Текст книги "Time for Silence"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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“Madame Rochère assured me of that. You do not think I would put my great-grandchild with someone who would not be good to him.”

“And you were ready to put him out to be cared for?”

“I detect a note of criticism. Dear Lucinda, could I have him here? Adopt a child, at my age? Only for one reason. I have to think of Annabelinda. What would her future be if this were known? She would be classed as a fallen woman before she had a chance to stand up and show what she has to offer. She would never have married into appropriate circles.”

“She might have found someone to love her, and she could have her baby with her.”

He leaned toward me and kissed my hair lightly.

“Dear Lucinda, you see the world through the eyes of innocence. Charming…very charming. But life is not like that. I want what is best for Annabelinda. She is a very beautiful and attractive girl. I should hate to see her chances ruined at the start.”

“What of the child?” I asked.

“He will have the best of homes. You yourself have said so. But I confess I am a little uneasy that he should be so near the school.”

“You think Annabelinda will recognize her son?”

“All babies look alike. They change as they grow up, but in the first weeks they are different. They come into the world like wizened old men and in a few weeks they are plump and beautiful. But you see how careful we must be. You see how the odd coincidence can leap up to confound you. Your acquaintance with this good woman, your seeing that paper. Who would have thought that would have happened? And yet it is all so simple, so natural. Mind you, I did wonder at the wisdom of placing the child so near to the school. But Madame Rochère gave the woman such a good character reference, and she, of course, had no notion of where the child came from.”

“You have gone to a great deal of trouble to do this for Annabelinda,” I said.

“For her and the honor of the family,” he said. “That means a great deal to people such as I. Perhaps we are too proud, a little arrogant. Mon Dieu, we should have learned our lessons, should we not, all those years ago. But does one ever learn lessons? A little perhaps, but rarely entirely.

“Well, now you know what happened, and I am placing my trust in you. The incident must be forgotten. I shall make sure that the child is well cared for…educated when the time comes. There is no need to fear for his future. And what I ask of you, dear Lucinda, is never to divulge to any person what you have learned. I have a high respect for your integrity, I know I can rely on you. Annabelinda is wayward…a little irresponsible. It is part of her charm. Do not let her know that you are aware of what happened. Help her to keep up the myth. And please…I beg of you…do not tell her that the child who is being brought up by the Plantains is hers. I can rely on you, can I not, Lucinda?”

“I shall tell no one,” I said.

He put his hand over mine and pressed it.

“I place my trust in you,” he said.

Then we sat silently for a few moments, watching the white swans gliding gracefully on the lake.

After the summer holidays, in September, we returned to La Pinière. It was a year since I had first seen it and I felt that I had grown a long way from the naive girl I had been then. I had learned much; and although the dramatic events had not happened to me, I had been close enough to them to be deeply affected.

I thought of Jean Pascal Bourdon as some powerful god who arranged people’s lives—cynically, yet benignly…amorally in a way. And yet what would Annabelinda have done without him?

I thought often of the child in the care of Marguerite Plantain. He would never know his mother and what trouble had been caused by his coming into the world. He would be well cared for, educated when the time came. Checks would arrive regularly for the Plantains and they would have no idea from whom they came. By one powerful stroke, Jean Pascal had changed their lives even more than Annabelinda’s, because I was sure that, in time, Annabelinda would convince herself that this episode in her life had never happened, while the Plantains would have Edouard, the constant reminder.

Caroline said I had changed since the holidays.

“You look so serious. Do you know, sometimes when I speak to you, you don’t answer. Was it such a wonderful holiday?”

“Wonderful,” I told her.

Annabelinda was received at school with a sort of awe. They were all convinced that she had been, as one of them remarked, “snatched from the jaws of death.” And any to whom that had happened must be of very special interest.

Annabelinda exploited the situation, as I expected. She was quite a figure at school now. She had her own room, and although Madame Rochère was a little cool toward her—and, I believe, watchful—Annabelinda shrugged that aside. She was enjoying school. “The wages of sin,” I told myself, feeling it was the sort of comment Jean Pascal might have made.

Oddly, Annabelinda seemed to have forgotten the episode more easily than I. But I supposed she wanted to, and Annabelinda always did what she wanted. I could not forget, and there was the baby to remind me.

