An Ignorance of Means Read online

  Relaxing proved to be impossible. The warm water that had felt so welcoming and calming last night now felt unsettling. With her every movement, the water lapped at her like clammy fingers pawing at her body.

  Finally, she stood, and she was still standing, shivering in the rapidly cooling tub, when Marie bustled back into the room. The maid's cries brought Catherine back to reality.

  "Madame, you will catch your death standing there like that! Quick, step out here so I can wrap you up!" Marie held out a bathing sheet and Catherine allowed herself to be wrapped up as the girl chattered at her, decrying her thoughtlessness at exposing herself to the air. "Even if it is mid-day, this air is no good for you. The water was rolling off you like a waterfall."

  Marie exaggerated, but Catherine did feel better as the busy little servant rubbed her down and dried her off, pulling and twisting her hair up into a bun and helping her pull a robe around her body as her muscles warmed and unclenched.

  "Thank you, Marie." Dimly, Catherine knew she should say something, and those simple words of gratitude were all she could manage.

  "I have talked to Claudine, and she has sent a little tray for you. Hot tea and little pastries." Marie led Catherine back to the room Picard had told her belonged to her where the two women found a table with an enameled tray of food. A stiff chair, covered in a patterned length of rose and lavender material, sat beside the table. Marie's tone was again solicitous as she urged her mistress to sit and eat.

  "I have no appetite," Catherine demurred.

  "You must eat something, madame. A bite of the croissant? Dip it in the tea to soften it a bit, perhaps? A grape? Oh, look at the pretty little cheeses!" Marie laid a gentle hand on Catherine's shoulder and urged her to sample the bounty that the housekeeper had crowded on the tiny tray.

  The bread Catherine brought to her lips was dry and tasteless. The cheese tasted like chalk. The tea was watery. Catherine bent her arm mechanically, quieting Marie with every bite she ingested or sip she took. Every bite of food tasted like the shame and humiliation of her husband's rejection. Rejection was not the right word. He wanted her to be the mother of his child. And why was that? Why had he chosen her, a woman he had never bedded until their wedding night, when he had so obviously had many other women to choose from?

  This puzzle was not interesting enough to focus on for long, and she found she had soon eaten almost every crumb on the tray without tasting any of it.

  "Will you see Heloise, madame? She wants to talk about the supper tonight to welcome Madame Berdine back home," Marie asked.

  "Yes, that would be fine."

  "I have laid out a dress for you. It is simple, something appropriate for at home. While you chat with Heloise, I will lay out your clothes for this evening."

  "Where will we be going?"

  "Only your own dining room, of course! The Comte always dresses for dinner." Marie laughed at the question much as she had at Catherine's earlier faux pas. Catherine's face flushed again, and Marie rushed to speak. "Much as your family did, I'm sure."

  "Of course we will dress." Catherine's father was a merchant, and her life had been comfortable, but now, as part of Picard's noble estate, she must remember herself. Marie was engaging, but if Catherine meant to make herself the kind of wife Picard expected, she had to keep the relationship between herself and the servant correct. "Please show me how to find Heloise."

  "She will find you, madame. I will lead you to the solarium, and you may ring for her there." Marie helped Catherine into the layers of clothing that had been arranged for her approval, although her approval was clearly assumed.

  When Marie led her into the solarium, Catherine's eyes widened. The walls of glass enclosed a jungle of exotic plants. There were no blooms, but the deep green of the vegetation still vibrated with life, and Catherine felt the heat of a jungle as well as the humidity.

  "Madame may be a bit uncomfortable here wearing the ensemble we have chosen, but it cannot be helped," Marie whispered to her.

  "Is there not a salon where we might meet more comfortably? I'm not completely familiar with Lac d'Or, but I imagine there is a more appropriate place for us to confer."

  "Heloise has a certain station among the staff."

  "Is she receiving me, or am I receiving her?" Unused as she was to servants, Catherine was still taken aback by the deference Marie's comments showed for the secretary.

