Chapter 14

Three days had passed since Sidonie had left Olivier at the hermitage with Apolline Garnier and her husband. Three days of worrying if she had chosen wisely by leaving him in the care of a strange woman. She had imagined all manner of scenarios during those days – what if his condition worsened or, God have mercy, what if he had died? There would be no way for Madame Garnier to send her word. She had little more than Sidonie’s name. More fool her. It would be another death on her hands, just like the Segals’ babe, another in a series of misfortunes that amounted to her being unskilled, unaware and unprepared.

Sidonie could walk to the hermitage, but it would be quicker on horseback. Unable to recall a time when she last rode a horse but determined to make the trip, she resolved to seek her aunt’s advice. Hopefully there was a horse in the stable suitable for a novice.

She hesitated outside Aunt Eloise’s study when she heard raised voices within. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she stepped back from the door, but the voices were still audible.

‘I should not stay here, Eloise.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Liane.’

‘I should go elsewhere, at least while your niece is here.’

Sidonie knew she should turn her back and walk away. If Aunt Eloise and her companion were having a disagreement that involved her, it was none of her business. At least, that is what she told herself as she shuffled in closer to listen.

‘What does it matter who is here and who is not?’ Aunt Eloise said. She added something else but Sidonie did not catch the words.

‘You know that is different. This is your sister’s child. You hardly know the girl; you said so yourself.’

‘What I said is that I do not know her at all.’

‘Well, that is hardly reassuring, Eloise.’

‘You are settled now and that’s the end of it.’

‘I will not put you in danger.’

Aunt Eloise replied too quietly for Sidonie to hear, but she caught Liane’s response. ‘What would we do if they were to come?’

It was all quite mysterious. Could Aunt Eloise be in some kind of danger? And what would happen if they were to come? And who were they for that matter? Aunt Eloise had made a point of saying she had no other blood relations. Could it be a relative of Liane’s? Her aunt’s companion was a mystery in and of herself. Whenever Sidonie asked Liane any questions about herself and her life, she always deflected them to Aunt Eloise. Sidonie pressed her ear against the smooth wood of the door, but she couldn’t hear the response for it was spoken too softly. Eventually, the voices went silent. Straightening herself, she knocked on the door.

‘Enter.’

Aunt Eloise sat behind her desk with an open book in front of her. Liane sat by the window, her embroidery on her lap, and two pink spots high on her cheeks.

‘I need to visit Monsieur and Madame Garnier, to see to the recovery of the young man who was injured,’ Sidonie said.

‘Indeed,’ Aunt Eloise said. ‘If your young man requires further convalescence, we can open the house in town. It would not be proper for him to stay here, of course, you do understand?’

Aunt Eloise was responding as if she had asked for Olivier to stay at the estate, which she most certainly had not. She also didn’t like how her aunt had referred to him as her young man. Apolline had assumed the same. It bothered her.

‘Are you quite well?’ Aunt Eloise asked. ‘You seem agitated. Does she not seem agitated, Liane?’

‘I could not say,’ Liane said, her head lowered.

‘Fresh air is what she needs. Young people don’t belong indoors. Go to the Garnier house. Are you going alone?’

Sidonie thought it best not to correct Aunt Eloise’s assumption that the Garniers lived in a house rather than a hermitage. And their cottage was a house of a sort, so there was no lie, after all. ‘I was—’

‘You cannot go alone! Liane, would you listen to this girl? Going alone into the forest. It’s neither safe for a young woman nor seemly. Take Florian or Fabien, whichever one you find first. And bring something with you. Never arrive at someone’s home without a gift in your hands. A basket of preserved meats, cheese, apples, anything that will keep through winter, will suffice. We have more than we can use. Go now. Liane and I have something to discuss.’

‘No, we do not,’ Liane said, carefully packing away her embroidery before leaving the room.

Aunt Eloise watched her companion leave with an unreadable expression. ‘Close the door behind you,’ she said to Sidonie. As Sidonie left she saw Aunt Eloise pick up the embroidery and run her fingers lightly over the stitches before gently placing it back in the basket.

