Читать книгу Forget-Me-Not - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 8

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Lucille Debelleyme had been a fortnight in the Faubourg St. Honoré and had sized up all the conflicting characters with whom she had to deal. She decided that it would be only possible for her to remain in this very desirable post if she could gain the confidence of the Duchess, who regarded her, she knew, with an increasing hostility.

This resolution cost her a sigh, a pang of regret. M. du Boccage was so much more interesting than his wife, disliked and despised by the governess—but it was obvious that the final decision would lie with the mistress, not with the master of the establishment; better toady to the Duchess than leave; better cringe to a woman who could defend, protect her, than rely on a man who at the first murmur would be forced to abandon her.

Madame du Boccage returned late from a soiree given by the Duchesse D'Orleans; she was sitting wearily in her chamber, idly regarding herself in the mirror on her dressing-table while Matilde took off the superb parure of diamonds that had been her father's wedding gift to Isabella Rosa Frediani—(Fanny to her husband), when a discreet tap announced the governess.

The Duchess was startled.

"Mademoiselle! Is anything the matter with the children?"

"Madame, they are all in perfect health and asleep in the charge of the nurses—"

"Well, then, Mademoiselle?"

"I have had no opportunity of talking to you, Madame. I very much wish to know if you are satisfied with my services?"

The governess crossed the rich carpet and stood respectfully before her mistress.

The noble brunette beauty of Madame du Boccage was finely set off by her crimson robe de parade, her glittering jewels, the display of her smooth shoulders and arms, the garland of purple roses that took the place of the matron's cap on her shining black hair. All the light in the room was on her dressing-table and all this was centred on the splendid Corsican; the slender figure of the governess in her prune-coloured silk remained effaced in the warm shadows beyond this circle of illumination.

The Duchess said, quietly:

"I should have told you if I had had cause for complaint, Mademoiselle."

"That—no! But satisfaction is another thing, is it not? I am very desirous of pleasing you, Madame."

"You appear to be an excellent instructress."

"I would wish to be something more."

"More?"

"The care of five children includes so much besides instructing them. Only the mother can realise how much! If I might consult you often, Madame? Put before you my little plans and suggestions? Interest you in the affairs, the pleasures of the children?"

A slight spasm passed over the watchful face of the Duchess; her eyes were dimmed by tears. Touché! thought the governess, but Madame du Boccage replied evenly:

"You see M. du Boccage every day, do you not? And take your instructions from him, as was arranged? You understood from the first that my health was feeble, my social duties pressing."

"Madame is too generous, so sympathetic; the Abbé Galle, the poor are so full of her praises! Just a little of the time given to piety taken for the children would make all the difference to my task—"

Matilde, arranging the big brilliant drops for throat and ears in the velvet case, knocked over a satin box and glanced malevolently over it as she picked it up at the governess, who thought instantly: "The maid knows everything—but I shall never find it out from her—she hates me and is loyal—but surely I can oust a peasant?"

"No doubt," sighed the Duchess putting a hand to her forehead as if it ached, "your task is hard. I feared that you would find it too much—"

"It is not. I have never been so happy anywhere. But I should like the approval of Madame."

As the other woman did not reply the governess continued more boldly, yet always with insinuating sweetness.

"I am in all at the service of Madame."

The Duchess raised soft, candid, troubled eyes to study the other woman; the clear, cold glance of the governess said: "I know your household is divided. I am willing to be your ally against your husband. Between us we can circumvent him at every turn."

And the gaze of the Duchess replied: "I believe you to be sly and false. I will not give you my confidence. And I do not intrigue with my inferiors."

Slipping her broad sapphire bracelets from her fine wrists, Madame du Boccage smiled:

"I have had no reason to reprove you. Mademoiselle—you say you are happy. Well, let us try how affairs work—a little longer? And now forgive me, I am so sleepy."

The governess understood instantly that not only was her alliance refused but that the Duchess did not intend to retain her services indefinitely. The maid's face darkened with triumph which helped to inflame the burst of rage and hate in the heart of Lucille Debelleyme as she withdrew respectfully, apologising for her intrusion.

At the door her glance went round the extravagant room opulent with every luxury, and rested on the magnificent bed raised on gilt steps, flounced with embroidered satin, hung with curtains of Brussels lace that the flying figures of gilt puttini attached to a massive baldaquin; she glanced at the two sumptuous pillows side by side; what was the secret of this marriage?

"Good night, Mademoiselle," came the husky voice of the Duchess, hastening her dismissal, reproving her hesitation.

This so goaded the exasperated mood of the governess that she had, like a quick dart in her mind, a wild wicked thought... if that heavy baldaquin could fall in the night, crushing the woman who slept beneath...