Daughter of Deceit (27 page)

I shook my head.

“Lady Constance has been difficult?”

“No … no.” I hesitated. Then I thought: She will have to know. It is better to tell her now.

I said: “Roderick and I were to be married.”

She opened her eyes wide, and I felt my lips tremble. “But,” I went on, “he is my brother, Lisa. My half brother. Charlie is my father.”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, my poor, poor Noelle. So that is why you have come back.”

I nodded.

“I see … what a dreadful thing! I suppose one might have guessed.”

“Yes … I suppose so. I just thought of them as very good friends. Rather naive of me, I suppose.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought beyond getting away.
I’ll
have to think where I’m going from here.”

“And … Roderick?” asked Lisa.

“We were both bewildered. Everything was going well. Lady Constance was reconciled … and then Charlie came back and told us … and everything was shattered. Oh, Lisa, I don’t know how I can bear it. My mother … and now this …”

Lisa nodded and the tears came into her eyes.

“That was terrible,” she said.

“And now, when I thought I was going to be happy again, this happened.”

“You must stop brooding on it, Noelle. You have to find an interest …”

“I know. Tell me, Lisa, how are things with you?”

“I’ve got a job, and I believe Dolly looks on me as one of his regulars now. Lottie Langdon was off one night and I had a chance to take the lead. The audience gave me quite a good reception. Lottie’s not as hard to follow as your mother was. I think I did rather well, actually. It all helps. I am sure Dolly will give me a place in his next.
Rags and Tatters
can’t last much longer, and he is already considering something. Well, Dolly always is considering something.”

“I’m glad things are going well with you.”

“You must come and see the show again. It’s improved since you saw it. But I reckon it’s on the way out.”

I knew that I had been right to come to London. I felt the influence of my mother here and the first tragedy superimposed itself on the most recent one; but I had learned to live without her; I had even been contemplating a happy life. Now I must learn to live without either of the two people whom I had loved best in the world.

Everyone helped a great deal. Dolly arrived. He had heard, through Lisa, what had happened, and was all sympathy. He was amazingly gentle. I was to let him know if I felt like a visit to the theatre. Even if it wasn’t his show I wanted to see, he’d make sure I had a good seat and was well looked after. There was a camaraderie among theatrical folk and the daughter of Desiree would be welcome anywhere.

The days flowed on. It was existing. That was all I could call it. I awoke each morning with a cloud of depression settling over me, and I went through the days in a blank despair.

Lisa thought I should do some sort of work.

“Work is the best thing at such times,” she said.

I wondered if I should go to a hospital. There would be some voluntary work I could do, I supposed.

Lisa thought that might be a little depressing, which was the last thing I needed. Perhaps Dolly could help?

“What good should I be in the theatre?” I asked.

Martha came to see me. She had heard from Lisa the reason for my return.

Martha was deeply shocked. “It would have broken her heart if she’d known what trouble she’d caused you. I always thought there was something special between her and Charlie. And he was so fond of you, too. And you, of course, were the apple of her eye. She’d have done anything for you. What a turnabout, eh? And it was you she was thinking about all the time. It was always ‘What’s best for Noelle?’ I used to say to her: ‘You make a god of that child. You want to think of yourself.’ And now, because of all this … well, I reckon she’s crying her eyes out in heaven, if she’s looking down and seeing what’s happened. What are you going to do about it, love? I reckon you ought to do something.”

“I could go right away from here. I
have
to do something, Martha. What do people like me do when they are left as I am? There are only two courses open to them, as I’ve said so often. Governess to some peevish child, or companion to a demanding old woman.”

“Can’t see you doing either of them, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. It would be different. I could be a little dignified, too, because I would not depend entirely on my salary, as most of those poor people have to. I’d have a certain independence.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of that, are you?”

“The trouble is, I am not seriously thinking of anything. I am just drifting along.”

That was exactly what I was doing; and I should have gone on doing so but for the arrival of Robert Bouchere.

Robert was surprised and pleased to find me at the house, but when he realized how unhappy I was, he was overcome with sorrow and sympathy.

“You must tell me all about it,” he said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

So I told him. He was deeply shocked.

“You had no idea?” he said.

“No. It did not occur to me.”

“Have you ever wondered about your father?”

“Yes.”

“And asked your mother?”

“She was always evasive. She only told me that he was a good man. Well … Charlie is a good man.”

“His friendship with her went back a long way.”

“Yes, I know. I should have guessed perhaps.”

“He was insistent on taking you to his home.”

“I realize why now. I’m afraid I have been innocent … and very naive. I just thought they were great friends. I should have thought that, as I knew him so well and was fond of him … she would have told me.”

“My dear Noelle, you have suffered two great shocks. You are bewildered, and the best thing for you to do is to make plans. You must take some action. I think it would be good for you to go right away from here.”

“Where should I go?”

“As Charlie did, I promised your mother that, if the need arose, I would look after you. It would seem that the need is now here. Why should you not come to France with me … to my home … if only while you have time to make some decision about your future? You would be in a new place. It would all be so different. You could start again … make a new life. I could believe that here you will not find that easy. Here you remember too much. She is still here … in this house. Do you feel her presence?”

