Christina Hollis (23 page)

She kept her voice light, although losing him to Leonora made it so difficult. Philip had been looking towards the far horizon, but as she spoke he looked down at her with a jerk of his head. It was such a sudden movement, Madeleine thought he must have sensed some unwitting sarcasm in her voice.

‘Miss Leonora is a charming girl, sir. She would make an excellent wife should a gentleman like you ever wish to settle down.’

Even those few words did not seem the right ones. He stepped away from her, straightening his jacket as he did so.

‘It must be near midnight, mademoiselle. We should not forget the danger of your position. If you are quite recovered, we should be on our way with all speed.’

The next day, Madeleine had a surprise. Jack called in to see Philip on the way home from his rounds, as he often did. Madeleine and Mistress Constance had been busy in the dairy, but Jack visited them too.
        ‘Charlotte regrets she has a summer cold and must postpone your visit planned for tomorrow, mademoiselle. To make amends, she has sent you this...’ Waving a pink envelope, he advanced into the dairy with a laugh.

To avoid suspicion Michael had been asked to reply to Charlotte’s address. Madeleine’s spirits soared, then plummeted as she took the envelope from Jack. It was neat and new. Anything that had travelled all the way from France would have been battered and weary.

‘Thank you, Jack,’ she said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

‘Cheer up! There was another reason why I came in this afternoon—to invite Philip to a play that’s being put on over at Saxton’s Mead tonight. Would you allow mademoiselle to accompany us, Mistress Constance? It is only an informal gathering. I doubt that anyone there would take offence if her two chaperons were a doctor and a country gentleman!’

This was an honour indeed. Madeleine had never been to the theatre, although she had heard gossip about its rascally artistes. She accepted readily once Mistress Constance gave a grudging agreement.

‘How many others will be coming with us?’

Jack laughed. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’ve got two gentlemen keeping you company, mademoiselle? No— this is an occasion for the three of us alone.’

‘I’m surprised the lady has accepted, Jack. You must have some magnetic quality to attract Mademoiselle Madeleine away from her work,’ Philip said sharply, following his friend into the dairy.

Madeleine looked for sarcasm in his face, but saw only resignation.

‘On the contrary, sir. I was ready for a break, and should love to come.’

‘Very well,’ Jack grinned. ‘If the carriage were to leave here at six, mademoiselle, would that give you enough time to get ready?’

Madeleine was delighted, and said so. Even washing up the dairy things wouldn’t seem such a chore if there was to be a treat at the end of it.

‘If there was time... I could read you Mistress Charlotte’s letter before we went—’ Philip began in an offhand manner.

‘Oh, that’s all right.’ Madeleine shrugged. ‘Mistress Constance has been teaching me, and Charlotte has been helping, too, when I visit her.’

She looked back to her work, and when she glanced up again Philip had left. Jack remained only long enough to get a fingerful of cream from the nearest setting pan and a scolding from Mistress Constance.

Leaving the wet utensils on their rack to dry, Madeleine went on to deal with that day’s butter. It always gave her great satisfaction to press the butter into its moulds, turning out each pat with the perfect imprint of a swan.

Once the tray of new butter pats had been put in the gauze cabinet away from flies, Madeleine had finished her work for the afternoon. With a warning from Mistress Constance to be back home by nine o’clock, she was free to go inside, get ready and study her letter. She read slowly.

My dear Madeleine, I am so sorry we will not be able to see you tomorrow. A letter has arrived at last—I opened it as you instructed, but I am afraid the news is not good. Michael is feeling very sorry for himself at losing Kitty, and cannot understand why he said such awful things to her. He sees himself as the real black sheep of the family now, with no future here. He has determined to make a good life for himself and his little son without bringing further shame to either Kitty or his family.

Michael’s excuses and arguments seemed very poor to Madeleine, but true to the stubborn streak she had sometimes noticed in Philip. She unfolded the letter fully and discovered she was not the only one to hold that opinion.

He speaks of selling up his interests in France before the troubles grow too great, and heading for America. Realising that speed is now of the essence, I replied by return on your behalf telling him not to be so foolish. Feeling gloomy himself is no reason for treating his poor family in this way, and I told him so. A second voice of reason may make him see sense.