Distracted, Sidonie collided with a young woman hurrying down the corridor. She wore the clothing of a maid, but Sidonie could not recall seeing her before. Weren’t Lyse and Perrette the only maids at the estate? The young woman had been carrying a pile of freshly washed sheets, but she’d dropped them when Sidonie had bumped into her.

‘Pardon me,’ Sidonie said, bending over to collect the linens. ‘I was not looking where I was going. Are you hurt?’

As Sidonie straightened up she couldn’t help but notice the protruding stomach that the woman quickly tried to cover with her hands. The gesture exposed her wrists and Sidonie saw yellow and purple marks signifying faded bruises.

The woman followed Sidonie’s eyes and quickly took the sheets from her arms. ‘Mademoiselle,’ she bobbed a quick curtsy and scurried off down the corridor and into one of the other rooms.

While Sidonie debated whether she should alert her aunt as to the condition of one of her servants, she heard a door slam. Perrette, the senior maid, stood in the hallway. She took one look at Sidonie and moved quickly in the opposite direction.

‘Perrette?’

Perrette came to an abrupt stop, turning slowly. ‘Yes, mademoiselle?’

‘A servant, a young woman, possibly a maid ...’

‘Yes?’

Sidonie hesitated. If the woman was with child, she could lose her position. Although from what Sidonie had seen, the condition would be impossible to hide at this stage, meaning the household must already know. Not wanting to be the one telling tales, Sidonie just shook her head. ‘Nothing. Who should I ask about putting together a basket of food?’

The senior maid sighed in exasperation. ‘Monsieur Antoine is in charge of the kitchen.’

Sidonie found the butler in the kitchen. He helped her choose a basket and fill it with some of the items Aunt Eloise had suggested, along with a jar of preserved fruit, a loaf of fresh bread and some eggs. The estate’s larder was well stocked, in stark contrast to her larder in Paris, so the removal of the items barely made a difference.

She headed to the stables with the basket in her hands when she spotted Fabien – or was it Florian? – pruning an apple tree. He was quite easy to spot on account of the flaming red hair that poked out from beneath a faded green cap.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Could you spare some time to accompany me on a visit?’

‘I would be happy to come with you, Mademoiselle Montot,’ he said, climbing down from the tree. ‘Rather be riding than stuck up a tree. Funny, isn’t it? When I was a boy, you couldn’t get me out of a tree. My brother, Florian, and I would spend morning, noon and night up in the branches. We loved it. Loved everything about it. Papa loved it too, as it was probably the only peace we ever gave him! Now climbing trees is one of my least favourite things to do. Why is that, do you think?’

‘I couldn’t say. I cannot recall ever climbing a tree.’

Fabien’s eyes widened. ‘Never? Not even as a girl? Do they not have trees in Paris?’

‘They do. The city has many parks and there’s a forest beyond the walls.’

‘What’s a park?’ Fabien asked.

Sidonie gestured to the grounds of the estate. ‘Like this but larger. And it belongs to everyone in the city.’

‘Don’t know if I’d care for that, having all sorts trampling through my vegetables, disturbing the animals. Where are we going today?’

‘They don’t grow veg ... Never mind. To the hermitage in the forest, to see after a sick man. And to take this basket to a woman living there.’

He put his hands on his hips. ‘Well, now, that does sound exciting. What is she, then? Old? Infirm? Speaks to the birds?’

‘No, she is just a woman. She’s not old. She lives there with her husband. She helped me and we’re giving her this basket to thank her.’

‘Seems straightforward enough.’ He looked her up and down, taking in her lack of riding costume. ‘Have you spent much time on a horse?’

‘Not since I was a child,’ she confessed. ‘Even then, I shared a saddle with my father.’

‘You’ll be needing someone solid under you, then. Our old girl would be a good match.’

Sidonie followed Fabien to the stable where they walked down the centre aisle and looked at the condition of the animals within the stalls. One animal was missing large patches from its dappled grey coat; another had a milky film coating one eye. And a third tossed its head when she walked by, revealing a mouth devoid of teeth.

‘Are these animals well?’ she asked in concern, gently stroking the whiskered nose of the toothless horse.

