Christina Hollis (7 page)

Her food had been stolen!

There was no trace of the things that she had hidden so carefully. Madeleine cursed. What if the Adamsons ran out of food—then where would she be? Only a few slices of cold mutton between her and starvation.

She had to start again. Her first priority was to find a better hiding-place. For the next hour she went over the room by the light of one small candle until she found a promising nook. No one would think to look between the solid back of the wash-stand and the wall. Even Madeleine could barely get her small fingers in through the gap.

Now she could see about building up her stocks again.

The house was silent as Madeleine left her room and stole across the landing, wincing at every creaking floorboard as she crept along.

When she was halfway down the stairs a clicking whirr froze Madeleine in her tracks. Only when the hall clock finished striking the half-hour did she breathe easily again.

Once downstairs, she found that the kitchen door was not only closed, but locked too. That seemed very odd to Madeleine. Out of curiosity she tried the sitting-room door. That too was locked.

They knew. The Adamsons had seen through her subterfuge and thought she was going to make off with the family silver. Madeleine looked wildly back up the stairs, expecting to be confronted by staff who had been lying in wait for just such a moment.

Her hand had brushed the library door, and it swung open away from her.

‘Michael?’

Whether the voice was bleared with wine or merely the lateness of the hour Madeleine could not tell. It certainly did not sound threatening, so she pushed the door a little further.

‘It’s Madeleine, Master Philip.’

A dragging rumble and the smash of breaking glass made Madeleine enter, whatever the consequences.

Philip Adamson was sitting at the writing-desk, his back towards her. The room was lit only by the paleness of the summer night sky outside.

He did not speak until Madeleine had touched a candle alight with her own and set it before him.

‘Hi-Higgins thinks he’s so clever...hiding the drink every night. But two can play at—at that...Would you believe I could be devious enough to hide things, mademoiselle?’

She stepped over the pretty little glass that lay smashed on the floor beside his desk.

‘Certainly, sir. The only saints are in heaven, as far as I know. Who is Michael?’

‘Nobody.’

Adamson stared into space. Madeleine had been around the bars of the Rue Mouffetard long enough to know that drinkers came in three varieties: the violent, the carefree and the morose. It was easy to see which sort Adamson was.

‘I—I don’t want to go back to England. I can’t...Not now...’

‘Bed.’

Lost in confusion, he turned large puzzled eyes to her. Candlelight was harsh to his pale face, sharpening the already thin features still further. Carefully avoiding the broken glass, Madeleine crouched down beside him and took his hands.

‘Leave this and go up to bed. Nothing will ever start to look better through the bottom of a glass, sir, whatever it is.’

He shook his head slowly, squeezing her hands in his as he did so. He was determined to feel sorry for himself, and Madeleine knew that down that path was total destruction. She persevered, wondering what Kitty Pettigrew would think of him now.

‘No decent lady will look at you twice if you’re going to get in a state like this.’

‘I’m not drunk, mademoiselle...’

Adamson pulled himself upright in his seat and regained at least a little composure. Madeleine smiled.

‘No. Not really.’

He had lost the ribbon from his hair and Madeleine automatically raised her hand to push the dark waves back from his face. Although he frowned uncertainly, Adamson did not flinch from her touch.

At their first meeting, Madeleine had expected the worst. Now she knew Adamson really did not heed others.

‘I—I’ve got to find Michael...’

Madeleine could not bear to see the restrained and formal Adamson brought to such a pass, whatever the cause. She stood up, drawing him to his feet too.

‘Get a few hours’ sleep first, sir. Everything always looks better by morning light. Come on. I’ll take you up to your room. Lean on me.’

He was not so unstable that he had difficulty in walking, but the arm about Madeleine’s shoulders was heavy in spirit. She was glad Mistress Constance had confessed to being a heavy sleeper, for the noise they made going upstairs was considerable.

At the top Madeleine cast about while Adamson swayed gently beside her.

‘Which way?’

He pointed unsteadily at a door which was a comforting distance from Mistress Constance’s room. Even Madeleine realised it would not be quite the done thing for a lady’s companion to be discovered in this sort of situation.

