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Authors: Melanie Clegg

Tags: #England/Great Britain, #France, #18th Century, #Fiction - Historical

Before the Storm (6 page)

BOOK: Before the Storm
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‘Not at all,’ Sidonie murmured, unable to meet Clementine’s beseeching eyes. ‘But I shall be very glad of some time to myself.’

She was telling the truth but even so, she couldn’t help but feel guilty a few days later when she helped a surly Minette put the final finishing touches to Clementine’s elaborate
toilette
. Her pupil stood wooden and silent in front of her mirror, gloomily staring at herself as she allowed the maid to turn her this way and that as she shook out the frothy folds of her silk and gauze primrose yellow dress, which shimmered with hundreds of pearlescent sequins.
 

Minette had teased and backcombed Clementine’s hair into a fashionably windswept style
 
with long ringlets that hung down her back then lightly dusted this elaborate coiffure with a violet scented powder that fell onto the girl’s plump shoulders whenever she moved. ‘I look ridiculous,’ Clementine commented, gingerly patting her rouge tinted cheeks then pensively examining her carmine streaked fingers.

‘You look beautiful,’ Sidonie said, smiling at Clementine in the mirror as she handed her a handkerchief.
 

Her pupil shrugged as she scrubbed at her stained fingers. ‘I wish that you were coming too,’ she said. ‘Do you really have to stay here?’

Sidonie sighed. ‘Your mother is right, Clementine. It would look very singular and odd if you were to arrive at the Assembly Rooms with your governess.’
 

‘You are always telling me that I shouldn’t care about what people think,’ Clementine accused, throwing the handkerchief down onto her messy dressing table, which was littered with open porcelain pots and glass bottles. She snatched up a lace edged fan that had been dyed to match her dress and snapped it open before fanning herself furiously. ‘And now you are agreeing with Mama about what is best for me!’

‘That’s not the case, Clementine,’ Sidonie admonished. ‘You know that I always have your best interests at heart.’

‘So you all keep saying.’ Clementine looked as though she wanted to say more but at that moment the door opened and Mrs Garland swept in. She was dressed in a gown of shimmering, heavy peacock blue taffeta with beautiful black lace at her bosom and elbows and a glittering jet choker around her neck.The small room quickly filled with the rich jasmine and rose scent that she was wearing.

‘Are you ready to go, Clementine? The carriage is waiting for us downstairs.’ She looked her silent daughter up and down with a critical eye. ‘That dress is perfect,’ she observed a little begrudgingly, touching one of the gauze and ribbon flounces. ‘I chose well. It is nice to see you looking so pretty for once.’
 

Sidonie stepped aside as they left the room with Mrs Garland proudly leading the way and Clementine rather diffidently following. ‘I am sorry for snapping at you,’ she whispered with
 
a rueful smile as she went past.

Sidonie smiled. ‘Think no more about it, my dear.’ She watched from the door as her pupil slowly went downstairs, with one final mischievous look up before she vanished from view then picked up a candle and went up to her own small room. Her plans for the evening ahead involved packing her few belongings for the return to London and reading some of her book before an early night. She could hardly wait.

She had no real fears about Clementine’s enjoyment of the assembly ball and expected that after a few moments of hesitation and shyness, she would be delighted to join in the dancing. Sidonie smiled to herself as she imagined Clementine, blushing and frowning with concentration as she tried to remember the intricate steps of a country dance. They’d need to hire a proper dancing master if Mrs Garland was serious about launching her into society.

The note was waiting for her on her bedroom floor. Large and white, it was impossible to miss or ignore as she pushed open her door and the candlelight fell onto the threadbare black and red rug in front of her dresser. Feeling slightly sick with dread, Sidonie put down the candlestick then reached down to pick up the letter, knowing who it was from before she had even slid her finger inside and opened it.


My Sidonie,

I must see you. I can wait no longer. I am at the Pulteney Bridge. Come to me.

I have tried to forget you, but found it impossible.

