Pardonable Lie (20 page)

“Ah, a woman who speaks directly. Are you sure you are English?” She raised her eyebrows and laughed. “And you have had your curiosity piqued, I would imagine, regarding my gardener, Patrice.”

“Patrice?”

“Yes. The waging of war became my good fortune, for Patrice was injured at the Battle of the Marne—”

“As was Captain Desvignes.”

“The men and boys of the town joined the army together, so they saw battle together, until they were either dead or wounded. If they were lucky, they came home.”

Maisie nodded.

“My usual gardeners were gone to war, so I was grateful when Patrice came back and wanted work. The Germans liked to have a garden to wander in, to take them away from the horrors of battle.”

“The Germans?”

“You know we were occupied.”

“Of course.”

“My house was requisitioned for the officers, though I was allowed to live here too. I was not expected to leave; in fact, I was the gracious hostess.”

“That must have been terrible for you.”

“There were advantages.” Madame Clement turned to Maisie. “A lot can be learned from a homesick soldier with a glass of my very good wine inside him.”

Maisie looked into Chantal Clement’s gray eyes, eyes that she knew had seen much sadness. “You are very brave.”

“And so were you, Mademoiselle Dobbs.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have learned from Captain Desvignes that you were a nurse. That was courageous of you, and you so young. Did you lie in order to serve your country?”

“Yes,” replied Maisie, somewhat surprised at the woman’s quick grasp of the situation, that she had been too young for service overseas.

“It is part of war, is it not? We lie for truth to prevail and for goodness to return for all of us.”

Maisie allowed a half moment’s silence, then spoke again. “Can you tell me what happened to your granddaughter’s parents? To her mother?”

“My daughter, Suzanne? Ah, yes. Not like Pascale, quieter, a
dark horse
, I think you English would say.”

“Yes.”

Chantal Clement shook her head. “It is a long story, Mademoiselle, and it is one that cannot be told in haste. She worked alongside other members of our small community here to thwart the enemy, essentially in passing messages to the Allies and committing acts of sabotage. It will be sufficient to say that our captors were in disarray toward the end of the war, the end of their occupation. They were panicking, and the risks my daughter took were crucial, for she wanted to carry on the work of Pascale’s father. But along with our mayor and another, she was executed as an example, a final act of power before the Germans left and we were liberated. The end of the war came too late for Suzanne.” She took a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt and dabbed her eyes.

Maisie was about to speak when a
thump-thump-thump-thump
announced Pascale, running downstairs toward the drawing room. Then the door burst open.

“Grandmère, I am starving! Our lunch is in the dining room and I am ravenous.” She turned to Maisie. “That is a good English word, is it not? Ravenous!”

Lunch was filled with light conversation, with Pascale interrupting frequently with “Is this a word that…?” and “How would you describe…?” Madame Clement spoke of a finishing school in Switzerland, and Pascale pouted, saying she would much prefer to live on a farm, or on the Riviera, or even in America. “I want to go to Hollywood to meet film stars.”

The older woman rolled her eyes many times and the two sparred playfully, both ensuring that Maisie was part of the conversation and never left out. They were sparkling hostesses. All too soon, lunch was over.

“You will come again, Mademoiselle Dobbs? Can you come tomorrow?”

“Well, I’m not sure, not really. You see, I go to Biarritz on Thursday.”

“Oh, Grandmère, Biarritz! May I go, may I?”

“Certainly not! Mademoiselle Dobbs does not want a tall jumping bean of a girl with her when she is on business.” Madame Clement frowned and held up one finger to press her point.

“Actually, Biarritz will be my first real holiday ever, to tell you the truth.”

“Then you must come tomorrow.” Pascale fidgeted as she awaited Maisie’s answer. “Please come! I will show you the château and tell you all my secrets.”

“Ah, the joys of thirteen: always there is a secret, is there not, Pascale?” Madame Clement stepped toward the door, eager to release Maisie from Pascale’s energetic insistence.

Maisie smiled as she replaced her beret. “You have twisted my arm, Mademoiselle Clement. I will come tomorrow morning, but I must leave at noon.”

Madame Clement inclined her head. “You are most indulgent, Mademoiselle Dobbs. Thank you.”

“What does this mean?” Pascale frowned. “Twisting the arm?”

M
AISIE WAS SMILING
as she walked across the fields toward the town. Though the story half told by Chantal Clement was one of bravery and sacrifice, leaving much to the imagination, one could not spend time with Pascale and not feel one’s spirits lifted. But then again, to what extent did Pascale work to elevate her grandmother’s mood? Did she feel, perhaps, that she needed to compensate for her mother’s death, to bring constant joy to an aging woman who had lost her only daughter? Maisie nodded to herself as she stopped once again at the place where the earth had been scorched by a burning British aeroplane. Yes, there was too much intensity to Pascale’s laughter, her determination to bring light into Chantal Clement’s life. And there was another thing that nagged at Maisie, as she allowed her mind to reach back into the past with only the swish of a breeze through the trees and a skylark’s song on the air above. She found herself reminded of those early days at Girton and the ebullient playfulness of her friend Priscilla.