‘For the most part,’ Fabien said. ‘If they’re suffering, we do what needs to be done. But the others can live out their lives peacefully with a full belly and a warm bed of hay. We even let them out in the upper field when the weather is fair, don’t we, Léo?’ Fabien said to a boy working in one of the stalls. His brown woollen tunic looked new and extended past his knees. He did not look up as he used a pitchfork easily twice the size of himself to remove soiled hay.

‘We do, Monsieur Fabien,’ Léo replied, keeping his eyes trained on his task.

‘Léo here is one of the best stableboys we’ve ever had, aren’t you, boy?’

‘As you say, monsieur.’

Fabien gave him a hearty pat on the back that almost sent him sprawling. Turning to Sidonie, he said, ‘Good worker, but he makes me carry more than my share of the conversation. Ah, here we are.’ He stopped in front of the stall of a small horse with a thick, lustrous black coat and matching mane and tail. ‘This is Kelpie. She’s not the youngest mare but she’ll do right by you. She’s sweet and even-tempered, and I’ve never known her to give any trouble.’

Sidonie held her lead and stroked her soft nose while Fabien saddled and bridled her. ‘She’s beautiful. Her name – Kelpie – is it something from a story? I know it but cannot place it.’

‘Baroness de Montargent likes to name her animals for the things she discovers on her travels. We have a goat named Zeus and a sheep named Homer.’

‘I’ve met the cat named Ra.’

‘That’s right. A kelpie, she told me, is a spirit that changes shape into a black horse. It likes to get people to ride on its back and then it carries them into the water and drowns them,’ he said cheerily. ‘Hop up now, I’ll give you a boost.’

Sidonie eyed the horse with suspicion.

Fabien laughed. ‘Don’t you worry, our Kelpie has never even thrown a body, let alone drowned one!’

‘Then why give her the name?’

‘Because she’s a black horse, of course.’

Fabien assisted her to mount Kelpie and showed her the correct way to hold the reins and position her feet within the stirrups. He had attached a rope to Kelpie’s bridle, which he held in his hand. When the horse started to walk, Sidonie wished the rope were attached to her middle for she was certain she would tumble off.

‘Feel her movements, mademoiselle,’ Fabien said as he nimbly mounted his own horse. ‘Relax into it and it will soon feel as natural as breathing.’

It was a bold claim, but once they had left the estate and Sidonie still had not fallen from the saddle, she did begin to relax. She had not taken a direct path from the hermitage to Aunt Eloise’s estate, but she was confident of the direction from the northern gate of Dole, and so she let Fabien lead as he claimed he knew the forest trails as well as he did his own orchard.

‘I was not certain if you were Fabien or Florian when I first saw you,’ Sidonie admitted as their horses walked side by side through the forest. ‘Aunt Eloise said you are near impossible to tell apart.’

Fabien laughed. ‘Well, you’re not likely to have met my brother, seeing as he’s apprenticed to a stonemason in Dijon.’

‘That’s curious. I wonder why Aunt Eloise did not mention it?’

‘Likely as not she’s forgotten. She has a lot on her mind.’

‘What do you do when she calls you by your brother’s name?’

‘I answer.’

‘Should you not correct her? Remind her that your brother has gone?’

‘Don’t see a reason to. The work gets done just the same. Why disrupt the order of things?’

‘Surely she will eventually realise he is missing?’

‘I doubt it. She has plenty to occupy herself. And besides, Madame Liane knows.’

‘What does she say about it?’

‘It amuses her,’ he said with a grin.

On her previous visit to the hermitage, Sidonie had been focused on Olivier’s welfare. Now, she was seeing it as if for the first time. The absence of human noise, the chatting, shouting and all the signs she associated with life made her feel vulnerable and exposed. When you live in a city you are never alone. Here, in the forest, she felt she could scream and there would be no one to hear her.

‘Not too bad, not too bad,’ Fabien said, looking around the clearing. ‘Kind of peaceful in a way. Can’t say it would suit me, but I can imagine folks being happy here.’

As Fabien helped her dismount, Sidonie noticed a woman appear from behind the cottage. For a moment she thought it might be Apolline, but the fawn-coloured hooded cloak that covered the woman’s shoulders and hid her face from view was too fine for someone of Apolline’s circumstances. She was also easily a head shorter than the wise woman. The cloaked woman moved furtively, clutching a small cloth pouch to her chest. She froze for a moment when she saw Sidonie and Fabien but quickly recovered herself and ran away, darting between the trees.