Madeleine studied the letter for some time, wondering why Charlotte had not commented upon Michael’s mention of a son. Perhaps she was not the only one to have drawn conclusions about Kitty Pettigrew.
        Time was running on. Madeleine washed with care, and made good use of the jars that stood on her dressing-table. Many of the creams had a faintly rancid smell, as though kept too long, and she took care to use only the freshest. The scented powder was her favourite. She dusted herself all over with it, then spent the next ten minutes brushing traces of white powder from the dark blue dress she had pulled on rather carelessly.

She chose white gloves to match the sprigs of white flowers on her dress, and a plain straw hat. It was difficult to know what to expect, so Madeleine had chosen the clothes as being up to date but not outlandish.

Sitting down in the window-seat, she spent her wait adding a dark blue ribbon to her hat and thinking about the elusive Michael. If only he could come home, Philip would have a life of his own again. Michael would, of course, sweep Kitty off her feet the instant he arrived, so his brother would have no difficulty there. The way would be open for Miss Leonora Wright to become Philip’s adoring wife, and everyone would live happily ever after.

Everyone except Madeleine. She bit her lip and tried to concentrate on how happy Philip would be, free of Willowbury at last.

Saxton’s Mead wasn’t the grand venue that Madeleine expected. An assortment of farm workers and poor folk sat about on straw bales and watched a knock-about pantomime.

The skills were crude, the songs noisy and half the cast had to be recruited from the audience. Refreshment came from cider flagons passed from hand to hand.

Jack and Philip were only mildly amused by the rustic entertainment, but Madeleine was in her element.

It was just like the street plays in Paris. She even put her fingers to her mouth to whistle at the villain, but remembered her manners just in time. To cover her embarrassment she pretended to nibble her gloves in excitement, like a well-brought-up young lady.

When the play was over, Madeleine was relieved to find that Philip had become a little less tense. During the return journey the two young men entertained her with tales of their time spent as students.

The atmosphere was quite jolly as the carriage crunched up the gravelled drive to Willowbury. Holding his watch to the window, Jack studied the dial.

‘There’s still three-quarters of an hour before Mademoiselle Madeleine’s curfew.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s have a party on the lawn, just the three of us! As I pride myself on being unsafe alone with ladies, mademoiselle, I’ll raid the larder while you and Phil put down the travelling rugs...’

He opened the door and leapt out before the carriage had stopped. Philip had retired into silence again, so Madeleine ventured a question.

‘Do you mind, Master Philip?’

‘When Jack sets his heart on a thing, who am I to refuse him?’

‘If you prefer, I could make some excuse—’

‘No.’ He rose as the coach shuddered to a halt and stepped down to help Madeleine out. She fancied that the light touch of his hand lingered, but shrugged it off as imagination. He had Leonora, after all.

Taking thick woolen rugs from the carriage, they crossed the lawn to find a good place near the river-bank. As Higgins drove the carriage away, the evening closed about them and muffled their footsteps.

‘Your father never went as far as actually disinheriting your brother, Master Philip?’ Madeleine ventured with a careless air.

‘Of course not,’ He said, but kindly. ‘A lot of things were said in the heat of the moment, but Father told me he regretted them as soon as Michael stormed out. It was too late then.’

He stopped walking, which Madeleine took to be a sign he had found the right spot. She shook out the rug she carried, and spread it on the grass.

‘Would you welcome him back, sir, if he was to see sense?’

Philip did not move as she sat down, but stood looking at her. In the evening light his dark hair was all shadow, his pale-featured face serious and watchful.

‘If. But I doubt that he will. We’re too alike—both unwilling to lay ourselves open to shame and ridicule.’

He did sit down then, but a respectable distance away from Madeleine. One elbow resting upon his knee, he sat lost in thought for some time. At last, looking across the misting river, he said quietly, ‘Sometimes I suspect Jack thinks I’m brooding over nothing. Do you, mademoiselle?’

‘Does Jack know the whole story, as you told it to me?’

Philip shook his head. ‘He doesn’t know that what I did—my principles over the awful business with Kitty—was the real reason we lost Michael. And I can’t tell him.’