“You have left her rooms exactly as they were,” I said. “How could they change? Everything here reminds me of her … you, too.”

“That is why you should get away. You nurse your grief,
chere
Noelle. That is not good. You must get away … leave it behind you.”

“Go away …” I said bluntly. “Go right away. You have never told me much about your home, Robert.”

“It would perhaps be interesting for you to discover?”

“Would they … want me there?”

“Who? There is my sister, my great-niece … and there are occasional visits from my nephew … my sister’s son.”

“I thought you had a wife.”

“She has been dead eight years. What do you say to this plan?”

“I had not thought to leave the country.”

“It is best to leave the country. Thus you get right away. Everything will be different in France. You will start a life that is new entirely. Who knows? Perhaps this will be best for you.”

“Robert, you are good to me.”

“But of course. I have promised her that, if Charlie is not there, I shall stand … what is it you say? … in his shoes?”

“Yes, Robert. That’s right. It is so kind of you to care as you do.”

“My dear, I am fond of you. Your mother was very dear to me. I know that her great concern was for you. She made me promise … and if she had not done so … it would have been my duty … even if it did not give me great pleasure … which it does, as you know well. What do you say?”

“I must think about it. I had wondered whether to try to get some post… perhaps in a hospital … where I could do something for sick people.”

He shook his head. “It is you who need to be looked after. You just come with me.”

“Shall you think me ungrateful if I say I should like to consider it?”

He waved a hand. “I give you one day … two days … but you must come. It is right for you. I promise you, there will be a new life … new people … new country. This will fade.”

“Robert, thank you, thank you. I will think of it very seriously. I think you may be right. But I do need to collect my thoughts. Please give me time.”

“I give,” he said, with a little smile.

I
was wavering. Since Robert had made his suggestion, my interest was stirring and my melancholy had lifted a little. I knew I was wrong to steep myself in sorrow as I was doing here. I had to move on. I must stop thinking of what might have been and accept the fact that there was never going to be a life with Roderick. I had to move on: and here was Robert, throwing me a lifeline.

He was good to me during those days. I knew that he was very anxious that I should go with him. He wanted to do his duty towards my mother’s daughter, because he had cared so deeply for her. His desire to look after me was as earnest as Charlie’s had been.

This time I must be more careful. I must know what I was going to do. At least Robert did not have a wife who would have resented his friendship with my mother. I would sway in my intentions. I would ask myself whether it would not, after all, be better to stay here. To look for some work to do.

“Robert,” I said. “Tell me about your home.”

“I do have a place in Paris,” he said. “But my home is about five or six miles outside the city.”

“In the country?”

He nodded. “It is a pleasant old place. It survived the Revolution … miraculously … and the family have been there for centuries.”

“A stately home, I suppose?”

“Well, La Maison Grise might just qualify for that description.”

“La Maison Grise? The Grey House.”

“It is so. Built of that grey stone which stays where it was put … no matter wind or weather.”

“And your family?”

“There are not so many of us now. There is my sister, Angele. She has always lived there. Daughters often stay on, even after they are married. When Angele married her husband, Henri du Carron, he helped with the estate. It worked out well. I had business in Paris and he was there to look after things.”

“And he died?”

“Yes. Quite young. He had a heart attack. It was sad. Gerard was only seventeen when it happened.”

“Gerard?”

“He is my sister’s son … my nephew. He will inherit La Maison Grise when I die.”

“You have no children?”

“No, alas.”

“You have not mentioned your wife.”

“It is eight years since I lost her. She had been an invalid for some years.”

“So at La Maison Grise there is just your sister and her son.”

“Gerard is there rarely. He has a studio in Paris. He is an artist. Angele runs the house, and there is Marie-Christine.”

“You have mentioned a … great-niece, is it?”

“Yes. She is my great-niece and Gerard’s daughter.”

“So Gerard is married.”

“He is widowed. It was a tragedy. It is three years since she died. Marie-Christine is now … well, twelve, I suppose.”

“So your household consists of your sister, Angele, who is Madame du Carron, and her granddaughter, Marie-Christine? Is she there all the time, or does she live with her father?”

“She visits him now and then, but La Maison Grise is really her home. My sister naturally looks after her.”

“So it is a small household. Do you think they would mind my visiting you?”

“I am sure they would be delighted.”

I was thinking seriously about going. There did not seem to be any complications.

So I made up my mind to visit La Maison Grise; and it was comforting to discover that the decision lifted my spirits considerably.

Robert and I had had a smooth sea crossing and on landing had taken the train to Paris, where the family coach had been waiting for us. It was a somewhat cumbersome vehicle with the Bouchere
arms emblazoned on its side. I was introduced to Jacques, the coachman, and after our luggage had been put into the carriage we set out.

Robert made light conversation and, as we drove through Paris, he pointed out certain landmarks. I was bewildered by my first glimpse of that city of which I had heard so much. I caught glimpses of wide boulevards, bridges and gardens. I listened to Robert’s explanations, but I think I was too concerned with what I should find at La Maison Grise to be greatly influenced by the city just then. That was something I could discover later.

“Prepare for a longish drive,” said Robert as we left the city behind us. “We are going south. This is the road to Nice and Cannes, but they are a long way off. France is a big country.”