‘That was passing strange,’ Fabien said, appearing at her side.

‘None of our concern.’ It was strange, though. Sidonie knocked on the door. She took a step back when Apolline’s husband, Gilles Garnier, came through the door. Most of his face was covered in a coarse, bristly beard, making it hard to read his expression. His eyes had an unfocused, glazed quality about them, and she wondered if he’d been drinking. If he was dangerous.

‘What’s that?’ He pointed at the basket.

Fabien stepped in front of Sidonie. ‘Sorry to intrude, my friend. We have a gift for ... Umm,’ he stumbled over the words, clearly forgetting the reason for the visit.

Sidonie stepped around him. ‘For you, Monsieur Garnier, and your wife, in thanks for saving the life of Monsieur Chéreau. We hope you can put it to some use.’ She tried to look past him inside the cottage for any sign of Olivier.

Fabien raised the basket. ‘That strawberry jam in there is a personal favourite of mine. It’s good on bread or just eaten straight from the jar. Not something I do often, but when there’s only a small amount left, what else are you going to do?’

Gilles stared at the basket in Fabien’s arms for a long time, so long that Sidonie thought he might not have understood.

‘Do you remember me, Monsieur Garnier?’ she asked. ‘I was here three days ago.’

Gilles ignored her, instead taking the basket. What Fabien had needed two arms to hold, the other man lifted easily in one hand. ‘She was happy when you left. She’s sad now,’ he said finally.

‘Madame Garnier?’

He had found the bread and tore off a chunk. While chewing he murmured something that sounded like, ‘Around back.’

They left Gilles in the doorway and found Apolline behind the cottage, all but hidden beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, kneeling on the ground, bent at the waist as she filled a basket with mushrooms. She straightened when she saw them. ‘Back again. Who’s this? Another young man? Seems as if this one can walk of his own accord.’

‘I suppose I am, and I do, but without knowing anything about the other man you are referring to, I can’t say for sure, in context, if I am another, as you say—’

Sidonie interrupted his awkward explanation. ‘This is Monsieur Fabien ...?’

‘Toury,’ Fabien said.

‘Monsieur Fabien Toury. He works on my aunt’s estate,’ Sidonie explained.

‘What do you have in the basket?’ Fabien asked, leaning in to look. ‘Mushrooms are best fried in butter and garlic. I could show you if you like?’

Apolline tilted the basket. ‘If you did, it would be the last thing you ever ate. One mouthful would see you off. It would take days too. Never seen so much growth in one place before.’

Fabien stared at the mushrooms, aghast. ‘What are you doing with them?’

‘My, you are a chatty one. Mademoiselle Montot, I prefer this young man. The other never said so much as a word before he was gone.’

‘Gone?’ Sidonie echoed. ‘Is he dead?’

‘He was well enough when I saw him last. He passed the night in our home and left the next day on his own two legs, as far as I know. Didn’t say goodbye or offer thanks.’

Her relief was short-lived. Could Olivier be lost in the forest? Had he found his way into town, and if so, why had he not sought her out? Did she want him to? They were relative strangers, having simply shared a week-long journey and a harrowing experience. And yet, the attentions he’d paid her, had they meant something more? Even one as inexperienced with men as she knew he was charming and that he seemed to enjoy her company. Was there potential for a greater attachment between them? Her heart told her nothing, nor did her mind.

Apolline’s husband joined them, still clutching the basket. He had strawberry jam matted in his beard.

‘Apolline, look at all the food I have found for us!’ He held the basket towards her.

‘Well done, husband,’ she said, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt from her skirt. ‘This your doing?’ she asked Sidonie.

‘A small token of thanks,’ Sidonie said.

‘You needn’t have done. You paid me good coin.’

‘It could not be enough for what you did.’

Apolline chuckled. ‘Find your man first and then be telling me that. He was in good condition when he left but I cannot speak to his present state if he did not care for the wound.’

A beam of sunlight had fallen on where they stood. Apolline tilted her head back so her face could catch the rays.