‘He’s your friend, Master Philip.’ Madeleine lowered her voice to a whisper as Jack came out of the house whistling. ‘I’m sure he’ll understand. Tell him, and he’ll say you made exactly the right decision, and if Michael couldn’t accept that then it was no fault of yours. Go on. Tell Jack. You know what they say—a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

‘Yes,’ Philip said quietly. ‘And I’ve shared mine with you.’

Next morning at breakfast Philip was already at the table when Madeleine and Mistress Constance arrived. Although he rose politely and muttered a greeting, Madeleine could see that all was not well.
        ‘He had been toying with his cutlery, which lay in disarray. Greeting him gaily, Mistress Constance set it to rights for him despite his complaints.

Madeleine was not impressed with this behaviour. ‘To think of all the hours Higgins spends polishing the silver, Master Philip. And all for you to paw it about.’

Without moving his head, he flicked a glance in Madeleine’s direction. He was clearly not in a mood to be jollied along.

As the breakfast trolley clattered into the room, Philip cleared his throat. ‘I thought Leonora and her father might appreciate a trip to Cheltenham, Mother. I was going to invite Jack, too. He and I could stay on in town while the Wrights travel home in the coach this evening.’

‘Isn’t our company good enough for you, then, Philip? All I can say is, if Jack Pritchard wasn’t such a true friend to you I might look suspiciously upon the matter.’

Mistress Constance helped herself to fried kidneys on toast as Higgins and Betsy bustled about the table.

‘I intend my visit to last for several days,’ Philip murmured as though expecting opposition.

‘Oho! You don’t escape from us that easily, Philip. Remember—it’s the county ball on Friday. You can’t miss that!’

‘I had forgotten.’ He slumped back in his chair as Higgins deftly dealt him a mixed fry. ‘More standing around in uncomfortable clothes trying to look as though we’re enjoying ourselves.’

He played with his breakfast, pushing the items around his plate rather than eating them. Mistress Constance openly wondered if her son was sickening for something, but Madeleine knew exactly what the trouble was.

Philip was soon to be seeing Leonora again. Things must be reaching a delicate state—this must be it. He and Leonora were about to make their affair public.

Madeleine knew that when the time came she would not be able to bear it.

When Mistress Constance had finished her breakfast, she left to take up her embroidery in the parlour. Madeleine and Adamson were left alone together in the dining-room.

While Madeleine finished her last piece of toast and honey, Philip frowned into his empty glass.

‘Would any right-thinking young lady want a man whose mother still fusses over his cutlery for him, mademoiselle?’

The question was light-hearted enough. Trying to convince herself of what a sensible wife Leonora would make, Madeleine reached over and patted his hand.

‘They’ll be queuing up for the chance.’

She thought back to Leonora’s looks of complete devotion.

‘And do you think,’ he looked up from his glass, ‘that one of them might even want to marry me?’

He was serious now. The subject was too painful, and Madeleine stood up to leave.

‘That you will only find out when you ask one, sir.’

She started for the door, but as she passed behind his chair he called her name.

‘I was wondering...’ he said slowly ‘...about this trip to the shops with Leonora. I’ve just had an idea that I might—that is, I was thinking... The county ball on Friday, mademoiselle. If I was going to make any sort of announcement then...about a personal matter, I’d need to give a present, too, wouldn’t I? I wondered if you had any idea...’

He was intent on studying his abandoned breakfast, and didn’t look at her as he spoke. Madeleine gripped the back of his chair, wondering how he could be so hurtful. To ask her to choose an engagement present for Leonora. He must be completely without feeling.

‘Jewellery is always acceptable,’ she said levelly, although her heart was in shreds. ‘Or anything pretty to wear...’

Madeleine did not wait to see whether her words had struck a chord. To be asked what gifts another girl would like... She had been right at the very beginning— Philip Adamson was an unfeeling brute.

Worse was to come. On the morning of the ball, Jack arrived with a message. Philip would be travelling on to the ball directly after dining at the vicarage. Mistress Constance and Madeleine were to travel on without him.
        When the time came to get ready, Madeleine was determined to dazzle.