In Love and War (3 page)

Monsieur Bellaire handed his hat, gloves and silver-headed cane to Elsie. His elegant wife eyed her curiously, but before she could speak a young man strode into the hall, coming to a sudden halt when he saw Elsie. ‘Marianne?' he said, laughing. ‘Is this one of your pranks?' His dark eyes flashed with amusement.

Elsie bobbed a curtsey. ‘I'm afraid you are mistaken, sir,' she murmured in French. ‘I am Elsie.'

‘No!' He twirled her round. ‘You are joking, of course.' His English was perfect but with a slight accent that made him even more attractive. ‘You are a little devil, Marianne Winter.'

ELSIE FELT HERSELF
blushing furiously. ‘I am sorry, sir. But I am not who you think I am.'

‘I should say not.' Marianne's voice rang out behind them. ‘What is going on? Have I stepped into a French farce?'

Henri stared from one to the other. ‘Marianne?'

‘How could you mistake a maidservant for me, Henri?' She smiled, but Elsie was not fooled for a moment. It was obvious to her that Miss Marianne was both hurt and angry.

‘I beg your pardon, ladies,' Henri murmured in French.

‘She speaks English,' Marianne said sharply. Her lips curved into a smile but her eyes flashed. ‘She's a girl from the village.'

Elsie bobbed a curtsey. ‘I'm sorry, Miss Marianne.'

Marianne opened her mouth to speak but Henri forestalled her. ‘The mistake was mine, mademoiselle.' He took Elsie's hand and raised it to his lips.

For a fleeting second he held her gaze with a sympathetic smile and her skin tingled at the touch of his lips. She stood transfixed, unable to speak or move.

‘How extraordinary,' Madame Bellaire murmured. ‘There is a likeness, I suppose.'

‘I can't see it myself.' Monsieur Bellaire kissed Marianne on both cheeks. ‘You look beautiful. It is too long since we last met.'

Marianne gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you, monsieur. I missed my summer visit to your beautiful chateau at Le Lavandou.'

‘I don't know when we will enjoy such luxury again,' Henri said with a heavy sigh. ‘The German army is advancing all the time, but we will fight them to the last man. They won't capture Paris.' He proffered his arm to Marianne. ‘I'm going to enlist when we return home.'

Madame Bellaire sent him a warning glance. ‘There is to be no talk of war this evening, Henri. We are here to celebrate Marianne's coming of age.'

‘And it was so good of you to come all this way just for me.' Marianne laid her hand on Henri's sleeve. ‘Come and meet my aunt and uncle.' They walked off in the direction of the drawing room followed by Henri's parents, leaving Elsie standing in the hall, not knowing quite what to do.

She was relieved to see Soames hobbling towards her, but his expression was not encouraging. ‘Why are you standing there doing nothing?' He glanced anxiously at the pile of top hats, scarves and gloves that she had placed on an ornately carved side table. ‘The guests' belongings should be put in the cupboard, taking care to ensure that they are paired together. It would be a disaster if you mixed them up.'

Elsie stared at the panelled wall. ‘I don't know where it is, Mr Soames.'

He tut-tutted. ‘You should have been given instructions earlier. I can't do everything.' He pressed one of the oak panels and as if by magic a door opened to reveal a deep cupboard. ‘Sort that mess out and then come to the dining room. Observe Nancy; follow her lead and try not to spill anything.'

In the dining room Elsie stood back, watching carefully while Soames and Nancy moved round the table like dancers in a beautifully choreographed ballet. The soup was served, followed by the fish course and then the entrée. Sorbets were brought to clear the guests' palates in preparation for the grand entrance of the main course. Graham Winter drank heavily, leaving his wife, Josephine, to preside over the meal which she did nervously at first, trilling with laughter at everything Colonel Mason said while Cora looked on with pursed lips. Marianne sat between Henri and the local magistrate, Sir John Galbraith, and she slipped naturally into the role of hostess, putting her aunt firmly in her place.

