“I wish I knew who my father was.”
She shook her head and lifted her shoulders.
“And so you came here?” I prompted.
“Yes, I came here. It seemed best. It is always difficult when such things happen in a little community. You know how it is with Clarkson and Mrs. Dillon. They whisper … they chatter. I did not want you to grow up among that.”
“You mean they would have despised me because my parents were not married?”
She nodded. “The St. Allengeres are a rich family … a powerful family. They are Villers-Mure. Everyone works for them. They are the big silk name in France and in Italy, too. So Monsieur St. Allengere who is the big man at the head … he is the father of us all … and the silk families throughout the world they are … how do you say it? … in … touch. They know each other. They compare. They are rivals. ‘My silk is better than your silk.’ You know, this sort of thing.”
“Yes,” I said, still thinking of my mother and the man who had betrayed her and the scandal that there would have been in Villers-Mure.
” Sir Francis … he pays a visit now and then. There is a show of friendship between the two families … but is it friend-ship? Each wants to make the best silk. They have secrets … They show this little bit … and that … but no more … nothing of importance.”
I understand, Grand’mere, but I want to hear about my mother.”
“She will be happy when she looks down from heaven and seees us together. She will know what we are to each other. Sir Francis came to Villers-Mure. I remember it well. There is a family connection … you see. They say that years and years ago they were one family. Listen to their names. St. Allengere … and in English that has become Sallonger.”
“Why yes,” I cried excitedly. “So the family here is related to that one in France?”
Again that lift of the shoulders. “You will have heard from Miss Everton about something called the Edict of Nantes.”
“Oh yes,” I cried. “It was signed by Henri IV of France in the year … well, I think it was 1598.”
“Yes, yes, but what did it do? It gave freedom to the Huguenots to worship as they wished.”
“I remember that. The King was Huguenot at the time and the Parisians would not accept a Protestant King so he said that Paris was worth a Mass and he would become a Catholic.”
She smiled, well pleased. “Ah, what it is to be educated! Well, they changed it all.”
“It was called the Revocation and it was signed by Louis XIV many years later.”
“Yes, and it drove many thousands of Huguenots out of France. One branch of the St. Allengeres settled in England. They set up silk manufactories in various places. They brought with them their knowledge of how to weave these beautiful fabrics. They worked hard and prospered.”
“How very interesting! And so Sir Francis visits his relatives in France?”
“Very rarely. The family connection is not remembered much. There is the rivalry between the Sallongers of England and the St. Allengeres of France. When Sir Francis comes to France they show him a little … not much … and they try to find out what he is doing… . They are rivals. That is the way it is in business.”
“Did you see Sir Francis when you were there?”
She nodded. “There I worked as I do here. I had my loom. I knew a good many secrets … and I shall always have them. I was a good weaver. All the people who lived there were engaged in the making of silk … and so was I.”
“And my mother?”
“She too. Monsieur St. Allengere sent for me and he asked me how I would like to go to England. At first I did not know what to say. I could not believe it but when I understood I saw that it was a good thing. It was best for you and what was good for you must be for me also. So I accepted his offer which is for me to come here … to live in this house … to work the loom, when something special is required … and to make the fashion dresses which help to sell our silk.”
“You mean Sir Francis offered us a home here?”
“It was arranged between him and Monsieur St. Allengere. I was to have my loom and my sewing machine and I was to live here and do for Sir Francis what I had been doing in France.”
“And you left your home to do this … to come all this way to a country of strangers?”
“Home is where your loved ones are. I had my baby and as long as I was with you, I was content. Here, it is the good life. You are educated with the daughters of the house … and I believe you do well, eh? Miss Julia … is she not a little envious because you are cleverer than she is? And you love Miss Cassie, do you not? She is a sister to you. Sir Francis is a good man. He keeps his word and Lady Sallonger … she is demanding shall we say … but she is not unkind. We have much and we must give a little in return. I never fail to thank the good God for finding a way for me.”
I threw my arms about her neck and clung to her.
It doesn’t matter, does it?” I said. “As long as we are together.”
So that was how I learned something of my history; but I felt that there was a great deal more to know.
Grand’mere was right. Life was pleasant. I was reconciled and the slight difference with which I was treated did not worry me very much. I was not one of them. I accepted that. They had been kind to us. They had allowed us to leave the little place where everyone would know that my mother had had me without being married. I was well aware of the stigma attached to that, for there was more than one girl in the surrounding villages who had had to face what they called “trouble.” One of them had eventually married the one they called “the man” and had about six children now—but it was still remembered.
I wondered a great deal about my father. Sometimes I thought it was rather romantic not to know who one’s father was. One could imagine someone who was more exciting and handsome than real people were. One day, I told myself, I will go and find him. That started me off on a new type of daydream. I had a good many imaginary fathers after that talk with Grand’mere. Naturally I could not expect to be treated like Miss Julia or Miss Cassie, but how dull their lives were compared with mine. They had not been born to the most beautiful girl in the world; they did not possess a mysterious, anonymous father.
I realized that we were, in a way, servants of the house.
Grand’mere was of a higher grade—perhaps in the same category as Clarkson or at least Mrs. Dillon—but a servant none the less; she was highly prized because of her skills and I was there because of her. So … I accepted my lot.
It was true that Lady Sallonger was demanding. I was expected to be a maid to her. She was really beautiful—or had been in her youth and the signs remained. She would lie on the sofa in the drawing room every day, always beautifully dressed in a be-ribboned negligee and Miss Logan had to spend lots of t ime doing her hair and helping her dress. Then she would make her slow progress to the drawing room from her bedroom leaning heavily on Clarkson’s arm while Henry carried her embroidery bag and prepared to give further assistance should it be needed. She often called on me to read to her. She seemed to like to keep me busy. She was always gentle and spoke in a tired voice which seemed to have a reproach in it—against fate, I supposed, which had given her a bad time with Cassie and made an invalid of her.
It would be: “Lenore, bring me a cushion. Oh, that’s better. Sit there, will you, child? Please put the rug over my feet. They are getting chilly. Ring the bell. I want more coal on the fire. Bring me my embroidery. Oh dear, I think that is a wrong stitch. You can undo that. Perhaps you can put it right. I do hate going back over things. But do it later. Read to me now …”