New World, New Love (4 page)

Before long Delphine began pestering Louise again about calling on their cousin, but without effect. They were in a market, getting a few items that they needed for their new home.

‘I want to see Madeleine as much as you do, Delphine,’ she said, picking out some china plates from others that were cracked. ‘Probably more, because I remember her from early childhood and was very fond of her. She came to see Maman not long before you were born. It was on the eve of her sailing to this country with her husband and I was allowed to hold their baby, Mary Anne, who was about six weeks old then.’

Delphine’s mouth set stubbornly. ‘All the more reason for me to meet her now.’

Louise paid for the plates and two battered but still serviceable cooking pots. ‘Not until I feel we’ve really established ourselves. Then we can visit Madeleine with our heads high and she won’t feel that she has two dependants landing themselves on her for their keep. Not that she would see the situation in that light, but since we have our health and strength I couldn’t put her under that obligation without just cause.’

Reluctantly Delphine accepted the situation for the time being, understanding her sister’s independent attitude, but still exasperated by it. They returned to their apartment loaded with purchases that were all mundane, except for four fine wine glasses that had been a bargain Louise had been unable to resist. As yet they had been unable to afford wine, but she had made up their mind they should have a bottle to celebrate Delphine’s sixteenth birthday, which would be very soon.

On Monday morning they presented themselves at Miss Sullivan’s shop. She introduced them to the four other workers and the two apprentices. The workshop had plenty of window light with two large tables and a stove to heat the steaming irons. Louise was relieved that although the women were not exactly friendly neither were they hostile in any way. Before long Delphine and the apprentices, being the same age, were chatting together in whispers, talk being discouraged by Miss Sullivan, except about a task in hand.

Hurrying to the workshop one morning neither Louise nor Delphine paid any attention to a hackney carriage passing along Broad Street on its way to the docks. Daniel Lombard was at the start of his journey home again. It would take him northwards by coastal vessel to Boston, which he preferred to travelling the long distance by road. He was thinking how successful the trip had been this time when suddenly he spotted the unmistakable yellow hat.

‘Slow down!’ he instructed the coachman quickly, leaning forward in his seat as he watched to see where the Frenchwoman and her sister were going. It could only be to work at this early hour. He had thought of her any number of times and even looked for her wherever he had happened to be, always hoping that all was going well for her. Then he saw both the young women disappear into the side door of a shop. As the carriage drew level the hanging sign showed that it was a milliner’s.

Relaxing once more against the leather upholstery, he told the coachman to take up pace again. Now he would know exactly where to find her the next time he was in New York and it would be as soon as he could get here again. No woman had kept running through his thoughts after so brief a meeting as she had done.

As the carriage continued to carry him on his way he snapped open his gold watch and took note of the time. There was still over an hour before the ship sailed. Just long enough to manage another meeting.

‘Stop here, coachman!’ he ordered. ‘And wait!’

He sprang out of the vehicle and hurried the short distance back along the sidewalk until he reached the milliner’s shop. It was not open yet and he hammered on the door with the gold head of his cane. Miss Sullivan, who was in the showroom overseeing the dusting by her two assistants, raised her eyebrows at such impatient rapping and went to the door herself.

Daniel entered immediately and looked quickly about him. ‘I realize this is an early hour, ma’am,’ he said at once, ‘but I’m about to take ship for Boston and wish to buy my sister a new hat in the latest style before I leave.’

In the work room Louise had settled down to making yet another straw hat. Delphine’s task was the complicated hand-weaving of the straw itself. When suddenly Miss Sullivan appeared in the doorway it was to beckon urgently to Louise. At the back of the showroom she explained her reason.

‘There’s a new customer in the showroom. He wants to be served in a hurry as he’s sailing up the coast very shortly. The hat is to be a gift for his sister – or so he says.’ Her caustic tone conveyed disbelief as to the identity of the recipient, for men often bought hats for their mistresses, wives always coming to choose their own. ‘He’s selected a few, but can’t make a decision unless he sees each one worn by someone with chestnut hair. So I thought of you. Take off your apron and cap.’ She handed Louise the expensive hat she was holding. ‘Start with this one.’

