"Oh, yes," I said cheerfully, "he's fine."
I opened the door for her, straight onto Berthe who had paused outside, one hand lifted to knock…
"Oh, miss, you startled me! I was just coming." Her eyes went past me and I saw them widen. I said quickly: "Madame isn't too well. Madame de Valmy, let Berthe see you to your room. I only rang for her to light Philippe's bedroom fire, but I'll do that myself. Berthe," I turned to the girl, who was still looking curiously at Héloïse de Valmy's drawn face, "take Madame to her room, ring for Albertine and wait till she comes. Then come back here, please."
"Yes, miss."
As I knelt to light Philippe's bedroom fire my mind was fretting at a new problem-a minor one, which I suppose I had seized on almost as a relief from the other worries that beat dark wings in my brain. What were those tablets that were apparently the breath of life to Madame de Valmy? Did she drug? The ugly thought swirled up through a welter of ignorant conjectures, but I refused to take it up. The things were only sleeping-tablets, I was sure; and presumably some people couldn't live without sleeping-tablets. But-the flames spread merrily from paper to sticks and took hold with a fine bright crackling-but why did she want the tablets now? She had looked as if she were suffering from some sort of attack, heart or nerves, that needed a restorative or stimulant. The sleeping-tablets could hardly be the sort of life-savers that her anxiety had implied.
I shrugged the thoughts away, leaning forward to place a careful piece of coal on the burning sticks. I was ignorant of such matters, after all. She had certainly seemed ill, and just as certainly old Doctor Fauré must know what he was about…
Another burst of whistling and a messy-sounding splash came from the bathroom, and presently Philippe emerged, his hair in damp spikes, and his usually pale cheeks flushed and scrubbed-looking. He had on his nightshirt, and trailed a dressing-gown on the floor behind him.
Something absurd and tender took me by the throat. I looked austerely at him. "Ears?"
He naturally took no notice of this poor-spirited remark, but came over to the hearthrug beside which the fire now burned brightly. He said, with palpable pride: "I escaped death by inches, didn't I?"
"You did indeed."
"Most people would have fallen over, wouldn't they?"
"Decidedly."
"Most people wouldn't have had the presence of mind to stay quite still, would they?"
I sat back on my heels, put an arm round his waist, and hugged him to me, laughing. "You odious child, don't be so conceited I And look, Philippe, we won't tell Berthe when she comes back, please."
"Why?"
"Because your aunt isn't well, and I don't want any alarming rumours getting to her to upset her,"
"All right. But you'll-you'll tell my uncle Léon, won't you?"
"Of course. It's a marvel to me that he didn't hear the coping fall himself. He was in the hall when I got in, and that was only a few moments after-ah, Berthe. How is Madame?"
"Better, miss. She's lying down. Albertine's with her and she knows what to do. She says Madame will be well enough to go down to dinner."
"I'm glad to hear it. She… she took her tablets, Berthe?"
"Tablets, miss? No, it was her drops. She keeps them in the cabinet by her bed. Albertine gave her them."
"I-see. By the way, Berthe, weren't you supposed to be around the schoolroom wing while I was out?"
"Yes, miss, but Bernard came for me." She shot me a sidelong glance. "There was some linen I'd been sewing. Bernard wanted it for the Master, and couldn't find it, though I'd told him where it was."
"I see. Well, that shouldn't have kept you very long."
"No, miss. But it wasn't where I'd put it. Somebody'd moved it. Took me quite a while to find." She was eyeing me as she answered, obviously wondering why I questioned her so sharply.
I said: "Well, Master Philippe went outside to play on the balcony and got wet, so he's had a bath and is to have supper in bed. Do you mind bringing it in here, Berthe, and mine as well, please?"
"Not a bit, miss. I'm sorry, miss, but you see Bernard was in a hurry and-" She broke off. She was very pink now and looked flustered.
I thought: "But in no hurry to let you go, that's obvious. And I don't suppose you insisted." I said aloud: "It's all right, Berthe, it doesn't matter. Master Philippe's not a-baby, after all. It was his own fault he got a wetting, and now he gets the reward, and you and I have the extra work. That's life, isn't it?"
I got up, briskly propelling Philippe towards the bed. "Now in you get, brat, and don't stand about any longer in that nightshirt."
I had supper with Philippe as I had promised, and played a game with him and read him a story. He was still in good spirits, and I was glad to see that his own part in the accident was assuming more and more heroic proportions in his imagination. At least nightmares didn't lie that way.
But when I got up to go out to the pantry to make his late- night drink he insisted a little breathlessly on coming with me. I thought it better to let him, so he padded along in dressing- gown and slippers and was set to watch the milk on the electric ring while I measured the chocolate and glucose into the blue beaker he always used. We bore it back to the bedroom together and I stayed with him while he drank it. And then, when I would have said goodnight, he clung to me for a moment too long, so that I abandoned my intention of seeing Léon de Valmy that night, and spent the rest of the evening in my own room with the communicating doors open so that the child could see my light.
When finally I was free to sit down beside my own fire I felt so tired that the flesh seemed to drag at my bones. I slumped down in the armchair and shut my eyes. But my mind was a cage gnawed by formless creatures that jostled and fretted, worries-some real, some half-recognised, some unidentified and purely instinctive-that wouldn't let me rest. And when, very late, I heard a car coming up the zigzag I jumped to my feet, nerves instantly a-stretch, and slid quietly through the shadows to the door of Philippe's room.
He was asleep. I went wearily back into my bedroom and began to undress. I was almost ready for bed when someone knocked softly on the door.
I said in some surprise: "Who is it?"
"Berthe, miss."
"Oh, Berthe. Come in."
She was carrying a parcel, across which she looked at me a little oddly. "This is for you, miss. I thought you might be in bed, but I was told to bring it straight up."
"No, I wasn't in bed. Thank you, Berthe, Goodnight."
"Goodnight, miss."
She went. I sat down on the bed and opened the parcel in some mystification.
I sat there for some time, looking down at the silver-webbed folds of Italian stuff that glimmered against the coverlet. Then I saw the note.
It read:
"For the kiss I can't honestly say I'm sorry, but for the rest I do. I was worried about something, but that's no excuse for taking it out on you. Will you count the fetching of your parcel as penance, and forgive me, please?
R.
PS. Darling, don't be so Sabine about it. It was only a kiss, after all”
Before I got to sleep that night, I'd have given a lot, drugs or no, for some of Madame de Valmy's tablets.
Chapter 10
I told my love, I told my love,
I told him all my heart…
William Blake: Poem from MSS.
Next morning it might all have been illusion. Raoul left Valmy early, this time for the south and Bellevigne. I didn't see him go. Whether or not he and Léon had spoken of last night's incident I never discovered; certainly nothing was said or even hinted to me. When I braved my employer in the library to tell him about Philippe's second escape, he received me pleasantly, to darken as he listened into a frowning abstraction that could have nothing to do with my personal affairs.