I became fascinated by the child and could not resist taking walks past the cottage. Whereas before I had been fond of the company of my fellow pupils, I now wanted to escape from them and make my way to the cottage…alone. On warm days, the perambulator would almost always be in the Plantain garden.

Marguerite was recovering from her tragedy, and I think this was largely due to little Edouard. She doted on the child. She told me, “Jacques is beginning to love him. It was hard for him at first. It was his own he wanted. But Edouard has such winning ways. Just look at the little angel.”

Sometimes I would hold Edouard on my lap. I would look for a likeness to his parents. There was none. He was just like any other baby.

Sometimes I would go into the Plantain garden and sit by him. I would watch him and think of Annabelinda and Carl together…clandestinely meeting in that cottage of his which would be rather like the Plantains’…creeping out of school at night. How daring she was! This would be the first of many adventures in her life, I imagined. This was just a beginning. And what a beginning—bringing another life into the world. I supposed she had not given this possibility a thought when she was with Carl. And Carl himself? The man of mystery. He would not even know he had a son. Would he care? What sort of man was he? I had only seen him twice. Yet he was the father of this child. He was the reason why all this had happened, the reason why Jean Pascal Bourdon had had to be called in to come with his cynical knowledge of the world and its foibles, to manipulate everyone so that this child’s birth would not spoil Annabelinda’s prospects of making a brilliant marriage.

It was no wonder that I felt older, a little blasé. I had been shown such a new light on worldly affairs. I had grown only one year in time but many in experience.

School life continued as usual. I was in a higher class, and even more time was given to social pursuits. There were more dancing lessons, more piano lessons, singing lessons and deportment.

I was realizing that fourteen was quite a mature age—a time when I would have to think of the future.

Annabelinda, with her sixteen years and aura of mystery, was far above me. We did not see a great deal of each other during school hours, and when I had a little time to myself I liked to wander off to the Plantain cottage.

Annabelinda was unaware of the cottage; she certainly knew nothing of the baby who lay in his perambulator in the garden on warm days. I thought it all very strange and mysterious, but it did give a certain flavor to life.

Christmas came. Aunt Celeste collected us as usual and we stayed a night in Valenciennes and then went home. Everything was according to plan, and in due course we were back again for the January term. We would not go home again until the summer, for the journey was too long to be undertaken at midterm, so we went down to spend the brief holiday at Château Bourdon.

“It won’t be long,” my mother wrote, “until you are coming home again. How time flies!”

I knew that she was not very happy about my going to school in Belgium, although Aunt Celeste assured her that the education I was getting was excellent and the fact that I should have several languages when it was completed would be a real asset.

My mother understood this, but said she wished it were nearer.

At midterm, when we went to the château, Annabelinda was her merry self. I marveled that she could be so. Did she never wonder what had happened to her child? It occurred to me that, in his infinite wisdom, Jean Pascal might have told her that her baby had died at his birth. In any case, I could not ask her.

At the château we rode a good deal; we inspected the vineyards; we dined with distinguished guests whom Jean Pascal and the Princesse gathered about them; and I often sat by the lake and thought of all that had happened over the last year.

Jean Pascal did not mention it. This was part of his policy. One forgot unpleasant things, and in time it seemed as though they had never happened.

I was glad to get back to school.

During conversazione a still frequent topic was the Balkan War, which had ended in the previous August.

As well-educated young ladies, we were expected to be able to discuss world affairs, especially those that were happening fairly close to us. This was the reason for so much emphasis being laid on the conversazione.

Most of the other girls found the subject of the Balkans exceptionally boring. We learned that the first war was between the Balkan States—which had included Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece and Montenegro—on one side, and the Ottoman Empire on the other.

In May of last year, the Balkan States had been victorious and a treaty was signed in London, the result of which was that the Ottoman Empire lost most of its territory in Europe.

“Thank goodness that’s over,” Caroline had said. “Now we can forget the wretched lot of them.”