Elsie could not help being impressed by the seemingly effortless way in which Marianne engaged everyone in conversation, diverting attention from her uncle's clumsy attempts to act as head of the household and her aunt's lack of social graces. Sir John's mousy little wife spoke only when spoken to, even though Madame Bellaire did her best to make sure she was not completely ignored, while Monsieur Bellaire chatted to the vicar's wife, who was unlucky enough to sit next to Graham Winter. She blushed rosily every time he made an inappropriate remark, which Marianne attempted to cover up by changing the subject. Eventually he fell asleep over the dessert and had to be helped from the room by Fred and Soames. Marianne waved aside her aunt's feeble attempts to apologise. She rose to her feet and breaking from tradition suggested that they might all like to adjourn to the drawing room for coffee. Elsie could only admire her coolness and the aplomb with which she treated a situation that had threatened to spoil the evening. She felt quite sorry for Josephine Winter, whose plans had gone sadly awry, leaving her the object of pity instead of being hailed as a successful hostess.

Elsie stood aside as the guests rose from their seats, somewhat bemused by the odd turn of events, and trooped out of the dining room. Henri paused for a moment as he was about to walk past her. ‘This has been quite an evening, mademoiselle. I apologise again for my mistake earlier on.'

Lost for words she managed a shy smile and bobbed a curtsey. Marianne gave her an appraising look as she took Henri's arm and swept out of the room.

Nancy nudged Elsie in the ribs, grinning. ‘You're for it now. Fred saw what the French chap did. He thought you was Miss Marianne. What a laugh.'

‘It was embarrassing. No wonder she was annoyed.'

‘Well, you're only helping out, so she can't sack you,' Nancy said cheerfully. Her smile faded and she put her head on one side. ‘But if you was done up like her you could pass for sisters.'

‘Get on with clearing the table,' Soames said impatiently. ‘There's work to be done.'

Nancy began stacking the crockery onto a galleried tray. ‘They say the colonel, Miss Marianne's father, was quite a one when he was young.' She winked and grinned. ‘You know what I mean?'

‘No,' Elsie said flatly. ‘And I don't want to know either. There's always someone ready to gossip and spread rumours.'

‘Not me, I promise you.' Nancy picked up the tray. ‘I'm just taking this lot down to the scullery, Mr Soames. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.'

Soames glanced round the room, shaking his head. ‘It wasn't like this in the old days when Colonel and Mrs Winter presided over dinner parties. The world is changing and not for the better. Finish clearing up, Elsie, and check with Cook before you go home. She might need help in the kitchen.'

‘Yes, Mr Soames.'

He left the dining room and Elsie worked methodically until the table was clear and everything ready to take down to the kitchen. Fred had been sent to help and he took the heaviest tray. ‘This isn't the sort of work for a man,' he grumbled. ‘I'm going to the recruiting office tomorrow.'

Elsie managed a smile. ‘Good luck, Fred. I think you're very brave.'

His ruddy cheeks flushed to a deeper shade of red. ‘Thanks, Elsie. I wish everyone thought like you. My old mum is going to kill me when she finds out.' He lumbered out of the dining room, his heavy footsteps clumping on the polished floorboards as he made his way to the kitchens. Elsie picked up a tray of glasses and was about to follow him when the door opened and Henri Bellaire strolled into the room. He came to a halt with an apologetic smile. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but my mother thinks she left her lorgnette on the table.'

Elsie put the tray down again. ‘I haven't seen it, but I'll have a look.' She knew she was blushing but she went in search of the missing eyeglass and found it on the floor beneath Madame Bellaire's chair. She handed it to him. ‘It's lucky no one trod on it.'

‘Thank you, Elsie. It is Elsie, isn't it?'

She kept her eyes averted. ‘Yes, sir.'

‘Are you angry with me, Elsie?'

She looked up and realised that he was serious. ‘No, sir. Of course not. It was a mistake.'

‘You are very alike,' he said thoughtfully. ‘At least in looks, but not, I think, in temperament.'

‘I wouldn't know, sir.'

‘You don't have to treat me like the enemy,' he said with a rueful smile. ‘All this will change, you know. The feudal system imposed by the rich on the poor will be consigned to history.'

‘If you say so, sir.'

He looked her in the eye. ‘The words tumble from your lips, but I don't believe it's what you think or feel.'

‘It doesn't matter what I think or feel, sir.' She held his gaze.

‘You don't believe that and neither do I.'