J’

‘Damn him,’ she whispered, screwing up the note and dropping it to the floor. She fastidiously wiped her hands down her blue cotton skirt, trying to erase the scent of the achingly familiar lemon and lavender cologne that clung to her fingers. ‘All these years of nothing and now this?’ Sidonie sat down heavily on her bed, making the elderly mattress springs creak in protest. The note lay on the floor, taunting her until finally she made a decision and stood up.

It didn’t take Sidonie long to slip down the stairs, leave the house and make her way to Pulteney Bridge. Her heart was hammering in her breast so loudly that she was sure everyone could hear it as she wended her way through dark streets crammed full of people who jostled and stared at her curiously as she went. Several large carriages rumbled past, their splendidly dressed and glittering passengers gazing out indifferently upon the world from black kohl rimmed eyes while the tiny fluffy dogs they held on their laps yelped and barked out of the windows, their paws skittering on the glass as they jumped up.
 

All too soon, she reached the bridge. She couldn’t see the Comte at first amongst the press of people crossing or idly standing and gazing down into the navy blue, swirling water but then, suddenly she spotted him. He was dressed in a long green coat and leaning pensively against a wall, examining his fingernails and casting brief, glowering glances at the people hurrying past.

He looked relieved when he looked up and saw her walking slowly towards him. A small part of her had been hoping for the warm smile that she had once known so well, but it was not to be. ‘Thank God,’ he said with relief as she came to a halt. ‘I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t come.’

‘You were so certain until this moment then?’ she asked in French, raising an eyebrow and feeling a little put out. ‘I almost didn’t.’

Jules sighed. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Sidonie,’ he said. ‘I don’t want us to have a row. I just wanted to see you.’

She looked at him. ‘For what purpose?’ she asked. ‘I thought that it was absolutely finished between us and that we had nothing more to say to each other.’

He frowned. ‘Is that what you think? Really? After everything that happened between us? I had rather thought that there would always be a bond between us.’ He turned then and petulantly stared out across the river, while Sidonie, well used to his moods remained where she was and watched his face. ‘Is it very wrong of me to want to see you again?’

Sidonie laughed. ‘You have seen me several times over the last couple of weeks,’ she reminded him. ‘You are a frequent guest at Mrs Garland’s house after all.’

The Comte shrugged. ‘That’s not the same,’ he said angrily. ‘There are always people there. That awful woman and her friends and those stupid girls. All of them watching me as though I am nothing but a piece of meat.’

‘Does that include Venetia?’ Sidonie enquired in a low voice.

He considered this for a moment. ‘No.’ He sighed. ‘Venetia is different to the others. It’s not in her nature to make demands.’

Sidonie leaned against the wall beside him. ‘Do you love her?’ she asked carefully.

Jules turned to look at her, a rather shamefaced grin on his handsome face. ‘Love? No.’ He plucked a loose thread from his sleeve and cast it down into the water. ‘I’ve had her, you know,’ he said with a sidelong look. ‘She sneaks downstairs and lets me into her parents’ house at night.’ He peered at her, watching for a reaction to his words. ‘Does that startle you, Mademoiselle Roche?’

Sidonie shook her head. ‘No, not at all,’ she replied. ‘I know you, Jules. Sneaking into the bedchambers of young ladies has always been your forte, has it not?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to marry her?’

He laughed. ‘No. Why would I? Why marry someone who gives herself so freely? I wasn’t her first, you know. There is no great romance.’
 

Sidonie thought of Venetia and the way that she looked at Jules whenever he was nearby, her eyes full of longing and need. ‘She loves you,’ she said.
 

‘I doubt it.’ Jules shrugged but Sidonie noticed that he was beginning to look uneasy. ‘She wanted someone to lay with her and I was happy to oblige. She’s just like me really.’
 

‘If that’s the truth then why are you still here?’ Sidonie asked, ignoring him. ‘Madame la Duchesse went back to London last week and you didn’t go with her.’

