The Lavender Garden (46 page)

Édouard’s sobbing ceased suddenly and he looked up at Jacques.

“Tell me, who was the father?”

Jacques looked to Connie for help. She stood up and tentatively took a step toward him. “It was Frederik von Wehndorf. I’m sorry, Édouard.”

Silence hung long in the garden as Édouard processed the further revelation. This time he sighed, staggered over to his chair, and sat down abruptly as if his legs would carry him no longer.

As he sat in catatonic silence, Connie said softly, “Even you said Frederik was a good man, Édouard. He aided our escape from Paris and helped others at great cost to himself, like you. And whatever his uniform, he loved your sister very much.”

“I saw the love too,” added Jacques.

“You met him?” Édouard’s eyes were glazed over with shock.

“Yes. He came here to find Sophia,” explained Jacques. “At least she had a few hours of joy and comfort in the time before she died. There is more. Falk—”

“No more!” Édouard opened his mouth to continue speaking, then shut it as if no words he could say would express his feelings. “Sorry.” He stood up and walked drunkenly to the door of the walled garden. “I need to be alone.”

•  •  •

That evening, when Connie had fed Victoria her bedtime bottle and was settling her down for the night in the airy nursery she had created in one of the château bedrooms, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Édouard stood at the door, looking gray and haggard, his eyes red from weeping.

“Constance, I have come to offer my sincerest apologies for my treatment of you earlier. It was unforgivable.”

“I understand,” said Connie, only glad that Édouard seemed calmer. “Would you like to see your niece? She’s a beautiful little girl, the image of Sophia.”

“No . . . no! I cannot.”

With that, Édouard turned and walked away.

•  •  •

In the next few days, Connie rarely saw Édouard. He’d installed himself in the main bedroom of the château, just along the corridor. She’d hear him pacing the floors during the night, but he was out by the time she emerged in the morning. She glimpsed him from the windows of the château as she fed Victoria at dawn; a distant figure disappearing through the vines, his body language underlining his misery. He’d often be gone all day, returning home when it was dark and going straight up to his bedroom.

“He’s grieving, Constance. Let him be. He just needs time,” Jacques advised.

Connie understood, but as the days passed and Édouard showed no signs of rousing himself from his despair, her patience began to run out. She was desperate to finally return home. It was safe for her to travel now that the city of Paris was free, and she wanted to see her
husband. And, for the first time in four years, take up the reins of her
own
life once more.

But until Édouard was over his grief and could take responsibility for his niece, she could not walk out on Victoria. Her arms had been the first to hold her, and with Sophia initially too ill to acknowledge her child, followed by her death a few days later, Connie had seen to Victoria’s every need since.

Connie looked down at Victoria’s cherubic face, a tiny facsimile of her mother’s. She had been nervous that Sophia’s blindness might be hereditary, but she saw that Victoria’s beautiful blue eyes followed any bright colors Connie placed in front of her with grave interest. Recently, Victoria had learned to smile, and a huge beam would arrive on her face when Connie came to collect her from her cot. The wrench when she eventually had to say good-bye was something Connie currently couldn’t contemplate. She had become the child’s mother, and the overwhelming surge of love she felt for Victoria frightened her.

Connie prayed that one day, soon, she’d have her own babies with Lawrence.

•  •  •

After a week of Édouard’s constant solitary mourning, Connie decided she had to address the problem. Up early one morning with Victoria, she heard Édouard’s footsteps along the landing. She caught him as he was descending the stairs.

“Édouard, I’m afraid we must talk.”

He turned back slowly and regarded her. “What about?”

“The war is practically over. I have a husband and a life and I must go home to England.”

“Then go.” He shrugged and turned to continue down the stairs.

“Édouard, wait! What about Victoria? You will need to make arrangements for her to be cared for when I’ve gone. Perhaps you would consider hiring a nursemaid? I could help you find someone suitable.”

At this, Édouard turned again. “Constance, I wish to make it clear to you that I have no interest in
that
child.” He spat the words out. “It is the reason, along with its bastard father, why Sophia is no longer here.”

