The Emperor (52 page)

‘
We sail for Alexandria,' he said briefly. 'Mr Angevin,
will you be so good as to call all hands? Mr Wright, don't
you see the flagship signalling?’

Mary, after exchanging one glance with her husband,
took herself quietly out of the way of the preparations to
make sail. As soon as he could absent himself, Haworth went to his cabin, and found Mary standing by the open
stern windows enjoying the fresh breeze now that they had
come before the wind again. She turned and smiled at him.

‘
Ruinous to the complexion, I know, but do not scold me
- it is so delicious! So we are for Egypt?'

‘
Everyone agreed that was the greatest threat. If
Buonaparte takes Egypt, India is in danger, and he is hard
to resist on land. Better by far to stop him while he is still on
the sea. But here we are, within six weeks, perhaps, of your
confinement, and still I have not had a chance to send you
home.'

‘
I am so glad of it,' Mary smiled. 'What could be more delightful than a cruise in the Mediterranean in summer?
How the people at home would envy me, if they knew.’

They reached Alexandria on the twenty-eighth of June,
to find no French there, and immediately set sail for Sicily,
supposing that to have been Buonaparte's objective after all.
But he was not in Sicily either, and it was not until a month of fruitless searching had passed that they learned that their
first guess had been the correct one. Buonaparte had gone
to Alexandria, but sailing more slowly than the English
squadron, had not arrived until three days after them, by
which time the English ships were already on their way back
to Sicily.

On the twenty-fourth of July, Nelson's squadron set sail
once again for Alexandria, this time to do battle with the
French. Mary was now very close to her time, though still
fit, healthy and active, and there had been no opportunity to
set her on shore or send her safely back to England, and
Haworth was beginning to think that she may have to have the baby on board after all. Mary knew it, and her smile as
she went about her little tasks in the captain's cabin was a
lovely thing to see.

*

Madame Chouflon's opinion proved to be right about
Héloïse's reception in Coxwold. The news of her increased
wealth, combined with James's return to his lawful wife, had
already done a great deal to rehabilitate her with the
inhabitants; and when she returned to her house, accom
panied by an elderly lady dressed in antique style, two
undoubtedly superior housemaids who looked as though
they had as little desire as ability to speak French, and a
completely inexplicable little red-headed girl, it all became
too much for them to go on wondering about.

Her pregnancy, like her enormous dog, became merely
another of her eccentricities; and then someone remem
bered that as Countess of Strathord she had been received
at Court by King George. The aristocracy were always
strange; and as she was certainly colourful, driving about,
fashionably dressed, in her pretty little park phaeton, her
smart French maid beside her and her huge dog running
alongside, she became their particular property, and from
merely staring at her, the local inhabitants took to waving
and smiling as she passed, and pointing her out to visitors as
Our Countess.

Héloïse had too much to do at first to worry about it, or
to be unhappy. Her new household took time to settle
down. The housemaids were at first inclined to feel the
establishment too limited for them, and pined for the smoke
and noise of London. Alice said the silence at night got on
her nerves, and Nell was depressed by the absence of shops
and tradesmen calling, and both were united in their deter
mination to leave at the end of their half-year; but gradually
the peace of the sunny little house seeped into their souls,
and they began to love their mistress, and even, for her sake,
to inject a measure of affection into their expostulations
about 'that dog' and 'that child'.

Mathilde - for Héloïse could not call her by the English
version of her name - had been willing to make her home
with Héloïse, and had no preconceptions about the country to make her wish to return to the town, but she took a long
time to settle down. No news had been heard of her brother,
though Charles, on Héloïse's behalf, was still pursuing
enquiries. Héloïse, believing that the truth was kinder in
such circumstances, told Mathilde that it was unlikely they
would ever learn anything now, and that she must not hope;
but Mathilde insisted that Karellie was still alive somewhere,
and continued to grieve and worry.

Kithra became her best friend, and together they romped
about the fields and got themselves into mischief. Héloïse
was glad to let her play, hoping that the good air and
sunshine and healthy exercise would heal her mind as they
strengthened her body; but when she was racing noisily
around the house driving the maids to distraction, or when a
farmer came cap in hand, apologetic but firm, to claim compensation for stolen eggs or fruit or animals 'scared out of their wits by miss's antics', then Héloïse felt doubts as to the wisdom of what she had done.

But she would never admit them. This was Lotti's child,
whom she had promised to care for, who had suffered
terrible bereavement, and who deserved all the love Héloïse could give. When the baby was born, she told herself, she would take Mathilde in hand, give her proper lessons, teach her accomplishments, and make a lady of her.

The news of Jemima's death reached her in a roundabout
way, for Kexby, the carrier, heard it talked of in York and mentioned it to Marie in conversation while driving her to
Thirsk for her day off. He did not suggest by his manner
that he knew of any particular interest she might have in the
news, but when Marie burst into tears, he shewed no
surprise. He comforted her as best he could, and when they
reached Thirsk he took her straight to the Green Man and
sat her down in a quiet corner with a glass of port wine by way of a stiffener.