“My dear Caroline,” said Miss Carruthers, “you are extremely thoughtless. These matters can be of the greatest importance to us. I know the Balkans seem remote to you, but we are part of Europe and anything that happens there could have its effect on us. Wars are good for no one, and when one’s neighbors indulge in them, events must be closely watched. One never knows when one’s country might be brought in.”

However, it had been pleasant to be able to forget the war and discuss the capital cities of Europe such as Paris, Brussels and Rome, all of which we read about and talked of with a certain amount of aplomb—the Bois de Boulogne, Les Invalides, the Colosseum of Rome, the art galleries of Florence—just as though we knew them well. This made us feel very sophisticated, knowledgeable and much-traveled—in our minds at least.

But that summer there had been moans of dismay when war broke out again. Serbia, Greece, Turkey and Rumania were quarreling with Bulgaria over the division of the spoils gained from the last war. We were delighted when Bulgaria was quickly defeated and peace returned.

Now, a year later, Madame Rochère still seemed rather grave—and so did some of the other teachers. The atmosphere had become a little uneasy. All the same it was a delightful summer; the weather was perfect and the days sped by. Soon the term would be at an end and we should be on our way home once more for the summer holidays. Aunt Celeste would come for us on the first day of August. School broke up on the last day of July.

We were coming toward the end of June. There was just over a month to go and Annabelinda and I were already making plans.

“This time next year, I shall be thinking of leaving,” she said. “I shall have a season. Do they have seasons in France? I must ask Grandpère. Of course, they haven’t got a king and queen. It wouldn’t be the same. I suppose my season will be in London. I shall see the King and Queen. Queen Mary looks a little stern, doesn’t she?”

How can she talk so lightly of such things? I thought. Does she ever give a thought to the baby?

Little Edouard was now nearly a year old. He was beginning to take notice. He could crawl and was learning to stand up. Sometimes he would take a few tentative steps. I would sit opposite Marguerite and he would stand between us, his face alight with pleasure. It was a game to him, to totter from Marguerite’s arms to mine without falling. She would stand behind, ready to catch him should the need arise. Then he would take his faltering steps and fall into my arms, which were waiting to receive him. We would clap, applauding his triumph, and he would put his hands together and do the same, beaming with pride in his achievement.

It was amazing what pleasure I found in that child. Perhaps he was so important to me because I knew he was Annabelinda’s. I felt that he belonged to our family. One day I should have to leave him. When my days at La Pinière were over, that would be the end. No. I would come back. I would pay a visit now and then…so that I could see how he was growing up. Marguerite would welcome me. She understood my feelings for the child. She shared them.

Edouard had done so much for her. He had assuaged her grief. I sometimes believed she could not have loved her own child more than she loved Edouard.

One day when I returned from the cottage and went up to the dormitory, Caroline was waiting there with Helga.

“You’re late,” said Caroline. “Why do you always go off on your own?”

“Because I like it.”

“To get away from us. That’s not very polite.”

“It’s to get away from school. I like…to walk around.”

“You haven’t got a secret lover, have you?”

I flushed a little, thinking of Annabelinda creeping out to meet Carl.

“You have! You have!” shrieked Caroline.

“Don’t be silly! How could I?”

“There are ways. Some do.”

Again that feeling of unease. Did they guess about Annabelinda? Why should I feel guilty because of her?

“I’d better get ready,” I said. “I’ll be late for conversazione.”

When we reached the hall, Madame Rochère was already there. She looked as though she had an important announcement to make. She had. She stood up and waited until we were seated, then she began.

“Something has happened, girls,” she said. “Yesterday in Sarajevo, which as you know is the capital of Bosnia in Yugoslavia, the heir apparent to the throne of Austria-Hungary, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, with his wife, was assassinated by a Bosnian Serb named Gavrilo Princip.”

It was obvious that the girls were not greatly impressed by the news. Most of us were thinking, Oh, dear, we thought we had finished with those tiresome people. Now it will all be brought up again, and there will be little talk of the new dances and fashions, and those great cities of the world and all the delightful things one can do in them. Haven’t we had enough of those people with their two wars? And now they go around assassinating royalty!

“This is grave news,” Madame Rochère was saying. “It has happened far away, it is true, but it may have an effect on us. We must wait and see, and be prepared.”