Louise guessed that the milliner must be expecting the customer to spend lavishly as she was giving in to his whim. She made herself ready and smoothed her hands over her hair before putting on the hat. It was of cream felt, trimmed with an abundance of ostrich feathers shaded from pale green to deepest emerald, its wide brim tilted high on one side, which set off the face of the wearer. She had once worn such hats at court and with total confidence she swept into the showroom, making an entrance as she had done so often at Versailles in the past. The customer was seated, hat and cane in his hand, but he rose to his feet at once.

‘This is very obliging of you, Madame de Vailly. We have met before, as perhaps you will remember.’

She had recognized him instantly with that all-encompassing look to his penetrating eyes, lit brilliantly now by his broad smile. ‘I do remember. You kindly intervened on the day I lost my hat.’

‘My name is Daniel Lombard.’

Miss Sullivan gave a little cough. She was quite pleased that the customer seemed acquainted with Louise, but she did not want the sale to be lost in chit-chat. ‘This is one of my most fashionable hats, sir. Perfect for this time of year and exactly the style worn by ladies of high society today.’

He sat down again, crossing one long leg over the other. Louise displayed over a dozen hats for his approval, during which he enjoyed watching her. This lovely woman had an unconsciously sensual grace in all her movements, which held his attention far more than any of the hats. Finally he asked her advice as to which he should choose, much to Miss Sullivan’s annoyance at being ignored. Louise suggested the first one, which she had liked best. She put it on once more for his final approval.

‘Yes,’ he said decisively. ‘That’s the one.’

Miss Sullivan stepped forward. ‘Where is it to be delivered, sir?’

‘I want it shipped to Charleston.’ He stood up, ready to leave, and as Louise took off the chosen hat, he added to her, ‘I hope we shall soon meet again.’

‘Bon voyage, Mr Lombard.’ Her smile was polite, but without encouragement. She left the showroom, aware of his eyes following her, and went back to the workshop. On the East River wharf it had registered with her that he was a very good-looking man and at close quarters he had a dangerous sexual attraction of the kind she wished to avoid at all costs. She’d had a surfeit of men’s approaches at court. She had stemmed them then and intended to continue here in the same way.

Although it was early days yet at Miss Sullivan’s, Louise had become very interested in the millinery work, determined to learn everything she could about the trade. She did not find making the straw hats arduous, although it had been hard on the hands until she had made fingerstalls for her sister and herself. Neither did she mind being kept to the straw work, because all the time she was able to observe closely the cutting and steaming, the shaping and sewing of the designs being produced in felt, velvet and silk. She could see how easily she could acquire these skills. All the designs used were from England, the days long gone when France’s elegant Queen had set the fashion for the rest of the world to follow. But Louise had ideas of her own that she would have liked to follow, and sometimes sketched them out in the evenings.

After working a full month at the milliner’s Louise made a decision that she knew would please Delphine and announced it as she put a new sketch away. ‘I think we’re established enough now for us to pay a call on Madeleine—’

Her words were cut off as Delphine gave a shriek of delight, springing forward to hug her exuberantly. ‘Oh, yes! When?’

‘Next Sunday afternoon.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Delphine whirled around the room, seeing an end to living in this hateful place and visualizing a splendid social life opening up before her. She would have called by herself long before this if she had been able to find the address in Louise’s belongings, but perhaps her sister had been aware of her intention and memorized it before throwing it away.

Louise was as happy as Delphine when they set off for Lower Broadway, but not for the same reason. From the day of arrival she had been longing to see Madeleine after all these years, as one of her own kin in a land of strangers, and she remembered her cousin’s husband as a pleasant kindly man. Anticipation soared gloriously in her as they reached the steps leading up to the shining crimson door of the grey stone mansion. Delphine lifted the brass knocker and thumped it twice. After a few moments a butler opened the door.

Louise spoke. ‘I am Madame de Vailly. Please inform Mr and Mrs Bradshaw that their cousin and her sister are here from France.’