Official news reached Héloïse later, in the form of an embarrassed letter from Edward, which so clearly longed to apologize for not asking her to the funeral that she felt no offence, only sadness. In the same batch of letters, collected by Stephen from the post-office, was a communication from
Mr Pobgee of Pobgee and Micklethwaite concerning the
Will of the late Lady Morland of Morland Place, and beg
ging leave to do himself the honour of waiting on her on Tuesday forenoon.

When Mr Pobgee arrived, he found that numbers in the
already crowded household had again increased, and
Héloïse was engaged in trying to placate the servants and
determine where the newcomer should sleep, and wishing
she had not decided to put off the enlargement of the house until after the baby was born.

*

A few days before, not long after the funeral, Monsieur
Barnard had sought audience with Edward, who received
him in the steward's room with some surprise, never having spoken more than a few words to the cook in all the years of his service.

‘
What can I do for you, monsieur?' he asked in response
to Barnard's low bow.

Barnard straightened, and looked full into Edward's
eyes. 'I go.'

‘Go where?' Edward asked, startled.

Barnard paused, apparently to assemble vocabulary. 'My lady dead. I no work here no more. I go,' he said.

Edward looked perplexed. 'I can understand your
feelings,' he said, 'but you have been with us for a long time,
and we should be very sorry to lose you. Besides, where
would you go to? Have you friends? I should not wish to think of you wandering friendless in a foreign country. If
you really wish for a change, perhaps I could find another
place for you, through my sister in London. But you had
much better stay, depend upon it. If there is anything you want, you have only to mention it. I shall be pleased to give you an increase in salary, if that will help.’

Barnard smiled through all this, and at the end of it said, ‘I go. Thank you.’

Edward ran his hand through his hair distractedly. The
trouble with the cook was that you never knew how much
he had understood. 'I'll get madam to speak to you,' he said, and missed the slight narrowing of Barnard's eyes at the suggestion. 'In any case, you had much better not decide all
at once. We are all upset at the moment. Take your time,
and consider afresh when you feel more yourself.’

At this Barnard smiled, and bowed again, to indicate that
the interview was at an end. Pressure of work drove the
curious episode from Edward's mind until Mary Ann sought him out towards supper time with the news that the French
man had put his few possessions into a bag and gone.
‘Gone? Where? And how?'

‘
On foot, towards York, according to the kitchen maids.
They were too stupid to tell anyone in time to stop him.'

‘
Someone must go after him,' Edward said. Mary Ann
raised her eyebrows.

‘
Go after him? What on earth for? We are better off
without him, you know. He was far too autocratic. He
thought he could do just as he liked, and ignore orders
whenever he felt inclined.'

‘
But he's the best cook we have ever had. Everyone in
York has envied us him,' Edward exclaimed.

‘
And I dare say one of them now has him, and welcome,'
Mary Ann said. 'Cooks are easy enough to come by, and if
we can get a young one and train him, so much the better.
Or her - some houses have female cooks, you know, and
they are much more biddable.’

Edward was too upset and confused to listen to this
heresy. 'He is all alone in a foreign land. He doesn't speak
English. We must find out that he is all right.'

‘
Barnard is well able to take care of himself, depend
upon it,' Mary Ann said. 'And as for not speaking English,
I'll wager he can speak it well enough when he wants to.
We'll hear of him in a day or two, established with some
family in York at twice the wage. Don't worry, Edward.’

*

Barnard's ability to understand English, at least, was proved
by his knowing where to find Héloïse; and his determin
ation, if it had ever been in doubt, was proved by the fact
that he walked most of the way to Coxwold. When he finally
came before Héloïse, he fell to his knees, clutched her
hands, and kissed them in a silent ecstasy of devotion. He
had with him his clothes, and a beautiful ebony crucifix
which was all he had brought with him from France. For his
accumulated wages for the years of his service at Morland
Place he had no thought. He lived for his art, which he laid,
with his life, at the feet of the person he served. Now that Jemima was dead, he had brought these things to Héloïse,
her successor in his mind. Money did not enter into it.

Héloïse, with her usual practicality, took him straight to
the kitchen and fed him, while Marie prepared a hot herbal
bath for his feet. The English servants stood around, half resentful, half curious, while her ladyship sat at the other
side of the kitchen table and carried on a conversation with
the strange little man in rapid French, liberally sprinkled
with exclamations and enormous shruggings.

‘
But you see,' said Héloïse last, 'that I have a very small
household here - indeed, a very small kitchen! I do not
entertain. There will be no great balls and feasts and dinner
parties for you, no challenge at all. Would you not be
happier staying on at Morland Place with the new mistress?'

‘
That one - pooh!' Barnard said. 'Elle
n'est pas gentille -
elle n'est qu'une gouvernante!
She wished to change my
kitchen, to put in a vulgar Romford - as though I would
cook on a stove! She spoke to me like a servant - make this
dish, make that one. Pah! Food to her is
nécessaire - rien
plus que ca!
She knows nothing of art, nothing of God. She
is not
comme it faut,
that one - she is simply a
bourgeoise.’