July was with us. We were all preoccupied with plans for going home.

I said to Marguerite, “I shall be away for about two months.”

“You will see a change in Edouard when you come back,” she commented.

Aunt Celeste wrote that she would be coming to Valenciennes as usual. She would arrive at the school on the first of August. I wondered if Jean Pascal and the Princesse would be at Valenciennes. We always spent a day at the house there before beginning our journey home.

We had no notion at that time that this was going to be any different from our usual homecoming.

Then on the twenty-eighth of July, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Relations between the two countries had been deteriorating since the murder of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, and this was the result.

Madame Rochère was looking worried. It was clear that she thought this was happening at an unfortunate time. A month later and all the girls would have been at their respective homes and not her responsibility. Although the enormity of the situation was not apparent to us at that time, it was only a matter of days before this became clear to us.

I awoke on the morning of the first of August with mixed feelings. I longed to see my parents and my brother, Charles; on the other hand I should miss Edouard. It was amazing how I had grown so fond of a baby who could do little more than smile blandly when I picked him up and make little cooing noises, which Marguerite and I tried to interpret into words. I did not want to leave the child, but on the other hand there was so much to look forward to at home.

We were ready to leave, as were most of the girls. Some had gone on the previous day.

The morning seemed long. Celeste usually came early so that we could leave at once for Valenciennes. It seemed strange that she had not appeared.

Another peculiar thing was that all the English girls who had been expecting to leave that day were in the same position as Annabelinda and I. Helga had gone with the German contingent some days earlier; and most of the French girls were able to leave.

It was disconcerting and we knew something was very wrong.

There was tension throughout the school. Everyone was whispering, conjuring up what had happened. Then we heard that Germany was involved by declaring war against Russia.

Another day passed and there was no news of Celeste.

We had no notion of what was going on and why Aunt Celeste had not come for us. It was consoling that we were not the only ones whose arrangements had undergone this mysterious change.

A few more girls left, but there was still no sign of Aunt Celeste.

On the third of August, Germany declared war on France and then we understood that something very grave was happening.

That was a nightmare day. The gardens looked so peaceful; everything was quiet. There was a dramatic quality to the air. The flowers, the insects, the birds…they all seemed to be waiting…just as we were. We knew the calm could not go on.

On the afternoon of that day a man came riding onto the grounds on a motorcycle.

Caroline came bursting into the dormitory. I had just come back from visiting Edouard. Marguerite had told me that she and Jacques were very uneasy. She had a fear of the Germans.

“We are too near them,” she kept saying. “Too close….Too close.”

Even Edouard seemed to sense the tension and was a little fretful.

I was filled with misgivings. I had expected to be home by now. It was all so unusual.

Caroline was saying, “There’s a man with Madame Rochère. He is asking for you and Anna B. He’s brought letters or something. I distinctly heard him mention your name.”

“Where is he?”

“With Madame Rochère.”

At that moment Mademoiselle Artois appeared at the door.

“Lucinda, you are to go to Madame Rochère’s study at once.”

I hurried off.

Madame Rochère was seated at her desk. A man in the uniform of a British soldier sat opposite her.

He rose as I entered and said, “Good afternoon, miss.”

“This,” said Madame Rochère, “is Sergeant Clark. He has brought a letter from your parents. I also have heard from them.”

Sergeant Clark produced the letter.

“You should read it now,” said Madame Rochère. “Sit down and do so.”

I obeyed with alacrity.

My dearest Lucinda, I read,

You will be aware that there is trouble in Europe and it has been impossible for Aunt Celeste to meet you as usual. Travel at the ports is disrupted. We are all very anxious that you should come home as soon as possible.

Your Uncle Gerald is having this letter brought to you. He is sending out someone to bring you and Annabelinda back to England. It might be difficult getting across France and finding the necessary transport. A Major Merrivale will be coming to the school to bring you both home. You must stay there until he arrives, which will be as soon as it can be arranged. Your Uncle Gerald thinks this is the best way of getting you back safely in these unfortunate circumstances.

Your father and I are very worried about you, but we are sure Uncle Gerald will see that you are brought safely back.

All our love, darling,

Mama

There was a note from my father, telling me to take great care and follow Major Merrivale’s instructions, then we should all soon be together.

