Christina Hollis (5 page)

An hour later Madeleine was being jolted through the Tuileries in one of the two Adamson coaches. With reckless abandon the coachman followed the main street to begin with, but was soon forced to take a detour. The Rue du Faubourg-St-Honoré was blocked with abandoned roadworks and gaggles of people jostling towards the corn market for handouts.
        The coach took a long-winded route, swaying across the river to avoid the worst trouble spots. During the many delays Madeleine’s mind was busy. She had an idea of how the situation might yet work to her advantage.

Mistress Constance had given her a handful of loose change. More money than Madeleine had owned in her life had been casually handed out as an afterthought. She knew every coin must be made to work for her.

The simplest thing would have been to disappear. She could have melted into the faceless throngs of citizens in the warrens around the Place de Grève. She would be taking with her the benefits of a nice new outfit, a fat purse of coins and a night in a proper bed— and all for nothing.

Cut and run—that would have been the safest thing.

Madeleine did not do the safest thing. It would have been so ungrateful after Mistress Constance’s hospitality. Besides, she told herself, how on earth can I be seen walking through my home ground dressed like this?

Neither was the real reason why she kept to the straight and narrow. Madeleine was more curious to learn about the Adamsons’ ‘wretched time’ than she realised. Not only that, but she couldn’t leave them before finding out what a ‘sub’ was.

If she kept her wits about her, there was a good chance all would be revealed. If only she could manage to keep up her pretence in front of the English.

The coach rumbled on to the Ile de la Cité. Madeleine risked pulling back a curtain on each side. Notre-Dame to her right, the Palais de Justice on her left—she was nearly home.

Familiar landmarks looked different from her new vantage point. The Ile seemed deserted, and as they progressed Madeleine inclined her head and waved regally at an imaginary rabble.

When a stray citizen really did wander into view, Madeleine instinctively threw herself on to the floor of the carriage, expecting him to throw a stone through the window.

Only when they had drawn into Châtelet did she gather up enough courage to stop the coach. Knocking on its ceiling, she felt the vehicle bounce to a halt with a grinding of brakes.

Almost immediately the door opened and Higgins pulled down the steps for her to alight.

This hadn’t been the plan at all. She had to go on her own, and this popinjay looked all set to accompany her.

Madeleine got out of the coach, but motioned Higgins to stay where he was as she walked sedately out of sight.

Once around the corner she picked up her skirts and ran as far as Ste Avoye.

Pausing for breath at the corner of Rue St-Antoine, she spotted half a dozen urchins hunkered down in the dust. They were intent on something and did not notice her approach.

‘Charlot?’

A dust-encrusted boy of about ten threw a look at her over his shoulder. To Madeleine’s surprise, he took no notice of her nice dress, but went back to his studies.

She went right up to Charlot and was about to tap him on the shoulder when she saw what the boys were looking at.

‘Dear God—a skeleton?’

‘Great, innit?’ Charlot laughed, the others joining in. ‘Me dad nicked it from the medical school in the riot last night. See? Its neck’s broke—’

Madeleine caught the urchin by his ear and dragged him upright. Charlot howled until he caught sight of the sou in her other hand.

‘See this? There’ll be others like it if you do as I say. I need fancy togs, and the shoes, stockings and gloves to go with them. Right now—and no questions asked. I’ll be waiting in a black coach in Châtelet. Don’t be long, and bring plenty!’

The spoils of the previous night’s looting had already lost much of their charm for the citizens. Inedible treasures such as clothes had been tossed aside and it didn’t take the boys long to collect up a whole wardrobe for Madeleine.

She had only been waiting in the coach for a few minutes when bundles of jewel-bright materials started to bob down the Rue St-Martin. Each travelled on a pair of spindly brown legs and ran towards the coach as Madeleine hailed them.

‘Blimey, Maddy, how did you get hold of this? You’ve never gone to the bad? Not you?’

To horrified mutterings from the English coachman, Charlot swung on the carriage door as he directed his troops in loading the spoils. His eyes were everywhere, acquisitive little fingers running over gilded family crests.

‘Just call it the wages of a certain little sin, Charlot.’

