“Welcome, Mademoiselle Tremaston.” She spoke English with a pronounced French accent. “I am happy that you have come.”
She took my hands and I immediately thought: How different from Lady Constance. I reprimanded myself. I must stop continually harking back.
“I am happy to be here,” I said.
“And you have had a good journey?” She looked from me to Robert. “Welcome to La Maison Grise. It is good to see you, Robert. It is trying, is it not … that journey? La Manche … what you call the Channel … it can be a monster.”
“It was quite a benevolent monster this time,” I replied lightly, “which was fortunate for us.”
“But it is a long journey. What would you wish? To your room … or perhaps some refreshment … some coffee … a glass of wine?”
I said I should like to go to my room first and wash.
“That will be best. Berthe!” she called.
Berthe must have been hovering near, for she came at once.
“This is Berthe. She will look after you. Berthe … hot water for Mademoiselle.”
“Certainement, madame. ” Berthe gave a quick smile in my direction, accompanied by a brief curtsy.
“Come this way,” said Angele. “When you are ready, we can have a long talk. We can get to know each other, is that not so? That is … if my English will let us. Perhaps you have some French?”
“A little. I think perhaps your English might be more reliable.”
She laughed, and I felt we had made a good start.
I was taken to my room. It seemed dark until Angele opened the shutters: then the light flooded in and showed me how pleasant it was. The carpet and curtains were in a shade of pale pink; the furniture was delicate, and I felt I had stepped back a hundred years, for there was an elegant eighteenth-century atmosphere about the place. On one of the walls was a delicate tapestry—a charming reproduction of Fragonard’s “Girl on a Swing.”
I gave an exclamation of pleasure.
“You like it?” asked Angele.
“I think it is enchanting.”
“Then I am content. Robert says it is very important that you feel … how is it? … comme chez vous.”
“At home! You are so kind,” I said.
“Robert tells me of your great sorrow. We wish to help.”
“I am grateful to you.”
“Let me show you this.” She crossed to one corner of the room and drew back a curtain, disclosing an alcove in which was a large cupboard and a table on which stood a ewer and washbasin. On the floor was a hip bath.
“We call it the ruelle.”
“How very convenient,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
She took my hand and pressed it. Then she withdrew hers and seemed a little ashamed to have shown such emotion.
She said briskly: “Berthe will bring along the hot water. Your bags are here. Perhaps you would like to come down in an hour, say? I will come for you then. Is that too long?”
“I think it will be just right, thank you.”
At that moment, Berthe came in with the hot water.
“Do you need help to unpack?”
“Thank you, no. I can manage.”
“In an hour, then?”
“Yes, please.”
I was alone.
How different from the welcome I had received at Leverson Manor! I must stop thinking of Leverson. It was far away … out of my life. It must be. It would have been better if I had never seen it … never known Roderick.
I tried to concentrate on my new surroundings. They were extremely interesting. I wanted to know more about Robert’s life here, his widowed sister, and, of course, there was the great-niece and her father.
I was beginning to think I was right to have come.
I unpacked, and by the time I had had a bath and changed into a blue silk dress, the hour was nearly up. I sat by the window looking out over the lawn to what seemed like a small copse. I could see that the grounds were extensive.
There was a knock on the door. It was Angele.
“Am I too soon?”
“No, no. I am ready.”
“Then, please come.”
Robert was waiting for us and with him was a young girl who I guessed was Marie-Christine.
Robert said: “I hope you liked your room.”
“It is charming,” I told him, and turned towards the girl.
“This is Marie-Christine,” said Robert.
“How do you do?” she said in English, while making a little curtsy, which I thought charming.
“I am so pleased to meet you,” I said.
She regarded me steadily.
“I believe,” said Robert, “that Marie-Christine has been practising her English so that she could greet you in your own language.”
“How very nice of you,” I said.
She continued to watch me, and I could not help feeling vaguely uncomfortable under such scrutiny.
“Dinner is served,” said Robert. “I am sure you are hungry. I am.”
I was not really so, being completely absorbed in my surroundings.
“We are eating in the small dining room today,” said Angele. “As there are only four of us, that is more suitable.”
It was not really small, and was furnished in the same elegant manner as what I had seen of the rest of the house. Robert sat at one end of the table, Angele at the other. I was on Robert’s right, Marie-Christine on his left. There were two servants to attend to us —a kind of butler supervising and a parlourmaid to hand round the dishes. Robert had said it was a small household, but there seemed to be numerous servants.
As we ate, Angele asked about my home in London. I told her that I had no home in London now and Robert looked at me a little reproachfully.
“You know the house is for your use,” he said.
“That is kind of you, Robert,” I said. I turned to Angele. “In fact, I have been staying with friends in the country. I am really not sure what I am going to do.”
“Your bereavement, of course,” said Angele. “I am sorry.”
There was a brief silence. I broke it by saying to Marie-Christine: “Do you have a governess?”
“Oh yes, Mademoiselle Dupont.” She grimaced slightly, to indicate that Mademoiselle Dupont was a little severe.
I smiled. “Does she teach you English?”
“Oh yes. But she does not speak it as well as you do.”
Everybody laughed.
“Well, perhaps you will learn a little from me while I am here.”
“Oh yes, please. I want to.”
“Marie-Christine cannot bear not to know everything,” said Angele indulgently. “She does not like to be …” She paused. “Outside any matter. Is that not so, Marie-Christine?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, it is the right idea, if one wants to learn,” I said.
“Do you like riding?” she asked me.
“Yes, I do. I learned to ride not long ago. When I lived in London, there was little opportunity.”
“I’ll take you with me,” she promised. “I am a very experienced rider.”
“My dear child,” protested Angele.
“Well, I am good. Jacques said so. And we have to tell the truth, don’t we? You will be safe with me, Mademoiselle Tremaston.”
“I am sure I shall, and I shall look forward to riding with you.”
“Tomorrow, then,” she said. “It has to be afternoon. Mademoiselle Dupont will not release me in the morning.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
Robert was looking on benignly. He was obviously delighted that I was getting on well with his family. And I felt comforted because they all seemed determined to make me happy here; and that night, when I retired to the elegance of my eighteenth-century bedroom, my feeling was that I had been wise to come.