Connie was horrified by his coldness. “Édouard, surely you must see it’s not the child’s fault? She’s an innocent baby, who didn’t ask
to be born. I . . . it’s your responsibility as her uncle to take charge of her care!”

“No. I said no! Why don’t you make the arrangements, Constance? Perhaps there’s a local orphanage who will take her.” He sighed. “From what you say, you’ll wish this to happen as soon as possible. The faster that child is out of the house, the better. Please, do as you see fit with it. I will, of course, reimburse any costs.”

Édouard turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Connie reeling in shock.

•  •  •

“How can he say such terrible things?” Connie wrung her hands in despair as Jacques listened grimly an hour later.

“He’s grieving, as I said. Not just for Sophia, but for all he has lost in the war. His refusal to acknowledge the baby is because her presence gives him a focus for his blame. Of course he knows that the child is not responsible. He’s a man of integrity, who has never shirked his duty in his life. He’ll come round, Constance, I know he will.”

“But, Jacques, I
have
no more time,” Connie said despairingly. “Forgive me, but you must understand I have loved ones too whom I’m desperate to see. And knowing that if it wasn’t for Victoria I could travel home to England this very minute if I wished is proving almost impossible. Yet I love Victoria, and I can’t abandon her. How could Édouard mention an orphanage?” Tears spilled freely down Connie’s face as she looked at Victoria, gurgling happily on her blanket on the grass.

“Perhaps it doesn’t help that the baby resembles her mother so strongly.” Jacques sighed. “Constance, I swear to you, Édouard will eventually discover that this child could be the one thing he needs to bring him hope and joy for the future. But he’s lost in his own sorrow and can’t see anything.”

“So what do I do, Jacques? Please, tell me,” she begged. “I must go home! And I can’t wait much longer.”

“Let me talk to Édouard myself, see if I can knock some sense into him, bring him out of his self-pity.”

“I’m glad you used those words. I’m afraid that’s how I’m starting to feel about him too. There’s been so much suffering. For all of us.”

“As I said, Édouard is not normally a self-indulgent man.” Jacques nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

•  •  •

That evening, waiting on tenterhooks in the cottage, Connie watched as Jacques marched through the vineyard when he spotted Édouard returning home. She sent up a prayer. If Édouard would listen to anyone, it was Jacques. He was her only hope.

Putting Victoria to sleep in the bassinet she kept in the cottage for when she visited Jacques, Connie waited in an agony of suspense for him to return. When he did so, she knew at once from his expression that it was bad news.

“No, Constance”—he sighed—“he won’t be moved. He’s so full of bitterness and hatred . . . he’s a changed man. I don’t know what to suggest. I still believe that in time, as I’ve said, Édouard will come round. But you don’t have that time. I understand that. And you, of all people, who have given so much to this family, should not feel guilty that you wish to return to those you love. So, perhaps the orphanage I mentioned—”

“No!” Connie shook her head firmly. “Never would I abandon Victoria! I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

“Constance, I don’t know what you imagine, but the convent orphanage I’m talking of is clean and the nuns are kindly. There’s every chance a beautiful baby such as Victoria would find a suitable family immediately,” said Jacques, with far more conviction than he felt. “And please try to remember, Victoria is not your responsibility and you must now think of yourself.”

Connie gazed down silently at Victoria. “Then whose responsibility is she?”

“Listen to me”—Jacques put a hand gently on hers—“war is a time of cruelty, when there are many casualties. Not just the brave soldiers who have fought for their countries, but Sophia and her daughter too. Édouard is another. Maybe he’ll never be the same, for even though he lashes out at others so angrily, blaming them for Sophia’s death, it is in fact himself he holds responsible. You’ve done enough, my dear. You can do no more. And as someone who has come to admire and respect you, I think you must now walk away.”

“What about Victoria’s father? Surely, if Frederik knew Sophia was dead and Édouard was refusing to acknowledge the child, he would take her?”

“Yes, I’m sure he would, but how do you intend to go about finding him? He could be anywhere, or even dead, like Sophia.” Jacques shook his head. “Constance, the entire world is in chaos, displaced people everywhere. It would be a fruitless task and not one to even contemplate.”