Madeleine grinned like a cat in a dairy, then rapped for the coach to drive on. Charlot was thrown backward by the lurching vehicle, but had a soft landing on top of his cronies. They were grovelling in the dust to retrieve the coins Madeleine was showering on them from the coach window.

Starting to rifle through her new clothes, Madeleine allowed herself a smile of triumph. She had pulled off a daring coup. Pulling the wool over English eyes again would hold no terrors for her now.

Back at the relative peace of the Adamsons’ villa, Madeleine was met by a relieved Mistress Constance. Her son had gone off to some meeting or other and she didn’t feel safe alone, with all the ruffians about.
        Madeleine smiled at the irony of this but reassured her hostess. Mistress Constance was too busy fussing about the jumble that Madeleine’s belongings were in to be reassured.

The French girl realised she would have problems in knowing what clothes suited which occasion, but she was crafty enough to have thought of a solution in advance.

‘Mistress Constance—I should value your help in choosing what to wear for the sub this evening. With my maid having run away and so much having been looted by the mob—’ that at least was generally true ‘—I shall be at a loss...’

‘Of course, my dear. My girl Betsy can dress your hair and make up your face for you. She has a rare hand for that sort of thing. You will be quite the prettiest there tonight. If that doesn’t bring a smile back to Philip’s face, nothing will.’

Madeleine spent such a wonderfully restful day, she began to think she really must be dreaming.

For a long time she sat with Mistress Constance in the library, looking at books she had no hope of understanding.

As agreed, Mistress Constance practised her French and taught Madeleine a few useful words and phrases of English. At first both were uncomfortable and uncertain, but by the time sunshine had warmed the gardens sufficiently for a walk they were firm friends.

When Philip Adamson returned and came out to find them they were almost sorry for the disturbance. Adamson, on the other hand, looked quite pleased with himself.

‘The danger has passed,’ he said confidently after pleasantries had been exchanged. ‘The good householders of each district have agreed to form a militia. They will nip any trouble in the bud from now on. We can sleep easily in our beds once more—’

‘And about time, too!’ his mother interrupted. ‘No one should be allowed to get between me and my afternoon nap before a late night! Madeleine, dear— you’re welcome to follow my example, but I quite understand if you would prefer to enjoy these beautiful gardens for a while longer...’

Mistress Constance left Madeleine in no doubt about what she really wanted her to enjoy—Philip Adamson’s company. Never having seen a proper garden before, Madeleine was rather more interested in that than her employer’s matchmaking.

As Mistress Constance went back towards the library, Madeleine continued along one of the brickwork paths that meandered through the daisy-starred turf.

‘My mother is a kind and gentle soul, Mademoiselle Allobroge.’

At the sound of Adamson’s voice Madeleine stopped. She studied a tuft of grass that had escaped from the lawn to push between the bricks of the path.

‘I don’t doubt it, sir.’

‘She should not be troubled with talk of politics.’

At his tone Madeleine turned to face him. The sun that had toasted the grass beat on the brown of her dress, but it was as nothing compared to the warmth of her indignation.

‘You speak as though I’m the one that should not be “troubled” by it, sir.’

‘Indeed?’

He did not look at her. Instead he tugged the frill of his shirt out a little more neatly from the cuff of his black jacket.

‘You seem too light of heart to me, mademoiselle. There is enough trouble in this weary world without seeking more as a diversion for your pleasant little conversations.’

At this Madeleine started to walk back towards him.

‘Ah, but I like living dangerously, sir!’

Adamson said nothing. Only when Madeleine was practically brushing against him did he step from the narrow path on to the grass and let her pass.

Mistress Constance’s excitement knew no bounds as she supervised Madeleine’s preparation for the sub that evening.
        All the acquired clothes had been hung up, and all the stockings and shoes paired and put on display.

Madeleine was helped to choose a muslin gown of pale lilac with ribbons of a darker shade for her waist and hair. Privately, she was horrified to discover that women actually went out and about in such flimsy clothes.

No wonder the Adamsons hadn’t been shocked at the dress she had arrived in. What Madeleine thought of as a shift was actually the latest fashion.

