‘She will take a tray in her room and enjoy a good rest before she joins me in my private parlour this evening,’ the unknown lady stated firmly. ‘And I will stand surety for her bill, so there is no need to hurry into town yet, mademoiselle. After all, you’ll not get a fair price for a Versailles mask in Dreux,as I’m sure my friends here will testify.’
The landlord and landlady nodded in unison, though Sophie was sure it was through gritted teeth.
‘Bon, bon… etmaintenant,if mademoiselle would follow me?’ The landlord invited, beckoning her forwards.
Sophie knew she owed everything to her mysterious benefactor, but was too exhausted to do more than smile wanly before forcing her legs up the rickety wooden risers. And when the landlord opened a door at the end of a narrow landing, she found a bedchamber just as he’d described– small, snug and clean.
She turned to thank him, but he’d already departed to make way for a young maid with a tray bearing soup, crusty bread and thick slices of ham. It looked heavenly and with a grateful smile, she took the tray to the window, before enjoying the best meal she’d had for some time. Then she took off her muddied gown, crawled between the freshly made bedsheets, and finally fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.
ChapterTwenty-Four
SOUFFLÉ AND DRAMA
Several hours later
When she awoke, Sophie discovered that the magic had extended to a small warm bath, fresh undergarments and a gown of sensible sprig muslin. Quietly, she climbed into the steaming water, feeling as though she might never appreciate something so much again.
‘For you are still a Fairfax, no matter what,’ she whispered, rinsing her face in the vain hope of ridding her eyes of their pink rim.
She hadn’t cried and knew she daren’t start for fear of never stopping. Briefly, she recalled the last time she felt like doing the same in the squalid, shady streets of Paris, and drew in a ragged breath. Back then she’d told herself she never wanted to see Rotherby's face again, and now she wasn’t sure how to face the future without it– libertine or not. A twist of pain darted through her as she recalled his burning kiss in the garden at the Tuileries, before his shadowed eyes in the Hall of Mirrors. And now, in trying to protect her family from the ripples of her scandal, she was quite alone in the world, as she deserved.
She pinched her cheeks hard and stared at her pale reflection, willing it to look more hopeful. Then she coiled her hair into a neat bun, before pulling a few curls free to frame her face. It was one of the first hairstyles she’d adopted as a schoolgirl before abandoning it in favour of more sophisticated updos. Tonight, though, it felt oddly comforting as she stood back and checked her wan reflection. She still had no idea why the unknown lady had helped her at all, but if it was true and she knew the Fairfax family, then the very least she could do was behave like one of them. Phoebe would advise her to thank her benefactor, and promise to pay back every penny of what she owed, and it was with this sombre intention that she left her bedchamber and descended the stairs for dinner.
If Madame Bernard still nursed any hostility, there was no trace of it when she greeted Sophie and escorted her to a private parlour, where a roaring fire and well-dressed table awaited. Sophie eyed it nervously as she entered the room. Now that the moment of truth had come, she felt strangely shy of the sharp-eyed lady who’d taken charge of her affairs so swiftly.
Yet she had only moments to wait before the parlour entrance darkened once more.
‘Good evening, I trust you have rested well?’
Sophie turned swiftly to greet her benefactor, who was standing in the doorway, eyeing her with the same piercing gaze she recalled.
‘Yes, thank you ma’am,’ she replied, sinking into her most modest curtsey.
She was determined to make a better impression now she was dressed appropriately; it felt like the very least she could do.
‘Well, come here then, child, so I might inspect you,’ the lady replied, leaning on an ebony walking stick as she made her way towards the table.
Instinctively, Sophie started forwards, just as she might to help Harriet or any of her elderly relatives only to find herself waved away. But when her benefactor sank into a chair, there was a softer gleam in her eyes.
‘Yes, you have the look of your mother, God rest her soul,’ she said, pouring herself a glass of claret.
Sophie frowned faintly, her head filling with a thousand questions, just as a knock at the door confirmedthat dinnerhad arrived.She swallowed and nodded politely, realising her questions would have to wait a while yet.
In fairness, dinner turned out to be a most delicious affair comprising three full courses: a vegetable soup followed by platters of capons and quail, and Sophie’s favourite,soufflé au citron, before the last of the serving staff finally left them alone.
She looked up tentatively, wondering how to even begin to thank her for such generosity.
‘Now then, mademoiselle,’ her benefactor said, settling back in her chair. ‘You look and sound like a lady I once knew, who would be most concerned by her daughter’s appearance in Le Lion D’or with naught but a masquerade outfit to her name. ‘I wish to help, but require absolute honesty in return. Can you oblige me this much?’
Sophie smiled nervously, knowing that nothing but the whole truth would do for this perceptive lady– but that she wanted to tell her everything too. She drew a breath and then, haltingly at first, the whole story came tumbling out. She omitted nothing– knowing this wise and perceptive lady would somehow know if she did– and when finally she came to the end and lifted her gaze, she felt a hundred times lighter.
‘But what a tangled web you have spun in the pursuit of a love wager, my dear,’ her benefactor mused, swirling her claret. ‘I can only hope that this spoiled lord you describe has learned his lesson.’
‘If he is still alive,’ Sophie said, sniffing dolefully, ‘and if he is, it means I have consigned my sister to a lifetime of heartbreak.’
The kindly lady only smiled consolingly.
‘If I know ought of the characters involved, my dear, they’ll have come to their senses long before any bloodshed and realised that murder, in the name of honour, is rarely honourable at all. But your plan to remove to a provincial French town, despite numerous offers of marriage from undeserving puppy dogs? Now that has a truly noble ring to it! Tell me, does anyone else know of this plan of yours?