Enclosed was a note from Charles. Lucky you. Having all the fun. Charles.

I lifted my eyes to Madame Rochère who was watching me closely.

“Your parents are very wise,” she said. “I know your uncle is Colonel Greenham and he will be able to arrange for the safe conduct of both you and Annabelinda. Now we must await the arrival of Major Merrivale, and you must be ready to leave as soon as he comes.”

“Yes, Madame Rochère.”

I said good-bye to the soldier and thanked him. Then I sped away to the dormitories to find Annabelinda and tell her what had happened.

That evening we heard the startling news. Germany had invaded Belgium, and on the following day, the fourth of August, Great Britain declared war on Germany.

Two days passed. Most of the girls had left by now. Miss Carruthers stayed on. She said she could not leave until all the English girls had gone. The trains were running intermittently.

Had we not been told to wait for Major Merrivale, we would have gone to Valenciennes; but that might have been unwise, as the French were now at war.

The most immediate danger was the invasion of Belgium, and each hour we lived in trepidation of what might happen to us. We knew that Belgium was defenseless against the might of Germany’s army; and we did not have to be told that each day they were penetrating further and coming nearer and nearer.

We did not stray far from the school, in case Major Merrivale arrived. I thought of the anxiety my parents would be suffering. It would be even greater than ours, for they were completely in the dark.

Then came a day of terror. We had heard rumors that the Germans were advancing rapidly. We were not quite sure how far we could trust that rumor, but I could not help wondering whether they would reach us before Major Merrivale came.

I was with Annabelinda in the gardens close to the school when disaster struck from the sky. I had never seen a Zeppelin before and was unsure what it was up there among the clouds. I was soon to discover.

As the light caught this large, rather cumbersome cylindrical airship, it looked as though it were made of silver.

It was almost overhead. I stood still, watching, and saw something fall. There was a loud explosion which nearly knocked me down; then I saw the smoke and flames.

To my horror I realized that the bomb had fallen near the cottages.

My throat was dry. I shouted, “They’ve struck the cottages! There are people there! The Plantains…the baby!”

I started to run toward them. Annabelinda tried to restrain me.

“Keep away,” she cried. “You’ll get hurt.”

I pushed aside her hand. I heard myself crying out, “There’s the baby!”

And I ran. I forgot Annabelinda. I could only think of the Plantains and Edouard. I could not see the cottage. Smoke was in my eyes; the acrid smell filled my nostrils. I saw the airship floating farther away. It was going now that it had deposited its lethal cargo.

Where the cottage had been was a pile of rubble. A fire was burning. I found my way to the wall around the garden. The perambulator was still there. And…Edouard was in it.

I dashed to it and looked at him. He smiled at me when he saw me and gurgled something.

I took him out of the pram and hugged him.

“Oh, thank God…thank God,” I cried.

I did not realize that I was weeping. I just stood there, holding him. He tried to wriggle free. I was hugging him too tightly for his comfort.

With a calmness which astonished me, for my mind was in a turmoil, I put him back into his perambulator and strapped him in. Then I walked with him to the spot where the cottage had been. Marguerite must be there somewhere. She would never have gone out and left the baby.

“Marguerite,” I called. “Where are you?”

There was silence.

I moved toward the mass of broken walls and rubble which had been his home. I could see the fire smoldering there and a terrible fear seized me. I dreaded what I might find.

I should call for help, perhaps. It would be dangerous to walk about here. I must rouse people. I must get help. But I had to assure myself that Marguerite was there.

I found her. Jacques was beside her, and I could see that he was dead. There was blood and froth about his mouth; his coat was stained with blood and there was something unnatural about the way he lay. Marguerite was lying under a beam which pinned her to the ground.

I cried, “Marguerite…”

She opened her eyes.

“Oh…thank God,” I said. “Marguerite, I must get help. They’ll come and get you out of here.”

“Edouard…” she whispered.

“He is safe,” I said. “Unharmed. I have him. He is in his pram.”

She smiled and closed her eyes.

“Marguerite,” I said. “I am going back to the school…taking Edouard. I’ll get help. They’ll come and look after you.”