  "Oh, madame, you are receiving her, of course!" Marie giggled, ignoring Catherine's discomfort. "Please take a seat and Heloise will be here to meet you."

  Catherine chose a chair that allowed her to look out the windows past the lush greenery in the solarium to the formal hedges that grew behind the house. The contrast was marked between the messy nature of the solarium and the angular vegetation outside. It was as if the chateau had been turned inside out, the license of the natural world contained within its walls and the ordered laws of society imposed on the gardens outside.

  Marie left, and Heloise entered. The severe hairstyle that swept the woman's dark black hair back tightly against her head and into a chignon at the nape of her neck pulled her head back and forced her to look down her generous nose. She offered her hand in greeting.

  "Heloise, it is my pleasure to meet you. Please join me." Catherine gestured to an empty side chair, and Heloise took it.

  "The pleasure is mine, Madame Picard." Heloise opened a thick leather bound notebook on her lap and folded her hands atop it. "I understand that you have not had much experience with staff. We are all here to make your life as easy as possible and to show off Lac d'Or to its best advantage."

  "I imagine the former to be a challenge and the latter to be a joy."

  "I have never met a challenge I could not conquer," Heloise responded. Her wording only affirmed what Catherine had suspected. The woman before her would find working with a novice dame à la maison challenging and might well resent her presence but was too well-bred to say so directly.

  "Then you may show me how to conquer this one with you."

  Heloise nodded and, looking at the notes before her, told Catherine about the evening's dinner. "Madame Berdine will be returning tonight and will join you and Monsieur Picard at the table. This is an intimate family dinner, just the three of you. I am normally not involved with gatherings of this type, but the transition Madame Berdine will be making from the doyenne of Lac d'Or to the little cottage across the garden is not insignificant. Once the three of you are settled into new habits, Claudine will oversee such domestic repasts, and I will only concern myself with the entertainment of outside guests in addition to supervising the keeping of the house overall."

  Catherine nodded.

  "We planned a menu to both please your palates and show off the skills the chef, Reuben, brings to our kitchen. I am sure you will be pleased. Again, as you adjust to the life here at Lac d'Or, you will consult with Claudine about such matters." Heloise closed the book in her lap, signaling that she had completed her mission to inform Catherine about the evening's dinner. Unsure of how the interview should end, Catherine rose and Heloise followed.

  "I'm sure your experience will guide our work together. Perhaps we might meet in a few days' time so you might better describe what your role as social secretary for Lac d'Or is now that I am here."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Catherine entered the dining room for dinner and found her mother-in-law already seated.

  Berdine's white hair blushed rose in the candlelight reflected in the mirrors of the elaborate mantels. Beneath the flossy upswept mass, her face was as stiff as the marbles in each end of the room. The thick silver taffeta of her dress contrasted with the short, lacy veil that sat like a saucer on top of her whipped crème coiffure. When Catherine entered, Berdine reached for her without rising, a thin smile cracking her calm facade.

  "Madame Picard, I am honored to see you again," Catherine said, taking the thin porcelain hand in her own.

  "My dear, how beautiful you look! Robert has picked th
e finest flower from the garden, I see." Berdine's comment missed the mark of praise and hit Catherine's heart. "I beg your pardon," Berdine continued, "I have usurped your place here at the table. I remember our home has a new mistress." She moved down the table and gestured for Catherine to take her place.

  "How have you found your cottage?"

  "It is sweet and simple, exactly the right arrangement for a woman in my situation now that my husband is gone," Berdine said as though her husband had passed away only recently—he had been gone for over a decade—"and Robert has found a wife, I can retire into the background and let the two of you make our beautiful Lac d'Or come into its own. How it rang with voices and music when Robert's father was alive! But once he was gone, I didn't have the heart to welcome the hordes of people that used to join us. The halls here have been so quiet. Perhaps now there will be a renaissance of sound."

  "Robert has said he wishes us to begin entertaining. I talked to Heloise today. She has some intriguing ideas about our upcoming parties."

