A Swans - Eva Ibbotson

“Yes, I think it’s a success,” said the secretary with quiet pride. “I’ll leave you alone, then. Just knock on the door when you’re ready.” And he went, throwing a puzzled glance at Marie-Claude. How pale she was! The artist’s temperament, no doubt. But what a stunner!

Marie-Claude had vanished behind the screen.

” ‘arriette, please come!” The voice was unrecognizable as that of the self-assured and cheerful French girl.

Harriet peered round the screen. Marie-Claude had made no attempt to change, but stood looking down at the envelope containing her fee which she held in a trembling hand. “I can’t do it, ‘arriette! I can’t perform. It’s impossible!”

“But, Marie-Claude, why? What’s the matter? They’re just a few old men having dinner; they won’t harm you.”

“Certainly they won’t harm me!” For a moment, Marie-Claude showed some of her former spirit. Then her face crumpled. “That man in the kitchen—the chef who is to cut the cake—he’s Vincent’s cousin! He’s the head of the whole family and very, very strict. He was not at all in favor of Vincent becoming engaged to me because I am a dancer, but Vincent persuaded him that ballet was respectable. If he sees me it will be the end of everything. He will write and tell Vincent—” And Marie-Claude, the practical and invincible Marie-Claude, broke into piteous tears.

“Then you must say you can’t do it,” said Harriet decisively. “Say you have been taken ill and then we can go out quietly before Monsieur Pierre sees you.”

“It’s too late, I’m trapped here,” sobbed Marie-Claude. “If he even knew I intended to do it… You ‘ have no idea what he’s like. He is a man who makes three genuflections before he cooks a profiterole . And I have taken Mr. Parker’s money!”

She looked down at the notes in her hand—almost the exact sum needed to make up the deposit for the auberge— and fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

“You must leave the money and go out quickly the way we came,” said Harriet. “I’ll stay and explain to Mr. Parker. I’m sure he won’t give you away.”

From the banqueting room came the sound of clapping, followed by cheers. The speeches were finished. Soon now, very soon…

“They are waiting.” The disgrace of letting down her public, built into Marie-Claude since she was six years old, added to her anguish and her tears came faster.

“Marie-Claude, if I could do it for you, I would,” said Harriet, “but—”

Marie-Claude lifted her head. She picked up the envelope containing the money which she had just put down. “Oh, ‘arriette, if you could ! You are an excellent dancer, better than me, and the light will be very dim. That will keep everyone happy and while Pierre is in there, I could escape.” She looked at Harriet standing there in her Aunt Louisa’s dreadful dress—and then at the fishnet stockings, the garters, the little rosettes to cover the breasts which she had brought. “No,” she said, “you are right.” She put down the money once more and gave a heroic sniff. “Come then; let us go! Perhaps it will not be as bad as I think.”

Harriet did not move. She was re-living two moments in her life which resembled this: the moment when she had been called into Mrs. Fenwick’s study to be told that her father was taking her away from school; and the moment when she had brought home a stray puppy and Aunt Louisa had pushed it down the front steps to let it run, frightened and unheeding, into the traffic. This moment, with the feeling of being caught in a nightmare from which she could not wake, was the third.

At the same time, she was thinking. The gentlemen had to be kept quiet. Harry Parker had to be placated so that he would keep Marie-Claude’s secret. Marie-Claude had to make her escape.

“Get behind the screen, Marie-Claude. Stay there until the cake has gone—then go quickly while everyone is in the banqueting room. If you’re caught, tell Monsieur Pierre that you came to protect me—to plead with me not to do it—but that I wouldn’t listen.” She gave a crooked smile. “Say that I was too depraved…”

“You’re going to do it, then?” Marie-Claude stared at her friend. “You’re going to do what I do?”

Eagerly she picked up the stockings, the garters, ready to help Harriet dress.

“No, I can’t do what you do. But I can do… some—”

“Are you ready?” Harry Parker’s voice came from outside the door.

“Just a minute,” called Harriet. “My friend is nearly ready.”

She took off her dress… her shoes… her stockings. Aunt Louisa’s meanness had had its effect even on Harriet’s underclothes. Her broderie anglaise petticoat was much too short—it came only to her calves—and she wore a narrow bust bodice of the same white material laced at the front.

“Like that you are going?” said Marie-Claude incredulously. And seeing Harriet’s face, “No, I cannot let you do it!”

“ Laissez-moi , Marie-Claude,” said Harriet wearily—and climbed into the cake.

The table had been cleared, the port brought. Blue smoke from the men’s cigars wreathed the chandeliers.

“Gentlemen!” said Harry Parker, stepping forward with a self-satisfied smile. “The dessert!”

There was a blast of trumpets, the huge double doors were thrown open and there appeared, pushed in by four men in crimson livery, an enormous and sumptuously decorated cake.

“Oh, God,” thought Rom, sitting beside Alvarez at the center table. “Not that old bromide!”

He had made the required speech with the expected eulogies and jokes, had set himself to amuse and entertain the Minister; but beneath the veneer of good manners he was savage with frustration and contempt. This idle, venal man would do nothing to help his countrymen; he would not set foot outside Manaus with its comforts and the flattery that was showered on him there.

And now this tired music-hall rubbish…

Edward, sitting at the foot of one of the side tables, had already drunk a great deal more than usual. Now, aware that something was about to happen that did not happen after dinner at St. Philip’s, he leaned forward eagerly with an excited flush on his long face—and Rom, noticing him for the first time, threw him a scornful glance.

A tall chef in a white hat entered, followed by two assistants carrying a silver platter with a long-handled knife. On the dais, the six-piece orchestra broke into the music from La Belle Hélène .

And out of the cake there burst a girl!

Except that “burst” was not quite the word… It was the slight air of puzzlement, the cessation of voices which might otherwise have been expected to go on talking through an event of this kind, which made Rom turn from Alvarez and look over the silver epergne which concealed him to see what was going on.

And certainly the figure which had emerged from the sea of tissue justified the mystification of the diners. Dressed like their little sisters bound for the bath, her arms folded in incorrigible modesty across her chest, the girl’s dark eyes were wide with fear and from her limbs there came a faint but uncontrollable trembling.

A man in a blond toupee broke into laughter. The leader of the orchestra raised his eyebrows at Parker, whose ferrety face as he recognized the Professor’s daughter twitched with despair. Disaster clearly was upon them.

Then, from behind the silver epergne, there came the sound of clapping. Enthusiastic, thoroughly supportive clapping, evincing pleasure at the spectacle to come. Verney’s lead was always followed and Alvarez, who had clamped his monocle to his eye at the first sight of the girl, had already joined in. Now the others followed suit; there were good-humored cheers, fists thumped the table.