‘All right, then. Since you want to know what I think – you might equally say that the oppressive system imposed on women by men should be consigned to the history books. Women should have the vote and be able to do jobs that have only been done by men. That's already begun to happen.'

‘I knew it.' He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You have the face of an angel and the soul of a suffragette.' He clicked his heels together. ‘I salute you, Elsie.' He turned at the sound of footsteps.

Soames stood behind him with a stony expression on his face. ‘May I be of assistance, sir?'

Henri waved the lorgnette at him. ‘No, thank you, Soames. I came looking for this. Thank you for your help, Elsie.' He strolled out of the room, and Elsie snatched up the tray.

‘I hope you weren't forgetting your place, Elsie.'

‘Of course not, Mr Soames.'

‘You're needed in the kitchen. Take that tray down and Fred will bring the rest. Below stairs is where you belong, my girl.'

Elsie bit back a sharp retort. She could not afford to lose her job, even if it was only temporary, but she had no intention of remaining in service for the rest of her life. She had tried hard to hide her true feelings, but Henri Bellaire had seen through the thin veneer of humility she wore at work, and he had sensed the rebellious spirit that was her real self. She went back to washing dishes with a renewed sense of optimism. What happened next was up to her, but her first priority must be to nurse her mother back to health. The doctor's prognosis might be wrong. Miracles could sometimes happen.

Elsie was peeling potatoes next morning when Nancy stuck her head round the scullery door. ‘You're wanted in Miss Marianne's room. You're for it if you ask me. She was giving you black looks last night.'

Elsie wiped her hands on her apron. ‘It wasn't my fault that her boyfriend needs glasses.'

‘That's a good one,' Nancy said, giggling. ‘Tell her that, I dare you.'

‘I will if she gives me a hard time.' Elsie paused in the doorway. ‘You'd better point me in the right direction. I don't know where her room is.'

‘Come on, I'll show you. This old house is a maze of corridors and we don't want you to get lost. You might never be found again until you're a skeleton with bleached bones.'

‘You do talk a lot of rot, Nancy.'

‘Come.' Marianne's bored voice acknowledged Elsie's tap on the door. She opened it, mouthing a word of thanks to Nancy.

‘Tell us what she says,' she whispered.

Elsie entered the room, closing the door behind her. ‘You wanted to see me, Miss Winter?'

Marianne was sitting at her elegant rosewood dressing table. She turned her head to give Elsie an appraising look. ‘Cora Mason tells me that you're a good hairdresser.'

‘I'm a trained lady's maid.'

‘So I heard.' Marianne turned away to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I want my hair bobbed. Can you do it?'

‘I've seen a picture of Irene Castle and her bob, but I've never cut hair like that.'

Marianne shook out her long flaxen curls. ‘I want a change. I'm taking charge of my own life from now on.' She took a pair of scissors from a drawer. ‘Do it. I want a bob just like Irene Castle.'

Elsie hesitated. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Cut.' Marianne thrust the scissors into her hand. ‘Do it, please.'

‘Well, since you ask so nicely,' Elsie said, chuckling. ‘But don't blame me if you don't like the result. I can't glue it back on once it's cut.'

Marianne turned to her, frowning. ‘You have a lot to say for yourself.'

‘I'm not here on a permanent basis, Miss Winter. I'm only filling in for my sick mother.'

‘Why did you leave your previous employer?'

‘Mrs Tonbridge died.'

‘I see.' Marianne eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Are you going to look for another position?'

‘People like me can't afford to be idle.'

‘You sound militant. Are you one of those women who chain themselves to railings outside public buildings?'

‘No, but I wish I was. I think they're very brave.'

‘Are you going to stand there and lecture me on women's suffrage, or are you going to cut my hair?'

‘I can do either or both at the same time,' Elsie said calmly. ‘Which would you prefer?'

For a brief moment Marianne looked taken aback and then she laughed. ‘You have spirit, I like that. I'll opt for the cut without the sermon.'

Elsie wielded the scissors. ‘How short do you want it?'

‘Daringly short. Do you know how to finger wave? It's all the rage in London.'

‘I've seen it in magazines. Mrs Tonbridge might have been an elderly lady but she liked to keep up with fashion.'