Lessons in French

assortment of possible costumes for the upcoming masquerade ball that lay cast about her room. All the volumes in between were making their way along the village circuit, passed from house to house in a strictly defined order of precedence before being returned to Shelford Hall, where they would be bound and shelved in neat gilded leather bindings at the end of each year.

She'd found nothing more informative than a folded month-old page of the Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser, which had slid under a cushion in the library and been missed by the charwoman. The page contained an odd and passionate letter to the editor from a Mrs. Fowler, who accused her enemies of besmirching her name in the attempt to 'murder the good reputation of an innocent creature and impose upon the public.' Mrs. Fowler insisted that her whole heart belonged to one man, and one alone, and though he was no longer at her side, those who knew her best would never doubt this.

It was a strange letter, fervently written but repellent to Callie's mind; a washing of one's linen in a public newspaper that hardly seemed appropriate to any situ ation. The name Fowler seemed distantly familiar, but it was common enough and there was no reference in the letter to any trial. The remainder of the page was taken up with a description of a concert by an Italian violinist, a discussion of the new Navigation Act, and three advertisements for linen drapers. Callie had smoothed the paper, folded it again, and placed it in her pocket diary. It disturbed her in some way that she couldn't quite fathom, but she found it impossible to discard.

She was carrying the diary when at last she had herself driven to Dove House a week after her return from the disastrous fair at Hereford. She dreaded to call, but when she heard that Lilly had sent to Mrs. Adam for the ingredients for a chest plaster, Callie felt she must look in on the duchesse. Constable Hubble was sitting opposite the garden gate, perched on a crate with the remains of a substantial luncheon about him. He put aside his mug and a half-eaten pie and stood hastily as the trap drew up, straightening his coat with a stern look.

When he recognized Callie, he eased his severe expression and pulled off his hat. 'Afternoon, my lady.' He offered a rough hand to help her down. 'We ain't caught 'im yet, ma'am, but I've set a net, as you can see. We'll snap him up if he comes near, mark my words.'

'A net?' She paused, glancing up from the gener ously packed food basket at his feet.

'Aye, ma'am. I'm here m'self, in the f lesh, as you might say, and I got my boys posted both ends up the village, that I do, my lady. He won't get past us!'

Callie relaxed slightly. She had thought for a moment that he meant a real net, one capable of actu ally trapping someone. Once she understood that it consisted of the constable and his two lads barricading the single road through Shelford-well provisioned by Cook, too, it appeared-her immediate alarm receded. Trev was out of the country by now in any case, so there was little fear that Constable Hubble would be required to desert his picnic basket in the line of duty.

'Thank you,' she said. 'That relieves my mind. I hope you enjoyed your dinner?'

'Aye, my lady, that I did. Her's a mighty cook, that woman come to work for the poor duchesse. Her can make a kidney pudding to rival my old Fanny's, rest her soul, and I wouldn't say that about nobody else.'

It was high praise indeed, this comparison to Constable Hubble's beloved late wife. Callie nodded. 'I'm pleased to hear it. But do you say the duchesse is poorly?'

He gave a solemn nod. 'Cook tells me the lady ain't got no appetite-that's why her brings us out so much broken victuals.' He twisted his hat and ducked his head. 'We wouldn't gobble so much otherwise, my lady, but Cook don't want it to go waste, y'see.'

'I understand.' Callie was glad at least to know that Trev must have arranged for ample provisions to the house. She could see that someone had been working in the garden, clearing away the chaos that Hubert had left and trimming the plants down to winter crowns. There was a pot of Michaelmas daisies on the stoop, with purple petals and cheerful yellow eyes.

She took a deep breath, gathered her skirt, and walked up to the door. Lilly answered the bell promptly.

'Oh, my lady!' The maid stepped aside as Callie entered, closing the door. 'I'm so thankful you've come-Madame asks so many questions and looks at me so odd, and I don't know what to say! My lord told me that I mustn't worry her, and I've tried, my lady- I've tried, but-' Suddenly her eyes filled and she dropped a belated curtsy. 'I beg your pardon, but-' She put her apron over her face and burst into tears.

Callie felt all the guilty weight of her neglect in delaying to call. She put her arm about the girl and guided a sobbing Lilly toward the kitchen. Cook turned about from her chopping, took one look at them, and lifted the teakettle from the hob. Lilly wiped her eyes and plopped down in a chair.

'She asked me when the duke was to call again!' the maid exclaimed in tragic tones. 'And I knew I was meant to say that he would be here soon, b-but I c-couldn't seem to say it a-right. And she looks at me so! And now her cough is worse, and her fever is high-Nurse says she's in a bad way, even with the mustard plasters.'

'Nurse.' Cook snorted, sitting down and reaching over with her great arm to fill the teapot amid clouds of steam. 'Don't put much stock on what her says, I don't. That grim sort, them likes to make out like as all's going to wrack and ruin. Gives 'em position, they suppose.'

Lilly sniffed. 'Do you think?'

'Ma'am's been eatin'. Not in great swallows, her ain't, but I seen that tray don't come back quite so full as it goes up.'

In spite of a desire to hurry to Madame's bedside at this news, Callie delayed to share a cup of tea. It was always best to learn what the servants had to say of a situation. Lady Shelford would never countenance a chat in the kitchen with the staff, but Callie had no such qualms. 'So there's been no word from the duke this past week?' she asked, careful to keep her voice level and unconcerned.