After they had battled to the room and got safely inside, Madeleine sat Adamson down on the bed. After checking that the house was still sleeping, she closed the door. Going back to him, she knelt down and started to remove his shoes and stockings.

‘What—what are you doing?’

‘I’ve told you. I’m putting you to bed.’

‘That’s a job for H-Higgins...’

‘You can’t disturb him in the middle of the night just because you’re too moody to go to bed at a decent time.’

Adamson frowned at this, but said nothing and remained limp as Madeleine removed his jacket. When she started to undo his waistcoat buttons he seemed to get the message and began pulling absently at his shirt.

‘What have you been drinking?’

‘Brandy. And wine, when the brandy was gone.’

‘You ought to have more sense.’

‘I don’t usually have more than a glass or two...normally—but tonight...’

He sighed, but managed to wrestle his way out of his shirt unaided. Madeleine had come across a nightshirt laid out on the bed and gathered it up to go over his head.

She left him struggling out of his breeches while she poured him some water.

When she sensed his struggles with the nightshirt were at an end, she turned back to face him.

‘Here—drink this.’

‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near here, mademoiselle.’ He took a sip of water before placing the glass on his bedside table. ‘Why don’t you take yourself, and Mother and Higgins and Betsy, off back to England and leave me to fade away here in peace?’

Madeleine retreated a little at the blackness of his tone. ‘Oh...’

‘Exactly, mademoiselle. I don’t want to go home. That is the top and the bottom of it. It’s total misery, and I can’t bear it any more... I don’t want to go home, I can’t do the work, I don’t ever know what to do and I can’t stand it any more—’

‘Oh, do hush up!’

He was in danger of losing what little self-control he had left. Madeleine sat down beside him on the bed and pulled his hands away from his despairing face.

‘Stop it!’ she hissed crossly. ‘I’ve never seen such a ridiculous display in all my life. There are people out there on the streets who would give anything to live in this sort of “misery”. Good clothes, food and to waste, beautiful, clean houses—’

‘At least they’re free to do what they want!’ His sudden outburst surprised Madeleine into silence. ‘What have I got? Nothing! No career—no chance to be of any use to anyone—just a parcel of land and an acreage of responsibility! And it’s all Michael’s fault!’

Mists were beginning to clear from Madeleine’s mind.

‘Your brother Michael has gone off, leaving you in charge of everything at home...’ she worked out slowly. Adamson nodded, staring into the shadows with a look of bitter amusement.

‘He was the farmer, set to inherit. Why did he have to go? He would have been happy working the estate—as happy as I was in medical school. Instead he stormed off and everything’s been left to me. I’m the one left robbing Peter to pay Paul so that the creditors can be kept at bay... I’m the one that has to get up before dawn and is never in bed before midnight. It’s all fallen to me. All day, each and every day...it’s never-ending. I’m always so tired—’

Madeleine had sat beside him in silence, but at that she slipped her arm about him.

‘I don’t think doctors sit about doing nothing, sir.’

‘That’s different,’ he said roughly. ‘That’s a vocation. Helping people... It’s what I’ve always wanted to do...’

‘Well, you aren’t helping your poor mother overmuch by getting in this state, are you?’

At once his entire attitude changed. Horror flooded his face and he sat upright.

‘My God! Mother! You won’t tell her about all this, will you, mademoiselle? She doesn’t know how much I loathe estate work—and if she as much as suspected that I’d taken out loans—’

‘I won’t say a thing. And the details of your little assignation with Miss Kitty will stay a secret from her, too.’

‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’

The look of relief on his face was so great that Madeleine laughed and stood up to go.

‘Don’t mention it, Master Philip!’ With an impetuous gesture she bent and kissed him full on the lips as Kitty had done. To her amazement his reaction this time was quite different. His arms slipped about her waist and she was held firmly. Drawing back in astonishment, she found he did not release her.

‘Please—don’t go, Madeleine. Not yet...’ he breathed unsteadily into the night.

Madeleine knew she should cry out and wake the whole house. She also knew she could not allow herself to do so. To disgrace Master Philip when she had openly invited herself into his room—it would be unthinkable.

She swallowed, hard, and tried not to look into his shadowed grey eyes with their unspoken question.