A
S
M
AISIE ROUNDED
the corner in front of the pension, she stepped quickly into the shadows, her heart pounding. On the opposite corner, just outside the invisible line that would provide an easy view of him from the upper windows, was a man. Yes, it was the same man, the one first seen in Paris. It must have been him in the garden, and now he was here, watching the pension. Waiting for her.
Well, he’s not that good or he would have followed me across the field.
Maisie continued to watch as the man stepped back against a brick wall at the approach of a motor car.
Perhaps he did follow. But then, perhaps he had no need, for he knew where I was going.
Maisie took one last look, turned, and doubled back quickly. She hurried around the houses to the back of the pension and entered by the kitchen door. Running into the house, first to her room to collect a small pair of binoculars and then onto the landing again, she stood by the window. Kneeling so that her head was just above the windowsill, she lifted the binoculars and carefully pushed the lace curtain aside just sufficiently to study the man. He watched the house, sometimes looking back and forth along the street. Then he checked his watch, took one last long look, and began walking away. Maisie frowned, tapping the binoculars against the windowsill in thought before standing up. Sometimes, there wasn’t any particular reason for knowing a thing, one just knew; there was no other explanation. This man might seem like any other walking along a street, but it is generally known that people reveal their roots by the manner in which they walk, use their hands, and generally comport themselves. This man was no exception. Maisie knew that he was not French but English.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Dobbs, Mademoiselle Dobbs!” Madame Thierry turned on the gaslight from the base of the stairwell and walked up to greet Maisie, who had been oblivious to the fading light. “We may not yet have the electricity, but we certainly have illumination. You will fall if you do not turn on the lights.”

“Of course, madame. You are right.”

Madame Thierry smiled. “It is for you. My very popular guest! A telegram from Angleterre.” She held out an envelope to Maisie.

“Thank you.”

“I have a fresh soup and pâté this evening, a peasant concoction with chicken. Is that to your liking, or have you been fed too much by Madame Clement?”

“I think just a small bowl, perhaps in an hour, madame.”

“
Bon.
I will call in one hour.”

“
Merci beaucoup, madame.
”

Maisie went to her room and tore open the telegram. It was from Stratton, as she expected.

RECEIVED YOUR MESSAGE VIA COMPTON STOP HAVE CONDUCTED DISCREET INITIAL INVESTIGATION PER INSTRUCTION STOP WILL ADVISE UPON RETURN STOP WATCH YOUR BACK STOP STRATTON

Much to her surprise, Maisie fell asleep quickly, relaxed, perhaps, by the laughter that accompanied Pascale Clement. But she took two conscious thoughts with her into slumber. First, she wondered why Pascale’s surname was that of her mother and grandmother, not her father. The second thought was of Stratton’s telegram and his warning:
Watch your back.

NINETEEN

Pascale was sitting on the fence that ran along one side of the carriage sweep, at the very place where she had flown through the air atop her ebony gelding, Louis, the day before. She was wearing a pretty cotton dress with tiny flowers embroidered into the fabric, yesterday’s brown jacket with the sleeves pushed up above the elbow, and brown leather sandals that revealed legs tanned by the summer sun. Her chestnut hair was drawn back into a braid, which made her look her age.

“Mademoiselle Dobbs! Hello!” She waved, jumped from the fence, and ran toward her guest. “Grandmère is asleep, but she will rise just before lunch.”

“Is she ill?” Maisie greeted Pascale with the customary kiss on each cheek.

“No, but it is her way. She sleeps poorly and rises very early, so she will often take a nap for a couple of hours in the morning. And she’s old.”

Maisie laughed. “Ah, what it is to be thirteen, when all others seem old!”

Pascale wrinkled her nose, grinned, and took Maisie’s hand as she skipped along beside her. “I will show you the château. It is very large, you know.”

“I can see that. But I have been wondering, aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

“I have taken all my classes at the lycée for girls in Reims, and now I have a tutor who comes three times each week. This will be for one year; then I will go to Switzerland.”

“That sounds very exciting. Are you looking forward to it?”

Pascale shrugged. “Not really. I want to stay with Grandmère, but she says I must spread my wings and a house with an old lady is not the place for a young girl. Yet I like my home here, and I know I will worry about Grandmère if I am away.”

Maisie nodded. Chantal Clement was a wise one, but as Pascale told of the plans for her future, a sharp pain like the prick of a pin touched her heart.
I know just how you feel.
She smiled. “I am sure you will love it. Your grandmother is right; you must learn more of the world.”