“No, you’re right. It’s all . . . hopeless,” said Connie sadly. “There are no solutions.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll visit the convent in Draguignan and speak to the nuns to see if they’re able to take Victoria,” Jacques said gently. “You must believe that I care for her too. And I wouldn’t suggest she be left in a place that does not provide for her needs. But it’s time someone took the burden away from you. And as Édouard cannot seem to do that at present, then I will.”

•  •  •

Connie lay sleepless that night, tossing and turning, not knowing what was right or wrong anymore. The war seemed to have turned any sense of morality on its head, and she was struggling to hang on to hers.

Then she suddenly sat upright, an idea springing to her mind. What if
she
took Victoria back home to England with her . . .?

Climbing out of bed, she paced the floor restlessly, thinking it through.

No, it was ridiculous . . . apart from anything else, if she arrived home with a baby, years after she’d last seen her husband, would Lawrence believe the story she’d tell him? Or would he assume, as anyone would, that she was lying and the baby was hers?

Whatever Lawrence believed, presenting him with a child on her return after four years of separation would hardly be conducive to their relationship. It simply wasn’t fair to him.

Miserably, Connie crawled back into bed, hearing Jacques’s words again and knowing that, not just for her own sake, but for Lawrence’s too, she had no choice but to accept the inevitable. Jacques was right. There was always sacrifice during war. And she and her husband had made enough of their own for a lifetime.

•  •  •

Jacques returned the following evening from his trip to the orphanage.

“They will take her, Constance,” he said as he found her in the walled garden. “They’re full, but I offered them a considerable donation and they accepted. Édouard will pay, of course.”

Swallowing back tears, Connie nodded. “When will you take her?”

“I think it’s best for everyone if Victoria goes as soon as possible. I’ll ask Édouard for the money tonight and give him a last chance to change his mind.” Jacques grimaced. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll take Victoria in the morning.”

“Then I will accompany you,” insisted Connie.

“Is that a good idea?”

“None of it’s a good idea, but at least if I see where Victoria will be looked after for myself, I might feel better.” She sighed despairingly.

“As you wish.” Jacques nodded. “If Édouard has no change of heart, we’ll leave midmorning.”

That evening, Connie laid Victoria in her cot and sat watching the familiar movements for the last time as she fell asleep.

“Precious, precious child,” Connie whispered, “I am so very sorry.”

•  •  •

“Édouard will not change his mind.” Jacques shook his head sadly the following morning. “I asked for the money and he handed it to me without a word. Please ready yourself and the baby to leave as soon as possible.”

Connie had already packed Victoria’s things—anything to make the long, sleepless hours pass until the morning—and went to collect Victoria herself. As she walked downstairs from the nursery, Connie prayed for a last-minute reprieve; that Édouard might emerge from somewhere in the house or garden when he saw them taking Victoria away. But he was nowhere to be seen.

An old Citroën was parked in front of the cottage.

“I’ve saved the petrol for an occasion when it was really needed,” said Jacques. “We have just enough to get us there and back.”

As the little car shuddered into life and they drove away from the château, Connie sat next to Jacques with Victoria in her arms. Usually
such a good baby, Victoria screamed relentlessly all the way to Draguignan.

They arrived at the convent and Jacques took the small case Connie had packed for Victoria and led them toward the entrance. A nun ushered them inside into a calm waiting room, but the baby continued to scream in Connie’s arms.

“Hush, Victoria!” Connie looked up at Jacques with anguished eyes. “Do you think she knows?”

“No, Constance, I think she doesn’t like cars.” Jacques gave a ghost of a smile, trying to lighten the tension. Eventually, a nun dressed in a starched white uniform came into the room.

“Welcome, monsieur.” She nodded in recognition at Jacques, then surveyed Connie and Victoria. “And this is the baby and her mother?”

“No.” Connie shook her head. “I’m not Victoria’s mother.”

The nun gave a short, disbelieving nod and opened her arms. “Come, give me the child.”

Taking a deep breath, Connie handed Victoria to her. The baby screamed louder.

“Does she always cry like this?” The nun frowned.

“She never normally cries at all,” Connie assured her.