Jules sighed. ‘You never miss anything, do you?’ he said with a wry grin. ‘I had forgotten that about you.’ He turned and looked directly at her. ‘Fine, then. I stayed because I wanted to see more of Venetia. I may not love her, but I enjoy her company. Is that good enough for you, Mademoiselle Roche?’

Sidonie smiled. ‘That is good enough. You know, Jules, life is generally easier if you tell the truth every once in a while.’

‘Spoken like a true governess,’ he replied with a laugh that reminded her for one heart stopping moment of the charming boy that he had once been. ‘And that may be true for your pupils but I think you will find, mademoiselle, that lying will always serve an adult much better than honesty.’ He was standing much to close to her now and before she could put out her hands to prevent him, he had leaned towards her and stolen a kiss.

‘How sad that you think that way,’ she said, calmly stepping away from him and pulling her red wool shawl closer about her arms. ‘How damaged you must be, Jules.’ Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and started to walk back the way that she had come without a single backward glance to see if he was following her.
 

The whole brief interlude had overset her horribly and she was conscious of her panting breath as she briskly walked back towards the Garland’s house. She had been a fool to meet him again, to waste so much as a second of her time listening to him. She had fallen for him once before and clearly he thought that she was likely to fall for him again. How wrong he was. How wrong and deceitful and cruel.
 

Her hands were still shaking so much as she picked up her candlestick from a table in the hall and clumsily looked in her pocket for a tinder to relight it that in the end she had to sit down on the bottom step lest she drop it and burn the house down. The pale stone of the stairs was smooth and cold beneath her skirts and gradually the chill began to seep through to her flesh, calming her fluttering heart as it did so. ‘I am an idiot,’ she told herself angrily, blinking away hot, furious tears. ‘How could I have been so reckless?’

Sidonie sat there for what felt like a long time in the darkness, listening to the comforting ticking of the tall wooden clock on the landing while in her mind she was eighteen and back in her cramped, cold garret in Paris again, listening to the rain fall heavily against the flimsy window panes as she lay in bed with her lover. She closed her eyes as she remembered his long fingers circling her breasts then moving slowly down her body as she gasped and shivered with delight then turned her face back to his for a kiss.

That was all in the past now. Over and done with. She stretched out her frozen limbs and clambered to her feet. The candle was easy to light this time and with a weary heart she went up the stairs to her room. The packing could wait until tomorrow and she was no longer in the mood for her book.

‘I saw you.’ The hiss came from close by and alarmed, she whirled around, peering into the gloom that lay beyond the light of her candle. At first she couldn’t see anything but then suddenly a figure loomed out of the darkness. It was Minette. ‘I saw you meet him on the bridge.’

Sidonie gave a nervous laugh. ‘Really, my dear, you made me jump! What on earth do you think you are doing?’

‘What do you think
you
are doing?’ Minette repeated with a sneer. ‘I saw you with him. I followed you.’

Sidonie recoiled from the other woman. ‘You saw nothing,’ she said with a shaking voice. ‘The Comte was imprudent enough to ask for my help with Miss Wrotham and I told him that she is beyond my influence. That is all.’

‘That’s not really all, is it?’ Minette replied, stepping closer. ‘You kissed. I saw it all.’

Sidonie backed away. ‘You are mistaken, Minette,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I am going to go to bed.’
 

‘I won’t forget what I saw,’ Minette whispered as she hurried past to the safety of her room. ‘I’d watch my step if I were you, Mademoiselle Roche. You think you are so much better than me, but you’re not are you.’

Chapter Six

London, July 1787

Miss Phoebe Knowles looked around nervously as she stepped down from her carriage and prepared to navigate the crowded, noisy piazza that lay in front of the Covent Garden market. The cobbles were covered with a revolting, slushy slew of mud, discarded play bills, rotten food and horse urine and she fastidiously raised her voluminous pale green watered silk skirts above her ankles as she briskly edged through the jostling crowd, pausing only to admire a particularly skilful juggler who plied his trade in the middle of a throng of cat calling and applauding spectators.

BOOK: Before the Storm
4.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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