Pascale ran up the steps leading to a side entrance and turned to Maisie as she opened the door. “But it’s a complete waste of time—I am only going to come back here to run the château and look after our land, so what’s the point? I was not serious about all those other places yesterday. I want to look after Grandmère. And I will have very big parties here too!”

Maisie laughed and shook her head, once again thinking of the one who was so very much like Pascale.

The tour of the château seemed to take ages. They went upstairs, downstairs, into galleries and rooms—some with furniture covered in white dust sheets—along corridors, and even into a ballroom.

“Can you keep a secret?” Pascale wrinkled her nose, the freckles joining together in a way that made her seem even more mischievous than usual.

“Well, I would hope so, Mademoiselle Clement.”

“If I show you something that I think even Grandmère knows nothing about, will you promise, absolutely promise, not to tell?” She pressed both hands to her heart and gave her visitor a look that Maisie thought was rather theatrical.

“I promise.” Maisie placed her hand on her heart, which had begun to beat faster.

Pascale nodded and crooked her finger to indicate that Maisie should follow her. Leading the way along a narrow wood-paneled corridor, she suddenly knelt and pressed a panel, which snapped open. Maisie raised her eyebrows. She had heard of such devices but never actually seen one; it struck her as something she might read about in a book rather than something to be encountered in the course of her work.

“The Revolution,” Pascale explained, as she reached into the space behind the panel.

Maisie pictured a lever or a handle. “Oh, I see.”

A small door opened, wide enough for them to crouch and enter a dark space. As Pascale closed the door, Maisie found that she was able to stand up.

“Wait here. I will return.”

Pascale’s footsteps could be heard treading lightly on wooden floorboards. There was some shuffling, and the girl returned with an illuminated oil lamp. “Come, follow me again.”

The passageway led into a wood-lined room about twelve feet square. Heavy frayed curtains hung from a small window that looked out onto the slate roof. There was a limited view of the fields beyond—even, Maisie noted, of the place where Ralph Lawton had perished. Maisie said nothing, at first, but looked around the room. An old chaise longue on one side by a bookcase with works in French and English, a table and a cupboard on the other. Pascale opened the cupboard to reveal a set of cups, saucers, and plates and a tray of cutlery, accompanied by the smell of musty blankets and pillows. Maisie sneezed and Pascale closed the door quickly.

“Shhh! We mustn’t make any noise.”

“What is this room? Who knows about it?”

“Well, I think Grandmère must know about it, but she doesn’t know that I know.”

“And you say it was used in the Revolution?”

“That’s what I think, but if I ask, she’ll know I know.”

“How did you find it?”

Pascale shrugged her shoulders and sat on the chaise, patting the place next to her. “By accident, playing with my toys when I was a little child.”

“I see.” Maisie sat next to Pascale.

“I think my mother came here, because I have found some of her books.” She leaped up and took several books of poetry from the bookcase.

“These are all in English.”

Pascale nodded. “Of course, she was fluent. I myself speak five languages.”

“Five?” It was all Maisie could say as she regarded the young girl, who moved to lean over her shoulder while she leafed through the books.

“Yes. It is not difficult for me, you see; I just know. It is not easy to explain, but I know about their words and sentences when I hear foreign people speak.” She shrugged. “But I do like to have exercise in using the language, especially those phrases I cannot find in a book. ‘Twisting the arm’ is like that.”

Maisie felt her mouth become dry as she whispered, “Can you tell me about your father too?”

Pascale blushed and twisted her lips together. She looked straight into Maisie’s eyes as if trying to read her. Maisie did not flinch but looked directly back. Pascale was the first to look away. “I am not supposed to know. I am only to know he was a hero and gave his life for France before even knowing I was to be born. My mother worked with our townspeople to foil the Germans, so they killed her. That is what I am supposed to know.

Maisie swallowed hard. “And what is it that you are not supposed to know?”

Pascale twisted her mouth again. “Can I really trust you, Mademoiselle Maisie Dobbs?”

“Yes, you can, Mademoiselle Pascale Clement.”

The girl smiled and then became serious again. “My father was the gardener. He was a cripple.”

Maisie nodded.
Yes, I know.

“They came here together. That is why I am not to know about it. I don’t know why Grandmère would never tell me, for they all worked together for France in the war. Then my father was killed trying to help the man who crashed on our land, and Mama was taken a year later, when I was just a few months old.”

“You know your father was killed trying to save the aviator?”

“This is what I know: that the gardener tried to save him and then the aeroplane exploded.”

Maisie shook her head and said no more. Standing as if to leave, she walked across to the cupboard and then to the bookcase, before stopping for a final look out of the window.

“I have another secret, you know.” Pascale’s breathing was short. Maisie could see she was burdened, not only by a girlish need to share her secret but by the knowledge that what she knew was of importance.

