“There was nothing she wanted to talk about.” He took two steps away from her and put his hands in his pockets. “You be safe with this man, Juliet. This is a better option than the Busson boy. Trust me, that boy is cruel. I never wanted to see you married to him, but, well… the Bussons were keen on it, which was surprising given our financial state.”
Juliet felt tears well up in her eyes. She had always suspected he knew the truth about Michel Busson. “Will you promise me something, Father?”
The man did not agree to anything, but he considered her like an adult, a girl heading off to a new life. “Go on.”
“Promise me that if Auguste Marchant sends me a letter or comes for me that you’ll tell him where I am?”
“I will.” He looked behind her at something, and she could see him tense. His face pale, he looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Juliet turned to see a woman in a faded yellow dress, unfashionable even for the country, staring at them. The dress was garish, like a costume. The woman was older—about the age of her father—and the dress was from another time and for a younger girl. Piled up in a nest on her head, the woman’s hair was a golden blond, like her dress. The woman looked pale and thin and had deep, dark circles carved under her eyes. It seemed like she hadn’t eaten for days.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know.”
Juliet didn’t believe him. He moved around her like a cat, positioning himself between the woman and Juliet.
“When the train comes, I need you to wait until I tell you to board. Will you do that for me?”
“Why?”
“Just do as I say, okay? Don’t be frightened.”
She nodded.
The train platform was empty but for the three of them. Arriving on time, the train came to a stop, and one conductor came out and looked around to see if anyone was boarding. The three of them—Juliet, her father, and the woman in yellow—stayed frozen in place on the platform. The woman was looking at Juliet feverishly, like she’d have eaten her if she could get close. Waiting to hear from her father, Juliet heard the “All Aboard” call.
Her father grabbed her and held her tightly. “Go now. Do you hear me?” She clung to him for a moment, nodding. “You have a marvelous life in Paris. Your mother would have wanted that for you.”
Small heaves erupted from Juliet’s body as they both knew that of all the things her mother had wanted for her, a life in Paris was not one of them. It had been the life she had wanted so badly, but at what cost?
Finally he pulled away, walked over to the woman in yellow, and began to talk to her. The woman seemed distracted, looking only at Juliet, trying to shake him off. The train whistle blew, but Juliet stayed planted on the platform. What Juliet saw next puzzled her. Her gentle father grabbed the woman in yellow by the shoulders and held her firmly, almost like he was in a passionate embrace. “Go,” he shouted. “Go.”
The woman in yellow struggled to get free of his grasp, but she was no match for her father’s strength and there was no one else on the platform to notice the scuffle playing out between her father and the woman. Juliet jumped onto the train as it slowly began to pull away. From a distance, she could see that the woman had finally broken free and had run the length of the platform trying in vain to catch the last car. Her father seemed pleased and turned away, walking toward the steps. The train began to pick up speed, and Juliet saw the Challans countryside pass her. She had never felt more alone.
As a single young woman traveling unchaperoned on the train, Juliet saw the looks she was given by some of the other passengers, but she took her seat and stared out the window as the farmland gave way to the outskirts of Paris with its narrow streets untouched by Baron Haussmann.
Paris was a city bathed in color and noise. As the sun was rising and warming, Juliet had never seen so many beautiful silk day dresses and elaborate hats as during the morning hustle on the boulevard. From the violets and blues of the overflowing flower carts positioned at each corner to the dough balls in vibrant pinks, blues, and greens in the windows of the macaron shops, there were colors Juliet had never seen before. Paris’s wide streets and gray buildings were imposing and overwhelming to the young girl. While Marchant’s paintings had captured a sliver of Paris, Juliet had never imagined that the world could be so big. How would Marchant find her in a city so big?
She knocked again at the door and pulled out the invitation, matching the address with the number on the door. Finally the giant door opened and a tall man with wire glasses and a full mustache stood there and looked out onto the busy street until he realized the source of the knocking was below him and his eyes peered down over his glasses. Juliet couldn’t guess the man’s age. She’d never seen a person so strangely dressed.
“Aah!” The man clasped his hands and bowed. “You must be Mademoiselle LaCompte?”
Juliet nodded, unable to speak.
He bowed a moment longer, expecting a retort. When one didn’t come, he gazed up at her and a broad smile spread over his face. “I am Paul de Passe, Monsieur Varnier’s secretary. I wrote you. Welcome.” He pulled the heavy door back, and Juliet entered an enormous hallway with a black-and-white-patterned marble floor and winding staircase. “May I?” Paul de Passe took Juliet’s bag and motioned for her to take the stairs. “Sadly, Monsieur Varnier was called away on business today, but he will join you for dinner.”
“Join me for dinner?” Juliet shook her head. “Monsieur de Passe, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am here to work as a maid.”
“Yes, yes,” said Paul. “Monsieur Varnier has a very different way of approaching things, as you’ll learn. He wouldn’t dream of having you begin your work without a proper dinner after such a long day of travel. That’s all…”
“Do you know what I will be doing for Monsieur Varnier exactly?” Juliet removed her coat. “I haven’t many skills.”
Paul de Passe took the dirty, worn garment without hesitation.
“Ah! Yes. Well you have what Mr. Varnier calls… potential, Mademoiselle LaCompte. Monsieur Varnier loves potential. Adores it really. In fact, Monsieur Varnier has a keen eye for potential, one might say.”
Juliet felt uneasy. The idea that this was some “arrangement” that had been contracted between her mother and Monsieur Varnier was very much on her mind. Her father’s change of heart and the money he’d received as though she’d been somehow sold to Varnier made her anxious with worry about her mysterious employer. And now she learned it was for her “potential.” Her mother had told her to do as the man asked. She assumed “the man” her mother had meant was this Monsieur Varnier. But could she be sure?
Juliet followed Paul de Passe up a steep and winding staircase. When she got to the top, a magnificent grand white hallway unfolded in front of her. Four identical ornate chandeliers hung along the hallway.
“Monsieur Varnier has ten rooms in this apartment—the top two floors. It’s actually rather small as far as apartments go, but he likes the Latin Quarter best,” explained Paul as he opened the double doors leading into a room with a sofa, piano, and wall of books. Juliet touched the gold spines of the books as Paul opened the doors facing the Boulevard Saint-Germain; the warm late-morning air scrubbed at the sheer curtains, swaying them gently. Paul opened another set of doors that revealed an elaborate table with another chandelier hanging over the table. Juliet counted ten chairs. She followed Paul as he went back into the hallway and opened still another set of doors, these leading into a study with an enormous desk and fireplace. “This is Mr. Varnier’s study, but he doesn’t mind if other people use it.” Juliet had no sense of manners, but Paul made it seem as if it was a gracious move by the mysterious Varnier.