La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Seven Scene 4

The delightful minutes passed too quickly. Christiane left the sunny window and went back to the parlor door. She caught herself just before she knocked. A competent servant would know instinctively when to enter without knocking. Undecided, she stood there at few more minutes. Then she chose to be adventurous and enter. Inside she paused just the door. They were done with tea. As unnoticeably as possible, she crossed to the tea table and quietly began to prepare it to return to the kitchen.

Mrs. Washington interrupted the flow of conversation, “A very fine tea, my dear. Please tell the cook that her muffins are delectable.”

“Thank you, Lady Washington,” Christiane answered softly. She picked up the heavy tray carefully, so that there would be no clatter. There was none. Her confidence was high. Stiffly, but formally she turned toward the door, then paused to consider how to go through the closed door without putting down the tray a second time. That pause was her downfall.

Three of the officers leaped up to assist her. Laurens and Hamilton rose so abruptly that they bumped into each other, in turn into the third, Henry Knox. Knox was pushed off balance and his outflung arm knocked the tray out of Christiane’s hands. The perfect, translucent china shattered around her feet on the polished oak floor. Christiane cried out in dismay and without thinking knelt to pick up the china. The pain from the stiffened muscles shot through her and she slumped forward in a faint.

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Christiane moaned in French, “Ma tête,” as she came to herself.

“There, there, my dear,” a soothing voice said.  “Your head will be better soon.”

“Grandmere?” Christiane whispered, the quality of the voice taking her back to Versailles. Then Christiane came completely to herself, pushed a damp cloth from her eyes, and tried to sit.

“Don’t try to sit up just yet.”

“Lady Washington?”  The lady’s presence came as a shock.

“Yes, I am with you.”

“Where am I?” Christiane surveyed the massive four-poster on which she lay.

“In the general’s quarters. How does your head feel?”

“It feels a bit tender, my lady,” Christiane answered as she tentatively touched the large knot near her left temple. “Please, how did I get here?”

“Lt. Colonel Laurens carried you, upon my instructions. The gentlemen were very sorry about what happened.”

Then the scene in the parlor returned. “It’s quite all right,” Christiane murmured automatically, wondering what Mrs. Hardy would say about the broken china.

“Well, it was an unfortunate occurrence, but really a lovely young woman such as yourself must be accustomed to such displays of ‘courtesy’, shall we say?” Before Christiane could respond ot this unexpected drollness, Mrs. Washington continued, “You were speaking French at first, weren’t you?”

Christiane looked up at Mrs. Washington who was smiling benignly down at her. “Yes, I am from Paris originally.”

“Oh? You don’t speak English with an accent.”

“No, my father was Irish.”

Christiane watched the lady’s expression absorb this. A lady such as Mrs. Washington would recognize that Christiane did not speak with any touch of the Irish and, in fact, spoke the English of an aristocrat. But the lady did not comment any further about Christiane’ speech. She merely took the cloth away from Christiane’s forehead. “It doesn’t seem as though any permanent damage has been done, but you will have a nasty bruise for awhile. You may sit up now, but slowly. I don’t want you to faint again.”

Christiane obeyed carefully. She was still rather stunned to find herself on the general’s bed, being nursed by the general’s lady. Mrs. Washington walked across the room and rummaged through one of her small trunks. She soon returned to Christiane’s side with a small jar. “I have something here that may make you feel better. Every night I want you to put hot, wet cloths on your thigh, then rub this ointment in deeply and wrap it in flannel. Do you have any flannel?”

“No, Lady Washington.”

“Very well. I’ll see that you have some. It takes muscles quite a long time to heal, but this treatment should help them feel better in the meantime. Why don’t we see if you can stand now?” She reached out and helped Christiane descend the two steps beside the high bed and then stand next to the white ruffled bedspread. “How is that?” she asked, still supporting Christiane’s arm.

“Much better, thank you, Lady Washington.”

Sedately the two set off for the kitchen. Mrs. Washington swept into the kitchen with Christiane in the rear. “Mrs. Hardy?”

Mrs. Hardy and Emma stood up. “Lady Washington,” she answered and both she and Emma curtseyed by a table of half-prepared food.

“I am certain that you have heard about Christiane’s mishap in the parlor?”

“Yes, Milady, we heard that she fell and hit her head.”

“That is true. But I wanted you to know that her fall and the breaking of the tea set were due to the clumsiness of a few of our officers. Christiane did a lovely job serving tea. I hope she will serve my tea everyday.”

“I am happy to hear that, Milady,” the cook answered primly.

“I’ve heard how well you cared for Christiane after her wounding at Princeton and that she owes her life to your careful and expert nursing.”

At this Mrs. Hardy smiled and murmured a polite denial.

“I hope you won’t be offended if I offer a further remedy.”

“Oh, not at all, Milady,” Mrs. Hardy replied eagerly.

“I have an ointment of mine here that I think will help reduce the stiffness in her muscles. Her leg will need hot packs first; then the ointment well-rubbed in; finally the thigh will need to be wrapped in flannel.”

“That sounds to be a good treatment.”

“It has worked many times in the past. I must be leaving now. It was pleasant meeting you, and your staff, Mrs. Hardy. Good day.” The farewell courtesies were exchanged briefly. Christiane bobbed her head once more to the lady as she shut the door to the inn.

“Well, Christiane, I am sorry that you had a fall.” Mrs. Hardy stood, treasuring to her breast the jar of salve.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Christiane was still trying to put everything that had happened together in her mind. Primarily she was struck by the kindness of Mrs. Washington whose station put her so much higher than Christiane, now working in the kitchen.

“What a grand lady,” the cook sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Hardy,” Christiane agreed.  In the back of her mind, however, she still pondered the changes in her life, her station. If the massacre in Rumsveld hadn’t happened, she would never have faced these glimpses of the a life so close to the one she had been born and bred to live. How many changes would she go through before her life became settled in one spot, in one station? Oh, Jakob, I miss you so.

In the times we live in, we rarely meet anyone who is very different from ourselves, wouldn’t you agree? And in our modern times we don’t set as much emphasis on social class differences. But though our early leaders wanted liberty, they still accepted a society of educated ladies and gentlemen which was separate from the majority of humankind. And this is the world that Christiane will deal with, not ours.

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