‘I—I must...’

‘No.’

Standing up, he seized her in an embrace that was painfully persistent. Before she could cry out, Madeleine’s mouth was stopped by a kiss so eager for possession that the blood began to pound in her ears. In a confusion of laces and frills Adamson began pawing at her frantically.

‘Madeleine—I’ve been longing —’

Suddenly he fell to the floor, his suffering enhanced by a swift knee in the parts that were longing the most. As he gasped and cursed and tried to catch his breath, Madeleine took the glass of water from beside his bed and knelt to offer it.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I should never have come in here in the first place.’

‘You—you...!’ Unable to think of anything wicked enough to call her, Adamson refused the water and hurled himself on to his bed.

‘I’ve said I’m sorry, sir!’

‘There’s a name for girls like you,’ he muttered angrily. ‘You kissed me!’

‘I only did as I had seen Miss Kitty do earlier, sir. I thought it must be an accepted thing among the English.’

Madeleine put down the glass and took a step back. There was no need. Adamson was still fuming, but the hand he raised did nothing more than push a lock of dark hair back out of his eyes.

Standing up in silence, he pulled at the bedclothes then threw himself down into the bed. There he lay in rigid and perfect silence.

Madeleine considered herself dismissed.

Next morning Madeleine was up before sparrow-cough and out in the already warm city. She still had a few sous left from the change Mistress Constance had given her, and she had some shopping to do.

Her return was greeted with a surprising amount of rejoicing. Mistress Constance was squeaking from the stairs, clad in a violently purple dressing-gown and with her hair still set in rags.

‘Oh, Madeleine! Thank goodness you’re safe! Wherever have you been? We’ve been hearing that all sorts of dreadful things are going on...’

‘The raid on Invalides? It’s all over. The people have got the guns they were after—it’s ammunition they want now. The news is they’ve marched off to the Bastille to get it. And about time, too,’ she finished in an undertone.

Mistress Constance shrieked and started running back upstairs.

‘It’s all right, madame! We’re quite safe while they’re so far away. And it was quite a peaceful march, they say.’

‘But guns? Ammunition?’

‘They are being threatened with violence by thirty thousand armed soldiers, madame! They can hardly defend themselves with sticks and stones, can they?’

Mistress Constance hesitated, saw that Madeleine was genuinely unconcerned, then began to creep down the stairs.

‘It’s very early to have been shopping, Madeleine. What have you been buying?’

‘Extravagances, I’m afraid, madame.’ Madeleine had the sense to look coy as she blushed. ‘Lemons, fresh ginger, peppercorns—’

‘Oh, my word!’ Fright forgotten, Mistress Constance began to giggle. ‘We must have baskets of all those things in the kitchen!’

Madeleine was utterly astonished. ‘Really?’

‘Of course, dear child! It isn’t only you French who know how to live. And if we need anything—why, it’s delivered, of course!’

‘You don’t ever go to the market?’

‘Good heavens, no! What on earth would I want to do that for?’

Bewildered at amusing Mistress Constance, Madeleine escaped to the kitchen and started unintentionally amusing the staff.

While they watched she rolled the warm lemons and squeezed their juice into a cup. To this she added grated ginger root, crushed peppercorns, and a suspicion of salt. Leaving the English staff intrigued, she went off to present it to their master.

This morning his bedroom was hot, shadowy and quiet. Adamson was sprawled in a tangle of sheets and pillows. He didn’t stir when Madeleine sat down beside him and only grunted indistinctly when she spoke his name.

‘Come on. It’s past eight o’clock.’

‘Oh, my God...’ he managed after a moment’s thought. The tone was horror-stricken enough to tell Madeleine that she would be quite safe this morning.

Slowly a pillow moved, a sheet slid back and Adamson was partly revealed. His eyes were still tightly closed.

‘What did you tell Mother?’

‘Nothing.’

At this he opened his eyes, but shut them again quickly with a grimace.

‘Then go away and leave me alone.’

‘Certainly not, Master Philip. Indeed, if you don’t sit up and start taking notice right now—I shall shake you!’

He opened his eyes again at this astonishing remark and winced at sunlight filtering through the shutters.