La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Eight, Scene 2

Mrs. Washington stood at the door to the parlor greeting the ladies of the Morristown garrison and the surrounding county to the inn. While she met each one and thanked them for coming to her first sewing circle, she kept one eye on Christiane,standing next to her.

In the days following her decision to make Christiane her personal companion, Mrs. Washington had watched with pleasure and some amazement the transformation of this beautiful, young woman. She had, of course, recognized the girl’s quality before this, but now she wondered even more about Christiane’s background. Etiquette, grace, style, Christiane lacked none of the social education of a lady. Today would be the final test of Christiane’s pedigree. And her introduction into the society Mrs. Washington hoped to make her a part.

“Mrs. Washington.”

Martha looked up into the haughty face of Lady Stirling, the wife of Lord Stirling. Though the heir to the title of the sixth earl of Stirling, Lord Stirling was one of the general’s ablest officers.

“I see you have brought your lovely nieces with you.” Mrs. Washington smiled at the girls, who were the daughters of the governor of New Jersey. She quickly introduced them to Christiane and waited to see if sparks would fly now or later. She was already well aware from the garrison’s grapevine that Lady Stirling was miffed that a former scullery maid would be included in a gathering of “ladies.”  Democracy was all well and good, but ladies did not sit to tea with servants.

Christiane curtseyed gracefully and greeted Lady Stirling and her nieces in French. Mrs. Washington chuckled inwardly at the lady’s peeved expression. Evidently Lady Stirling did not speak French and did not like a scullery maid to do so either. With the posture of a general, Lady Stirling turned away and claimed the seat next to Mrs. Washington’s sewing box.

Since Lady Stirling had evidently timed her arrival, carefully managing to be the last to arrive, Mrs. Washington moved to stand in front of the fireplace. All the ladies quieted and turned to her.

“Again good afternoon to all of you and my heartfelt thanks to your coming out this cold day.” Mrs. Washington said.” I know you have been just as moved as I have been over the plight of our brave soldiers. Many of whom are sadly in need of clothing. Christiane and I have already cut out the cloth for the new shirts we will be stitching today. And while our purpose is serious, I hope these sewing sessions will bring us all closer to friendship.”

There was polite pause and Mrs. Washington sat down on the settee beside Lady Stirling and handed Christiane her sewing box, her signal to Christiane that she was to thread a needle for her.

Christiane stepped over to the bay window, trimmed in bouffant sheers, and began to thread.

Lady Stirling said, “Mrs. Kruger, you speak French?”

Christiane continued her threading. “I am French, Lady Stirling.”

“You are? But you have no accent?”

“My father was an Irish emigre,” Christiane replied. “I’m sure you are aware that many Irish nobles escaped to France because of the harsh treatment of Ireland by England.”

“I take it he was attached to some nobleman?” the lady inquired airily.

This implication that Christiane’s father belonged to the servant class and that Christiane had no business joining a room of ladies cut through the polite conversations that had barely begun. Mrs. Washington held her breath and watched as Christiane assumed an imperious stance which put Lady Stirling’s to shame.

Mrs. Washington noticed that this visible change in Christiane was caught by each observer till all eyes were on the beautiful young French emigre. The young woman’s stance demeanor went from humble companion to grandame in seconds. All their faces asked the same question: what would the girl say?

The young Frenchwoman turned to look upon her rival with an expression that a mistress would use on a disrespectful servant. The audience waited.

With what could only be described as regal grace, Christiane walked to the settee where Mrs. Washington was. She handed the threaded needle to the lady. The silence in the room now was complete. Fastening her eyes on Lady Stirling alone, Christiane spoke, “Lady Stirling, I perceive that you are curious about my background.”

Christiane’s tone sounded icy as only a highborn lady’s could be. “I come here without credentials. I could tell you any fantasy I wished to devise and you would have no way of assessing its validity. Therefore, I make no claims. However, to answer your question, no, my father was not attached to any nobleman.” Then Christiane sat down nearby and reached for her sewing project.

Lady Stirling looked more surprised, than insulted. Mrs. Washington suppressed a smile. The other women in the room quickly looked down and became busy with their sewing. At the end of the dreary winter afternoon when Mrs. Washington bid the ladies farewell, she was certain that their stomachs were full of tea and toast, but their minds were discreetly mulling over Lady Stirling’s setdown by the intriguing young Frenchwoman.

Interesting, isn’t it, that those who supported liberty still might be “snobs?”–Lyn

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