  "Heloise has always been a woman sui generis," Berdine said.

  "One of a kind? Yes, she does seem inimitable."

  Berdine raised an eyebrow. "You know Latin?

  "I know a little. My father believed women should be broadly educated," Catherine responded.

  "Yes, I think I heard that from some of the charming friends of your family at the wedding."

  Catherine ignored the instinct that told her Berdine's choice of the word "charming" was meant to be pejorative and kept her silence by looking around. The dining room was as deep as the house itself, narrowly defined by floor-to-ceiling windows along the south and silk-covered walls of a pale yellow along the north. On east and west ends, the room was anchored by heavy fireplaces with ornate marble mantels. Above one, cupids of a pinkish hue cavorted. Stiff marble ribbons curled around them. Above the other, Eros and Psyche stood ruddy cheeked, entwined in a passionate embrace. The stone fabric enveloping them only half hid their fluid forms; Psyche's face turned away from Eros, whose hungry lips hovered over her cheek. The effect of the overtly romantic images in the staid space was not to soften it, but to make the masculine lines of the hardwood walls and floor even more severe.

  "Where is Robert?" Berdine broke the silence to ask. "He welcomed me and then went to the cellar to pull our wine for dinner. Perhaps he's lost his way."

  At that, Robert appeared in the doorway. His evening coat skimmed his long body and a snowy cravat framed his angular face. The wild hair she remembered from their tryst earlier in the day had been tamed. He carried a bottle of wine in each hand and raised them to hail the Picard women.

  "My lovelies! I have found a beautiful vintage to accompany our repast. I'll ring the bell to summon our meal, and we can sup en famille." He carelessly dropped the bottles on the buffet at the door, lazily pulling the bell rope. Before he had taken his place opposite Catherine at the end of the table, two manservants entered the room. One carried a steaming tureen. The second man lifted the lid of the tureen and used a heavy silver ladle to fill the bowl before each of the Picards with a thick mélange of leek, cream, and potato.

  Catherine stared at the bowl, oblivious to the soup spoon before her. Only Robert's sharp comment made her raise her hand and take up the spoon to begin eating.

  "Is there something swimming in your bowl or are you on a hunger strike?" her husband asked her, his mouth twisted in a mocking smile.

  "Robert, such unkind words!" Berdine said.

  The reproof chastened him only a moment, but when he spoke again, his target was not his new wife but the house staff.

  "They've become sloppy in our absence. You will have a terrible time whipping them back into shape, Catherine. Speak to Claudine about it tomorrow. I caught my valet slumped in my closet when he was supposed to be polishing my boots."

  "I'll speak to her," Berdine offered.

  "Catherine will have to have the upper hand sometime. No time like the present."

  In the terse silence that followed, Catherine struggled with her impulse to beg Berdine's help in the matter. Her honeymoon night had felt entirely natural, and if her husband had proven to be the soulmate she had wished for, she would have looked forward to her role in his arms and in his bed. She had anticipated no such affinity for her role as manager of the enormous household. Berdine's aid would be welcome, but it was clear Robert wanted Catherine to manage the affairs on her own.

  "Catherine will handle it beautifully, I'm sure," Berdine said, acquiescing to her son's wishes. She took a deep draught of the wine he'd provided and stayed silent.

  "We'll start with just a small gathering. A dinner party for a dozen or so, I imagine. You won't find such an intimate gathering intimidating, will you, ma mariee?" Robert asked.

  "No, of course not. I'm sure you won't mind if I consult your mother with some minor questions along the way." Catherine asserted herself in the manner she thought a true lady of the house would.

  Robert nodded his assent.

  The manservants returned and removed the bowls, replacing them with plates filled with chicken breasts covered with a pale, creamy sauce dotted with mushrooms.

  "This would be a lovely entree for your first venture into entertaining," Berdine said as she tasted the poultry. "The champagne sauce is quite light. Very civilized."

