To Dream of Snow (3 page)

Ignoring the jibes of those already departing, some looking back over their shoulders at her as they laughed together, Marguerite turned to see how many had remained in the room. There were only five. Like most of the embroiderers in the establishment they had been trained as dressmakers before specializing in the more delicate work. She would be glad to have any one of them in her team.

‘Are you all considering the proposal?' she asked. Then, as they nodded, she added, ‘But I did say that I couldn't take anyone with family responsibilities.' Her gaze had rested on one of the women, who stood with folded arms. She was solidly built, amiable and level-headed, and although she was only in her early forties her hair was prematurely white.

‘I'll go on one condition,' she stated decisively.

‘But you are married, Jeanne Dudicourt,' Marguerite pointed out.

‘I'll be thankful to leave my drunken sot of a husband!' Jeanne replied forcefully. ‘I should have done it years ago, but I had the two kids and nowhere to go. Now my son is a mercenary in the army and I haven't seen him since he marched off to a war seven years ago. I just hope to God that he's still alive somewhere!' Briefly she put her hands together in an attitude of prayer and shook her head anxiously. ‘So I'll leave word with a neighbour as to my whereabouts in case he should ever turn up again. But I'll also make her swear never to let the drunkard know anything. Not that he'd ever be able to find me! But I'll only come if I can bring Rose, my daughter, with me. She's seventeen, a good little needlewoman. She works over at the Desgranges atelier.'

‘If she's willing to come I'll accept her on your recommendation.'

‘Maybe my sister Sophie would come too. She embroiders for a bitch of a woman at the Valverde place and I know she's been looking for a place elsewhere, but it's not so easy. If she's interested shall I bring her to see you?'

Marguerite nodded. ‘Come to my place tomorrow evening when everyone has had time to think things over. Bring Rose too. We'll have a glass of wine.'

Another voice, rich in throaty cadences, spoke up. ‘I'm volunteering to go with you, Marguerite! It will break the monotony of this place and be an adventure if nothing else!' The speaker was Violette Narbonne, her attractive feline face full of amusement, her hair a mane of wild, corn-gold curls.

Jeanne gave her an amused glance. ‘Have you run out of Parisian lovers at last?'

Violette laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘No, far from it, but a change should be interesting. I like the idea of a whole new field of handsome men.'

Although Marguerite could foresee some trouble in taking her there was no doubt that the young woman's buoyant good humour and ability to see the funny side of events could help enormously in times of gloom, which were bound to occur from time to time. Then, turning her attention to the remaining three women, who were whispering together, she said questioningly, ‘Charlotte? Hortense? Berthe?'

‘We're thinking about it,' they replied in unison, but there was a negative tone in their voices.

Marguerite bade them all goodnight as they left. It looked as though at the final count she would have four embroiderers to go with her. She went at once to report the result to Madame Fromont, who nodded approvingly.

‘Well done, Marguerite. You'll need good company when you're far from home. I should not have liked to see you depart on your own.'

As Marguerite left the building she found one of the apprentices, Isabelle Pieron, waiting for her. ‘Mam'selle Marguerite! Can you spare me a moment, please!'

‘Yes, of course, Isabelle.' Marguerite knew her background. She was the only child of a weak, ineffectual mother and a brutal stepfather. Before coming to the Fromont establishment the girl had worked almost from babyhood with her mother in a silk mill and bad conditions as well as a poor diet had taken its toll on her. Small and thin, she looked older than her sixteen years, her soft fair hair pushed back under her hat and her little face marred, not for the first time, by the fading yellow bruise from a black eye. ‘What did you wish to speak to me about?'

‘Let me go to Russia with you!' It was an impassioned plea.

Marguerite saw the desperation in the girl's light-blue eyes. ‘How do you know I'm going to Russia? You were not in the room.'

‘I heard the others talking and jeering about it as they left while I was sweeping up. Then afterwards Jeanne and Violette were discussing it as they put on their hats.'