‘Madame, my regrets, but Mr and Mrs Bradshaw no longer live here.’ The butler, an émigré himself, had spoken in French, his cultured tones showing that in the past he would not have been opening doors for others, but would have had them flung wide for him. ‘The house changed hands over two years ago and there is a new owner living here now.’

Louise had turned pale with disappointment, but Delphine panicked. ‘But they are still in New York?’ she demanded frantically, her voice high-pitched.

‘One moment, please.’ The butler left the door open and crossed the wide hall to enter a room. He returned after a few minutes. ‘Mr Johnston would be pleased to receive you.’

They were shown into the presence of the present owner, a portly, middle-aged man who greeted them courteously and invited them to be seated. When he had satisfied himself that they were genuinely related to the Bradshaws he went to his desk and wrote down their new address.

‘Did you know that they moved away from here through tragic circumstances?’ he asked as he handed the folded paper to Louise.

She was alarmed. ‘No, what happened? I’ve had no communication for a long time. It wasn’t easy in France to get letters from abroad, with all the upheaval there.’

‘Then I’m sorry to have to tell you that their daughter died of the yellow fever, which does occasionally strike the poorer areas of New York and other cities during the hot summer months, sometimes causing a dangerous epidemic. Nobody knew how she could have caught it, for there was only one other case reported that year and that was on the outskirts. Both parents were devastated. Understandably, Mrs Bradshaw could not endure to stay in this house any longer without their beloved child, which is why they moved five hundred miles away to Boston.’

Outside in the street again Louise, deeply distressed by the tragic news, put the address into her purse. ‘Poor bereaved Madeleine.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘And Theodore too. What a terrible loss! I’ll write to them this evening and send our condolences.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Delphine said quietly. ‘Mary Anne would have been my age now if she had lived.’ She fell silent as they walked along. Then suddenly she burst out bitterly, ‘Boston of all places! Why did they have to go so far away? Now we’ve no chance of seeing them for goodness knows how long!’

Louise said nothing, but it was one of the times when she despaired of her sister’s self-centredness. That evening she wrote to Madeleine and Theodore. She despatched the letter next day.

Madeleine answered as soon as she received the letter. Her warm invitation to visit could not have been more eager. She was longing to see them both without delay. Louise wrote back to explain that it would be a while yet before that was possible. The correspondence, which Louise had begun long ago in continuation of her late mother’s custom, was resumed as if there had never been any time between.

W
hen Louise went to the stock room one morning she found that there was very little hat-straw left and she reported it to Miss Sullivan.

‘I should have ordered a fresh supply last week,’ the woman answered irritably, ‘but it slipped my mind. You can go to Pomfret’s horse market for me. Mr Pomfret has always been able to supply me with the superior type of straw that I require.’

Louise was glad of a chance to escape from the work room for a short while. The trees were full of their young green foliage and the sunshine itself seemed caught among the branches. Her step was brisk and it did not take her long to reach the horse market, which she had passed many times. Its cobbled yard stood open to the street and smelt sweetly of hay and, more pungently, of horses, harness and dung, all familiar to her from the stables of home. It was always a hive of activity and today was no exception. On all sides men were examining horses and arguing prices, whether they were buying or selling. A handsome carriage pair, glossy as polished mahogany, was attracting keen attention. She was unable to resist wandering into the stables and there she went slowly past the stalls, patting the necks of the horses with a few words for each.

‘Madame la Marquise de Vailly!’

Surprised, Louise spun round to see who had called her by her title for the first time in this country. A man, entering the shadowed interior, his back to the sunshine, broke into a run and rushed towards her, his coat-tails flying. She recognized him with a happy cry. It was Alexandre de Clement, an old friend from home!

‘Alexandre!’

‘So, it is you, Louise!’ A moment later she was being embraced by her friend from childhood and whirled around in the air before being set on her feet again. ‘When I caught a glimpse of you from the yard I couldn’t really believe that you’d be here in America.’ He stood back, his feet set apart and hands on his hips, and laughed with sheer pleasure at their reunion. Strongly built and russet-haired, with a square, good-humoured face, his happy grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. ‘I should have expected you to be with your aunt in England. Not here!’