  "I think we will aspire to being civilized. Catherine's mother did not have much opportunity to entertain, am I right, my dear?"

  "No, Maman does not entertain. She is so frail, it is more than she could handle."

  "And your father's purse isn't that strong either," Robert commented.

  No response could adequately express her dejection at his rudeness, but she spoke anyway. "I'm sure my father has always been able to provide for our comfort and happiness."

  "You will find there are many ways to be comfortable and happy, some of which you would never know if you were still under your father's roof." His voice was cold.

  The rest of the meal passed in near silence. Robert's demeanor was haughty. He commented briefly on each course as it made its way to the table, his words astringent accents to the savory offerings. Berdine was silent until the servants carried in the almond soufflé, offering it for Robert's inspection before they scooped out generous portions.

  "I fear my little boîte will be too quiet. I am used to the noise of a big house," Berdine said with a sad laugh. "And, of course, your room was my own boudoir before our sojourn in the city."

  Catherine flushed. She had planned to keep the sham of her marriage to herself, but apparently Berdine was conversant with the arrangement. Beneath her embarrassment she felt repugnance at the idea of her mother-in-law's bedchamber being situated so close to Robert's. Was that the usual arrangement for people of the upper class, that the son might still sleep so close to his mother? Catherine could not calculate what Berdine might have made of the visits from the many women Robert had entertained in his own retreat. The situation probably did not bother the older woman, since she were going to miss her room when she moved into the little cottage.

  "It appears I have ousted you from your chair as well as your bed," Catherine said. The Oedipal implication of her comment didn't occur to her until the words were out of her mouth. Berdine's response made it clear she wasn't really listening to Catherine.

  "I think, though, at my age, it is important to retire away and meditate on the journey one has taken as she has lived." Berdine's comment seemed to be designed to reassure Robert she was happy with the arrangement, lest she make him angry, but he signaled his impatience with his mother's inanities by throwing his napkin on the table.

  "We are well-situated. And I am satiated. I think I have satisfied one appetite," he said as he leered at Catherine, "but I am notoriously hungry for other things."

  Berdine was oblivious to his crassness, but Catherine blushed.

  "Do not dally, dear. I will expect you upstairs very soon." Robert rose and left.

  "Do excuse me as well
, Catherine. I will have Pierre light the path out to my door with a lantern. Do not worry on my account. I am sure no harm will come to me in those few steps."

  Catherine rose to bow her respects to the older woman. Left alone in the cavernous room, she began trembling in dread of her reception upstairs. Her steps were slow as she turned out of the dining room and climbed the stairs, making her way to a bed she shared not only with her husband but with the faceless women she now knew he had invited there as well. Again, her outward calm contrasted the inner turmoil as she calculated whether making herself into a model wife would change the man she went to meet. Perhaps if she learned what kind of woman he welcomed she could become more like them and make Robert see she was the only one he truly needed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Catherine lived the same day over and over again.

  Soon after the sun bathed the eastern wall of the house, Marie came into her room to wake her and help her into a breakfast gown. The lady's maid combed her mistress's hair and pulled it back into a casual tail tied with a bow so it would be out of her way as she ate alone in her room.

  Once Marie had helped her mistress dress and summoned a girl to powder her face and paint her lips, Catherine consulted with Heloise about the upcoming dinner party Robert had demanded she begin planning. They met in the solarium, where the cold emotional climate of the house was mitigated by the sun on the greenery crowding the two story room.

  Lunch was as lonely as breakfast, but afterward, Catherine had a reunion with her family as she wrote a letter to her mother each afternoon. Denying herself the catharsis of admitting what her marriage really was, she confined herself to describing the house and servants and asking after news of family and home. Sometimes she explored the library Robert had neglected to tell her about when she first arrived. She spent many happy hours in the company of great ideas and forgot, for a little while, the stultifying reality of her sad marriage and small sphere in the gorgeous chateau. When she looked up from the page she found stuffing her head with words did not fill the emptiness in her heart.