'No, my lady,' Lilly said. She glanced toward Cook and then averted her eyes, heaping lumps of sugar into her tea.

Callie noted the heavy inroads on the sugarloaf, which had been reduced from a neatly peaked cone to a shapeless lump wrapped in blue paper. 'You have enough to buy what provisions you need?' she asked.

'Oh aye,' Cook said comfortably. 'We got us an open account at the greengrocer and the butcher too, and I told the duke I've no need to have recourse to the cookshop. Whatever Ma'am needs, I can make right here, I told him. There was a little trouble when that Easley woman tried to buy a ham off the butcher, claiming her was working here at Dove House, but I took care of that. And I'll send that one on her way if she comes round about here again, no matter if Ma'am wants to waste her time on such rubbish and don't know her own good.' Cook nodded and thumped her knuckles on the table, making the teacups rattle.

'Mrs. Easley has come here?' Callie asked in surprise.

'Twice!' Cook said indignantly. 'Come asking to see Ma'am, and got herself in too!' She glared at Lilly.

'Madame said she wanted to see her!' Lilly protested. 'It's not my place to say she can't see anyone she likes, is it?'

Callie shook her head. 'Of course not. I'm sure the duchesse wanted to make certain that poor Mrs. Easley was-that her situation had not deteriorated after she was turned off.'

''Poor Mrs. Easley,'' Cook mocked with a snort. 'Her's top-heavy from the gin, that's all o' her situa tion a body needs to know.'

Callie could not argue this point. She nodded. 'Well, I don't want her to worry the duchesse-if she comes again, you may turn her away.'

'But Madame said in particular that she was to be allowed to call,' Lilly said plaintively.

Callie frowned. 'I see. If that's the case, I suppose we must allow it. I'm sure the duchesse feels some gratitude toward Mrs. Easley, in spite of her faults. She was the cook here for a good while, after all, before-' She cleared her throat. 'Before Madame's circumstances were recently improved,' she finished.

'Too soft-hearted by half,' Cook grumbled.

'I perfectly comprehend you, Cook. And do make sure to count the silver whenever she leaves.' Callie stood. 'I'll go up now. You may bring us some tea and whatever you think Madame might be persuaded to partake.'

Cook nodded and heaved herself to her feet, turning briskly in spite of her bulk. Lilly dried her eyes and shook out her apron. She began to collect clean cups from the cupboard. Callie paused at the door and watched for a moment. A wave of gratitude came over her for these two humble and good-hearted people. While she had been cravenly putting off a call on the duchesse, for fear of what questions she might face, they had been taking care of their mistress with staunch loyalty. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Madame is very fortunate to have you both.'

Lilly blushed and curtsied. Cook grunted an assent. 'Her's not a bit o' trouble,' she said. 'Now that mad Frenchie son o' hers-' She shook her head and took a deep breath, preparing for what Callie could see would be a lengthy exposition on the topic of the duke.

'I must go up,' she said hastily and closed the door before Cook could get a start on her next sentence.

It didn't take long for Callie to understand why Lilly had been reduced to tears. The duchesse was neither gloomy nor distressed; she sat up and smiled and conversed in her elegant, accented English, but she seemed spun fragile and slight as a thread of glass, as f leeting as a web that glistened in morning dew. She asked no questions about her son, but her bright, feverish glance followed Callie with an intensity that seemed to look right through her, as if in search of answers.

They spoke of the cattle fair and Callie's knock on the head. Madame inquired as to Hubert's health and nodded in satisfaction when she learned that the bull was residing temporarily in his home pasture at Shelford Hall again while Colonel Davenport repaired his stone walls to Callie's strict specifications. That lesson, at least, had been learned.

Callie wondered if Trev had found a way to see his mother before he left, but she was simply too craven to ask. Instead, to fill the time with safer topics, she asked if she might read to the duchesse, and picked up a periodical from a stack on the bedside table.

'Please, if you will,' Madame said faintly, smiling and closing her eyes. 'Such a world beyond-our village. And such people it is. I am never at a loss to be amused.'

Callie nodded. She brushed her thumb through a copy of The Lady's Spectator, one of the more daring of the new journals that Dolly had brought to Shelford. Although it was much sought after in some quarters, several of the ladies of the village would not even allow it within their doors. Doubtless that was why Madame- languishing at the low end of village precedence-had a copy only a few months old at her bedside. It was a summer number, full of town gossip and moralizing in equal measure, warning ladies against the unwholesome activities of the bon ton while describing them in rich and titillating detail. Callie was suddenly glad that her appearance as Madame Malempre had occurred in such a backwater as Hereford, or she suspected that she would have found the entire escapade described in detail in the upcoming Christmas volume. The editors of The Lady's Spectator appeared to know a great deal about all manner of personal and public activities.

She searched for something she could read aloud without blushing, and finally found an article on a finan cial scandal, in which the perpetrator had, according to the affronted editors, 'sold out his own holdings in good time while keeping the true state of affairs from the public.' When the stock company in question failed, this malefactor had f led to Naples, where he was now residing comfortably on the sixty thousand pounds he had previously settled on his wife, much to the fury and financial embarrassment of his creditors.

The article editorialized at length on the shameful tendency of the justices to allow these villains of both sexes to impose upon society without fear of retribu tion. Callie added emphasis to her reading voice as the author summed up with high f lourishes of moral contempt. Then she paused. She frowned as she finished the article's last sentence, which compared this disgraceful situation to that of Mrs. Fowler's escape from a just penalty for her crime of forgery.