When she had been bathed and dressed, Madeleine had to sit still for an age while her hair was pressed into tiny ringlets with heated irons. With her thick dark curls piled up and trimmed with the violet ribbon, Madeleine was astonished at the result.

Mistress Constance teased out a few strands of hair to wisp about Madeleine’s brow, then directed the maid to be sparing with her cosmetics. She was already nearly satisfied with the result.

Madeleine sat obediently while her face was dusted with the palest powder. A hint of rouge along her cheekbones highlighted the delicacy of her bone-structure. Then all that was needed was to mix a little of the rouge with some softened lard as colour and gloss for her lips.

An evening bag was evidently something that no lady could be without. Before Madeleine could claim to have lost hers in the riots, Mistress Constance offered to lend her one.

The maid packed a little more lip colour in an enamelled pill-box for her bag. Taking a moment to rearrange the flimsy folds of Madeleine’s dress, she then pronounced her ready.

As the mantel clock tinkled the quarter after five, Madeleine crept into the library behind Mistress Constance. She felt as shameful as one of the half-dressed statues the aristos had started decorating the outside of their houses with. What on earth would the staid Philip Adamson say?

Even if he noticed what she was wearing, Adamson did not have a chance to comment. His mother had a far more important observation to make.

‘Philip! You can’t possibly go out looking like that!’

Adamson seemed genuinely puzzled. He looked down at his sombre black tailcoat and breeches, enlivened only by a white cravat and stockings.

‘Why not?’

‘Because this is a subscription concert, not a funeral. That’s why not! Go up and change. No—wait. You’ll only choose the wrong things again. I’ll go and tell Higgins to fetch out the new suit I brought with us from England.’

In a flurry of excitement Mistress Constance scampered off, leaving Madeleine with only Adamson for company.

‘Help yourself,’ he said uncomfortably, nodding towards the decanter which stood ready as ever beside the sofa.

Madeleine needed the courage drink could inspire, and hurried forward to pour herself a large one.

‘You seem to enjoy it, mademoiselle.’

His voice was haughty. Madeleine stopped with her glass hardly half full and looked up into his accusing eyes. He smelled strongly of clean things—soap and the new mystery that was toothpowder.

‘This is for medicinal purposes, Master Philip. For my nerves.’

‘And I thought the French aristocracy paid underlings to suffer all the baser hazards of life.’

Madeleine was stung to sarcasm. ‘Does your mother always choose your clothes for you?’ she said nastily.

‘Clothes on a rack are as alike as one day and the next to me, mademoiselle. My sensibilities for trivia have long since withered away. I no longer care unduly about my appearance, nor even what people may say or think about me.’

Madeleine looked at him long and hard, forgetting any embarrassment about her dress. Although his clothes were evidently not suitable for the sub, he was shaved, clean and tidy, with hair neatly brushed. He certainly didn’t show signs of neglect.

Only later in her education did Madeleine learn that all gentlemen were walking tributes to the hard work of their valets.

After chivvying her son off to change, Mistress Constance took Madeleine outside to wait in the coach. In no time at all Adamson returned, resplendent in a suit of dusky mallow embroidered with silver. Even this did not fully satisfy his mother and Higgins was sent back for a matching hair ribbon instead of the black velvet Adamson had forgotten about.

Finally they were off. Madeleine hardly had time to get used to the rolling bounces of the carriage before it stopped. They had travelled barely a cock’s stride from home. Madeleine could have walked the distance in much the same time.

The carriage door opened and the steps were let down. Adamson got out first to help the ladies, and while he gave the order for the carriage to return home Mistress Constance adjusted Madeleine’s stole.

They were on the pavement outside a grand new house. It was sculpted in cream stone and decorated with the half dressed ‘classical’ figures that so embarrassed Madeleine.

That wasn’t the only reason why her stomach contracted with horror. Madeleine suddenly realised the dreadful folly of her position. The place would be crawling with aristos! It was a well-known fact they were all related to each other, and as thick as thieves— they were bound to see through her in an instant.

Mistress Constance was whispering in her ear.