“Jacques…” she said. Her eyes turned. She saw him lying there and I guessed she knew that he was dead. I saw the stricken look in her eyes.

“Oh, Jacques,” she murmured. “Oh, Jacques…”

I did not know how to comfort her, but I must get help. They must remove that plank across her body. They must get her to a hospital or somewhere safe. But there was no safety. What had happened here could happen again at any moment…to any of us. This was war.

I stood up and she opened her eyes. “Don’t go,” she said.

“I am going to get help, Marguerite.”

She shook her head. “Stay here…Edouard.”

“Edouard is safe,” I said.

“Who…who will care for him?”

“I’m going to get help.”

“No…no…I am finished. I know it. I feel it. Edouard.”

“He is safe,” I repeated.

“Who will care for him?” she asked again.

“You will. You are going to get well.”

I saw a look of impatience cross her face.

“You…” she said. “You will care for him. You love him, too.”

I did not know what she meant at first, but all her thoughts were for Edouard. I knew how she had planned for his future, because she had told me of it. The checks that came regularly would buy him such things as he needed, things which had never come the way of Jacques and Marguerite. She had planned for Edouard. He had saved her from her abject misery; he had replaced her lost child. He had given her something to live for. Her life was to have been dedicated to him…and now she was being taken from him.

All her concern was for him. She believed she was dying. Jacques was dead. He had been talking to her one minute and the next he was lying dead beside her. And all because of this stupid war. How could those men in the airships do such a thing? Did they stop to think what misery they were causing for people whom they had never known?

I started to rise. “I must get help,” I said. “I’m wasting time. They’ll come, and you’ll be all right. They’ll look after you.”

“No, no. I shall never be all right. Do not go…not yet. Edouard, what will become of him? They sent him away. They paid money…but money’s not love. Poor child. Poor little baby. Who will love him? Who will care for him? Not those who sent him away…farmed him out…”

“He made you happy, Marguerite,” I said.

“Oh, yes…happy. My little baby. But what will become of him? There is only one I wish him to be with.”

I could only say, “All will be well. They will come soon. I must bring them here.”

She shook her head. “You, Lucinda. You love him and he loves you. He knows so little of the world. He knows you are safe…you, me and Jacques. Only one of us will do. He would be frightened without any of us. He is so little. It must be you.”

I thought her mind was wandering; then I realized how earnest she was. She clutched my hand. I looked into her eyes. They were imploring, begging.

“Miss Lucinda, you must do this. It is my dying wish. Promise me that I may die happy.”

“Marguerite…”

“Take him with you. Take him away. You will go home to England. You will be safe there. Take my baby with you. Please…please take him. You must. What will become of him if you do not?”

“We must find those who brought him to you.”

“I do not know them.”

“There is the solicitor, you said.”

“I have never seen him. The money comes. I have no address. I do not know where it comes from. They do not care for him. They do not love him. They gave him away. They pay to keep him out of the way. To them he is nothing…something to be forgotten. How could they ever love him? Lucinda, it is my dying wish. Promise me. I trust you. You have a good mother and a good father. You have spoken of them and I hear the love in your voice when you do so. They are good people. Tell them how a dying woman begged of you. Your mother will understand. But take my baby. You take him. Take little Edouard—please. Let me—die happy.”

Her breath was coming in gasps. What was I doing here? Why was I not running for help? I was here because I was aware that there was no help for her. She was dying. She knew it and I knew it, and her only desire now was to extract a promise from me before it was too late.

“Lucinda…Lucinda…” Her voice was a whisper now.

I bent over. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me when I go to England. I know that when my mother hears what has happened, she will want to care for him.”

I saw a smile spread across her face. It was one of peace.

“But, Marguerite,” I went on, “you are going to get well. They will come and take you to a hospital.”

She smiled. She was still holding my hand in hers.

“I will go now,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me. A soldier is coming to take us across France to England. I promise Edouard shall go with us. Trust me, Marguerite.”

She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine. “I trust you,” she said. “You will keep your word and I will die content.”

Her grip on my hand slackened. She was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Then…I knew that she was dead.

I rose. I took the perambulator and went across the gardens to the house.