courtesy.

In the evening gloom there would be plenty of opportunity for Leonora to slip coyly under Adamson’s defences. Madeleine sighed. She had certainly ruined her own chances in that direction. Her recollections of his fury at the mistakes she had made earlier in the evening were all too clear.

‘I’m sorry I said all the wrong things to Mr and Mrs Pettigrew, Mistress Constance.’

They had reached the top of the stairs. The elderly woman gave an understanding smile as she bid Madeleine goodnight.

‘At least you will know now that the wretched couple are not to be encouraged, Madeleine. They seem to make Philip so uncomfortable, and their company certainly doesn’t do me a lot of good.’

‘No, madame.’

Mistress Constance dimpled at the soft reply. ‘I’m sorry your first day at Willowbury has been so fraught, Madeleine. Philip may be in a better mood tomorrow,’ she smiled again secretively. ‘And as he tells me you are keen to help us here, there will be dairying to be done. You’ll enjoy learning that, I’m sure!’

Madeleine was not convinced.

‘With the cows, madame?’

Mistress Constance laughed as she opened her bedroom door. ‘Good heavens no, child! A cow is the very last thing one would want in an English dairy!’

All Madeleine had to do was get ready for bed. Everything else, from turning down the bedclothes to snuffing the candles, was done for her by Betsy the maid. If this was living on the breadline, Madeleine wondered what plenty was like.

After nearly a fortnight of regular meals her urge to hoard food was dimming, but that unhappy night a nub of bread taken from the dining table brought her some comfort.

Sleep would not come. Madeleine kept turning things over in her mind...the mistakes she had made...the fright with the cows...

A hundred and one horrors, real and imagined, tumbled over and over until, too exhausted to think any more, she slept.

It seemed only a few minutes later that she was suddenly wide awake again. It was still quite dark, but outside a peacock shrieked in the gloom.

Then Madeleine heard another noise—the one that must have woken her: a light tapping from the far corner of the room.

She got up to explore, and found a door hidden behind thick drapes.

It must lead into the adjoining dressing-room, although Mistress Constance had told her that was unused.

The tapping came again, louder now. Silently, Madeleine crept to the door and put one hand to its handle. Then she hesitated, and reached out for a heavy ormolu candlestick that stood on the wash-stand.

It would serve as a weapon if the worst came to the worst.

Madeleine hefted the candlestick a couple of times to reassure herself of its weight.
        ‘Who is it?’

‘Only me.’

She sighed with relief. This sort of attention from Philip Adamson was far easier to deal with than his scorn.

Taking a firm grip on the candlestick, she opened the door and smiled.

‘Master Philip? You know what happened last time. Go back to bed before you do anything we might both regret,’ she whispered softly, her voice coloured with a smile.

He blinked at her through the shadows, confused. With his dark hair ruffled and the cravat loose about his neck he had the bewildered air of someone recently struck by a hurricane.