‘There’s nothing like it,’ she said. A light dusting of freckles covered her nose – faint, but sure to deepen under the sun.

‘Nothing like it,’ Sidonie repeated.

She’d forgotten Gilles stood there but started when he dropped the basket he’d been holding.

‘Apolline?’ Gilles said, glancing around. ‘I went looking for the little one, but I couldn’t find her. I told her not to wander too far. It’s not safe, she might get lost.’

‘Husband, look at me,’ Apolline placed a gentle hand on his arm. ‘She’s fine. She’s sleeping. Do you remember?’

He seemed confused but then nodded slowly. ‘Sleeping?’

‘Yes, sleeping. Now, you go through that basket and choose what you want for our supper. Can you do that? It will be a great help. Go inside now.’

‘I can help,’ he said, taking the basket and disappearing around the side of the cottage.

The sun dipped behind some clouds, taking with it the light and the warmth. Apolline stared at the cottage, in the direction her husband had gone, but she spoke to Sidonie and Fabien. ‘You should be going now.’

She followed them to their horses, where Fabien offered Sidonie a leg-up to mount Kelpie. The horse skipped to the side and Sidonie stroked her gently. ‘That’s a good girl, Kelpie. Be still now.’

The woman shifted her gaze between the black horse and Sidonie, breaking into laughter. It started small, but after a few seconds she laughed loud and deep, wiping tears from her eyes while Fabien watched on in astonishment.

Sidonie felt her own lips curl in amusement. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘I never took you for riding a demon horse!’ Apolline said.

‘I never rode a horse of any kind, so a demon is as good as any other,’ Sidonie replied.

Apolline clutched her belly with one hand and gripped Sidonie’s hand with the other – her left hand, her scarred hand, covered by a glove. Apolline’s laughter spread to her and soon the two women were laughing together while Fabien shook his head.

‘That was just what I needed, mademoiselle. You don’t know how much,’ Apolline said, wiping her eyes.

Sidonie still held Apolline’s hand in her own. ‘I don’t understand what it is that I said?’

Apolline squeezed her hand before letting it go. ‘It’s just ... you. You still don’t remember me, do you?’

There it was again, although this time a little stronger. A flicker in her memory. And then as quickly as it came, it was gone. ‘No, I don’t.’

Apolline smiled. ‘You will. Come back any time you want. I’ll be glad to have you, with or without a basket.’

It was a crisp, clear day. White fluffy clouds dotted a cerulean sky, and the air held a sharpness that stung Sidonie’s nose and lips. She relished being in the open air – riding in the cart at Antoine’s side with Lyse in the back. Sidonie had spent little time in the company of children, and whenever she was around Lyse – which was quite often, as the girl always seemed to be underfoot – she found herself self-conscious about what she said and how she behaved.

The town square had been taken over for market day by vendors of all descriptions hawking their wares. Bakers had brought fresh loaves and pastries and were doing a roaring trade. Cheesemongers were cutting pieces from huge wheels, wrapping them in cloth for their customers. Although it was late in the season, there were ripe, crisp apples and pears for sale, as well as boxes and barrels of potatoes, beans, cabbages, parsnips, onions and other vegetables she could not identify. Live chickens, ducks and even some goats added to the overall noise and sense of chaos. The women shopping all seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. They engaged the merchants in conversation, not just to haggle for a cheaper price but also to find out the latest news and gossip from other towns. It brought back fond memories of her life in Paris. Although it appeared that the famine had not spread as far east as Dole, for where the Paris markets had become leaner, here the produce was abundant. She found herself searching the crowd for Monsieur Aydin and his objet de curiosité. Would he have any new tales to tell? But he had been travelling south not east. She hoped that wherever he was, he was safe.

Sidonie alighted from the cart with Lyse, who insisted on acting as her chaperone. The girl was a few paces behind her as she strolled past a flower seller and was stopped in her tracks as a purple iris was thrust under her nose. ‘A humble offering for a beautiful woman.’