“Ah, you are a woman of secrets.” Maisie smiled at the girl and reached out to touch her arm. It was a calming gesture.

“This is a secret that even Grandmère does not know.”

Maisie said nothing, just smiled to encourage her young guide.

The girl leaped to her feet and moved the bookcase to one side. At first there seemed to be nothing there; then she tapped a panel and a very small door opened, this one barely large enough for a person to slither through. She lay down on her stomach, reached back into a pocket for a box of matches, lit one, and then beckoned to Maisie, who followed Pascale’s lead by lying down beside her. They both peered into the tiny cavern. Pascale pulled out a leather-bound journal and a collection of photographs bound in ribbon.

Pascale handed the photographs to Maisie. Some were formal, taken in a studio, whereas others were obviously taken outside. At first Maisie thought the woman might be Chantal in her younger years and then realized it was Suzanne Clement, Pascale’s mother.

“You have looked through these, of course?”

Pascale nodded. “There are some of my mother, some with people in the village. And there are some of the man who may be my father.”

Maisie shuffled the photographs. “Ah, yes, I can see why you would believe that.”

“Do you think I look like that man?”

Maisie smiled at Pascale. “Perhaps a little.” She turned away.
You look more like your aunt.

“Grandmère has some photographs of me when I was a baby, with my mother. Of course, I was not born in the town. No, I was born in Reims.”

“I see.” Maisie understood. She turned her attention to the leather-bound book. “And what about this? Have you read it?”

Pascale blushed. “I started, but it didn’t make any sense to me.”

Maisie flipped through the pages, stopping here and there to read a sentence or run her finger under a word. “No, it wouldn’t.” She closed the book and turned to Pascale again. “Would you mind very much if I took this book with me? To read? I think I can understand it. I will explain more when I see you again.”

Pascale frowned. “But you are going to Biarritz!”

Maisie placed her hand on the shoulder of her new confidante. “And I will be back in a few days.”

“Do you really, really promise?”

Maisie reached for the girl and held her close. “I promise you I will return the book. And I never break my promises.”

Pascale returned Maisie’s hold with thin girlish arms around her waist. “I trust you, Mademoiselle Dobbs.”

M
AISIE PUSHED THE
book into the shoulder bag that she was carrying and left the room. After following Pascale again along corridors and then down to the entrance hall via yet another staircase, Maisie was about to leave when Chantal Clement opened the door that led to the drawing room and came forward to greet them. She wore a pale pink blouse with a high neck and long cuffs, which topped a skirt of pink-and-gray-flecked wool. An ivory shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and once again she used the cane, though her spine was straight and she did not stoop.

“Ah, there you are. Have you exhausted our guest?” She smiled, then regarded Maisie with a half smile. “It is quite lovely to see you again. I trust my granddaughter has looked after you.”

“She has been a delightful hostess. You have a wonderful home, Madame Clement.”

“The château has been in our family for centuries, but it is too large for just the two of us and of course our servants. I understand that even in your country a large household is a thing of the past.”

“That’s true. So many men did not come back from the war, and then there’s the economic situation….”

Chantal shook her head. “Yes, it is the same everywhere. And when I am gone, this white elephant will become the property of Pascale.”

The girl ran to her grandmother’s side. “No, no, you can’t go anywhere, Grandmère. I won’t let you!”

Chantal laughed. “Ah,
chérie
, I do not plan to escape your clutches just yet.” She turned to Maisie. “So, she told you all her secrets, did she?”

“Oh, a few.” Maisie winked at Pascale. “But I promised not to tell.”

The back-and-forth teasing directed at Pascale continued for another moment or two; then Maisie insisted she must leave to ready herself for the journey to Biarritz the following day. She kissed Pascale on both cheeks and turned to Chantal, who drew Maisie to her with her free hand. She kissed Maisie on one cheek and then, after kissing her quickly on the second cheek, she whispered, “The secrets of the château stay in the château, Mademoiselle Dobbs.”

Maisie drew back, smiled again at Chantal, and nodded.
I would love to know your secrets, Chantal Clement.

M
AISIE ARRIVED BACK
at the pension, stopping several times to ensure that she was not being watched before reaching the back garden and letting herself into the house through the kitchen door. She was startled to see the captain and Madame Thierry drinking coffee at the scrubbed pine table.

“
Bonjour,
madame, Captain Desvignes.”

“
Bonjour
, Mademoiselle Dobbs. How are you today? I understand that you will be leaving Sainte-Marie tomorrow.” Desvignes ran his tongue across the place where his teeth were missing, then smiled with his lips firmly closed.

“Yes, I am
en vacances
to Biarritz, then I will come back to Sainte-Marie again.” She turned to Madame Thierry. “I will need a room, perhaps two rooms, for my return. In about five days?”