Marguerite gave a little sigh. ‘I know from what I have seen for myself over past months that you do excellent work, but I think I have four embroiderers now, which is the number I need. In any case, I feel sure your stepfather would forbid it and Madame Fromont would not release you from your apprenticeship. I'm sorry, Isabelle.' She would have moved on, but the girl caught her arm.

‘Wait, please! My mother would want me to go! She knows how my stepfather has always abused me and there's nothing she or I can do to stop him! I've tried to get away from home more than once, but he has always found me and dragged me back again. In Russia he could never get me!' Tears suddenly burst out of the girl's eyes and she threw her arms over her head, crying out in anguish. ‘I swear I'd work my fingers to the bone!'

‘Hush!' Marguerite, moved by pity and shocked by the girl's torment, drew her into a doorway, for her noisy sobbing was attracting attention. Holding the girl to her, she saw under a pushed-up sleeve the black bruising on the girl's forearm. Remembering that the Tsarina's letter had said four or five embroiderers, she gave another little sigh. ‘I can't make any promises, Isabelle. All I can say is that I'll speak to your mother. Tell her to meet me here at this time tomorrow evening. If she gives her permission I'll also talk to Madame Fromont on your behalf.'

The meeting took place as arranged. After the matter had been fully discussed Marguerite agreed to take Isabelle, providing Madame Fromont could be persuaded to release her. To Marguerite's embarrassment the girl's mother snatched up her hand and kissed it in tearful gratitude.

Madame Fromont called Marguerite into her office again early next morning. On her desk were boxes of trimmings.

‘I suggest you take a supply of these with you,' the woman said. ‘You may have them at less than cost price. I'll give you some of the mannequin dolls too.'

‘That's most generous!' Marguerite exclaimed. ‘I had thought to take some emergency supplies.'

‘It would be wise. After all, there's no telling how difficult it might be to obtain French trimmings and the Empress seems set on having a Parisian look to the gowns you are to make her. After all, what I have here may be surplus to the new owner's requirements and so you might as well have them.'

Together they spent a while making a selection of dainty ribbons, pearly sequins, delicate braids, colourful buttons and even a stock of embroidery silks in every hue. When it came to reckoning up the cost of these items Madame Fromont took only a token payment, refusing anything more. When Marguerite thanked her she merely shook her head.

‘You've been a good worker ever since you first came here as a little girl in your late sister's time, starting with picking up fallen pins and matching silk threads. Nobody knew then what a fine design seamstress and embroiderer you would become. I had always hoped to gain business at Versailles, which would have given you the opening you deserve with your original designs, but with so many dressmakers in Paris that was not to be. The Comtesse d'Oinville has been like many other women of her class in never revealing the name of a dressmaker they wish to keep exclusively for themselves. But now you will have the chance you deserve at the Russian Court instead and you have a good team going with you!'

‘There is an apprentice seamstress I should very much like to take with me if you would allow it.' Then Marguerite pleaded Isabelle's case. When Madame Fromont had heard all the details she agreed to a cancellation of the apprenticeship.

That evening the volunteers met at Marguerite's garret room, Isabelle included. Jeanne had brought her daughter Rose, who was an impish-looking brunette with a short, pert nose and a happy smile. She was full of excitement.

‘This will be a real adventure, Mam'selle Marguerite!' she declared, green eyes dancing.

Jeanne's sister, Sophie Bouvier, had also decided to accompany her sister and niece. ‘I've always wanted to travel,' she confessed, ‘and this will be a great opportunity to see other countries.'

She was tall and willowy with glossy black hair, her only resemblance to Jeanne being that they both had velvety-brown eyes. Both she and Rose had brought examples of their embroidery for Marguerite to approve and she saw at a glance that she had two skilful needlewomen with her.

She served wine and cake before telling them all they would need to take with them for the journey and afterwards answering their questions to the best of her knowledge. Then she spread out a map borrowed from the Comtesse's maid and they gathered round as she traced the route for them.