‘Monsieur Chéreau! What are you doing here? I went to the hermitage to visit you a week ago and you had gone.’ A wave of relief flooded through her, for although he was a man grown, she had been responsible for leaving him at Apolline’s cottage and concern over his welfare had been gnawing at her. He looked well enough, despite the sprinkling of stubble on his chin and the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

‘Ah, so that was you who left me with those peasants?’ he said.

‘One of those peasants saved your life.’

‘For which I am exceedingly grateful.’

‘Are you? Madame Garnier told me you left without a word.’

‘If I had known you would return for me, I would have stayed,’ he said with a smile.

Returning his smile, she could not help but cringe slightly. Olivier was an incorrigible flirt, and she really should put a stop to his flirtations before he formed an incorrect perception of her character. ‘Have you visited the surgeon?’ she asked, steering the conversation to a topic that made her feel more comfortable. ‘Any ongoing pain, swelling or redness?’

He spread his arms wide, narrowly avoiding hitting a man selling chickens. ‘As you see! That witch of yours works miracles.’

His words drew a few concerned glances from marketgoers, and Sidonie quickly shushed him.

‘What witch?’ said a young voice.

She had forgotten Lyse.

‘And who are you, ma petite mademoiselle?’ Olivier said, bending over to be at eye level with the girl.

‘I’m Lyse. Who are you?’

‘My name is Olivier. I am a friend of your sister.’

‘She’s not my sister!’ Lyse said.

‘And yet you have the same golden hair, the same skin that reminds one of fresh cream.’

Lyse smiled at Sidonie. ‘I like him.’

‘You should go find Monsieur Antoine. He needs your help,’ Sidonie said, shooing her away. The butler seemed to be progressing just fine without help from either of them, while also keeping a close eye on them as well. There was no harm in simply talking to Olivier, though. An image of his naked torso intruded on her thoughts. ‘I should not tarry. I am much relieved to know you are well. My aunt had been making enquiries and I shall be glad to tell her they are no longer required.’

‘Your aunt, Baroness de Montargent? I must convey my thanks to her in person and make good on my promise to call on you, if you would permit me?’

His blue eyes practically danced with merriment. He was almost obnoxiously cheerful. Although it was flattering to have such an attractive man pay her attention, it did not mean she planned to encourage him. Even without giving any encouragement, a woman could find herself in a compromising or dangerous situation.

‘If my aunt permits it,’ she said. ‘I am a guest in her home and would not feel right about inviting someone without her permission.’

‘Surely your aunt could have no objection to me. Why, I am a delight, pure joy, welcome at any table.’

She was about to reply when she noticed someone watching Lyse, a man instantly recognisable by his heavy black cassock, dark against the bright colours of the marketplace. There should have been nothing harmful in a look, but the way Father Ignace’s eyes were fixed on Lyse reminded Sidonie of the way Hubert Dampmartin had looked at her in her kitchen in Paris. Having once bitten into rotten fruit, one carried the memory of the taste.

‘Excuse me, I must go,’ she said to Olivier, her eyes never leaving Lyse. She hurried over to the girl, who was watching a dog dance on its hind legs.

‘Look, mademoiselle,’ Lyse said, pointing at the dog. ‘Could we get one of the dogs at home to do that?’

‘Where is Antoine?’ Sidonie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Lyse glanced around. ‘He said he was going to get—’

‘God’s blessings to you this morning, mesdemoiselles.’

Father Ignace stood so close that Sidonie could smell the staleness of his breath. ‘Good morning, Father,’ she said.

Father Ignace’s eyes had not left Lyse. ‘What is your name, child?’

‘Lyse Fournier, Father,’ she said politely.

‘I have not seen you at mass at Notre-Dame.’

‘I don’t go to mass there. And Mademoiselle Sidonie went once but she—’

Sidonie gave the girl a sharp tug that finally halted the flow of words. The gesture caught Father Ignace’s eye. Until that moment his gaze had been fixed on the child, but now it swung to Sidonie.

‘Mademoiselle Sidonie,’ he pronounced her name slowly, as if rolling the letters around in his mouth. ‘Such eyes you have. I have only seen their like once before. Are you native to Dole?’

She was saved from responding by the arrival of Antoine. ‘Mesdemoiselles, it is time we returned home. Father, good day to you.’

Father Ignace’s eyes followed her as she left the marketplace.