‘From Paris we shall travel by way of Rheims to Liège and after that we leave our homeland behind us to follow this route' – she traced it with her fingertip – ‘until we reach Cologne. From there we travel on through many more German towns to get to Gotha. Then comes Leipzig followed by Dresden and Frankfurt-on-Oder. Afterwards there's a long stretch through Prussia, passing through the city of Königsberg and on again until we cross the Russian border to reach Riga. That's when we'll be on the last lap of the journey to St Petersburg!'

She straightened up triumphantly and then saw the uncertain expression on all their faces.

‘Merciful heaven!' Jeanne exclaimed breathlessly. ‘It really is a long way!'

‘Any second thoughts?' Marguerite asked, suddenly anxious, but to her relief they all shook their heads. ‘Good! Now we'll all have another glass of wine and drink to a safe and interesting journey!'

On the morning of departure Marguerite stood alone at her sister's graveside in a quiet churchyard, a bunch of flowers in her hand. Farewells had been said and now the last one was to be made. Normally she came here once a week, but now she did not know when she would be able to visit again.

It was Anne-Marie who had taught her to read and write, to sew and later to excel in embroidery, all while taking care of her after their mother had died and later when their father, faced with bankruptcy and imprisonment for fraud, had taken his own life. Until then they had had a good home. Anne-Marie would never speak of how she had managed to keep them both fed and sheltered after that terrible time, but Marguerite recalled dark hovels with a rag doll to keep her company whenever her sister went out at night. Then gradually their circumstances had improved. Anne-Marie had gained employment with Madame Fromont as an embroiderer and she herself, although only seven years old, had started the first stages of an apprenticeship under her sister's watchful eye.

‘I've come to say adieu, Anne-Marie,' she said softly. ‘It is through guessing what you must have endured on the streets that I've managed to get a young girl released from her apprenticeship to take her away to Russia with me. I'm so thankful that you knew better times and found some happiness again before you had to leave this world.'

She stooped down and laid the flowers carefully by the ornate headstone. Anne-Marie's married lover had paid for it as well as the funeral, for which she had been immensely grateful. Her own meagre savings would barely have kept her sister from a pauper's grave.

Jacques had been buried in his birthplace of Rouen where his parents lived. She had only visited his last resting place at the time of the funeral and had not seen his parents since that day. They had not approved of her, wanting more for their talented son than a seamstress for a wife. But Jacques had loved her as she had loved him. There would never have been anyone else for either of them.

She drew back a pace, and stood for a few more moments in reflective silence before slowly turning away to retrace her steps along the path. Outside the gates the noise of the city enveloped her once again.

M
arguerite had expected to be the first to arrive at the place of departure outside the gates of the Comtesse's home, but Isabelle was already there. The girl had not dared to enter the waiting coach assigned to the seamstresses. Instead she stood huddled by a gatepost, her face white and scared, a carpet bag clutched in her hand and a small valise by her feet. She was the only one not to have delivered a travelling box the night before, all of which were already securely strapped to the roof and on to the back of the coach. Marguerite gave her a reassuring smile.

‘You may get in now, Isabelle. The others will be here soon.'

Isabelle promptly scuttled into the coach, which was a large, lumbering-looking vehicle. Although there was comfortable seating for six she huddled into a corner as if trying to make herself as small as possible. The coach with its six sturdy horses was one of a dozen equipages already in line, ready to accommodate the Comtesse's retinue of personal servants and her large amount of luggage.

Just then the rest of Marguerite's travellers began to arrive. Jeanne came hurrying along with Rose, both carrying some hand baggage and their sewing boxes. In addition Jeanne had a basket of food over her arm as all the seamstresses had to provide their own sustenance for the first day, although for the rest of journey their meals and accommodation would be paid for from the Comtesse's purse. Rose greeted Marguerite with a bob and a wide smile.

‘Bonjour, mam'selle. I could hardly wait for this morning to come!'

‘Yes, here we are,' Jeanne declared breathlessly. ‘We left the old devil snoring after last night's binge.' Yet she was as eager as Isabelle to get into the coach out of sight and hustled Rose in with her as if she feared he might yet come in roaring pursuit of them.