Page 48 of A Season for Scandal

Quiet fell over the table as everyone absorbed these words, and Beth appeared, clearing the plates in front of us, while accepting our murmured thanks for the meal she had prepared.

“But let us turn to more pleasant things,” Mrs Finch encouraged.

“Yes.” I sent a friendly smile across the table towards Helene. “Do tell us about your life in France. It is clear it has been a happy one.”

“Oh yes,” Helene said, returning my smile shyly. “Very happy.”

“We have not been able to give Helene the life she might have had here, of course,” Mrs Lavigne said, a defensive note in her voice. I couldn’t help feeling frustrated. I was certain I could get Helene to open up more, but her parents seemed always to want to speak over her. I couldn’t work out if it was because they liked the sound of their own voices, or because they were trying to keep Helene from saying too much.

“But we did our best,” Mrs Lavigne continued. “We lived a quiet life; my husband had several investments that paid well, and we could afford to send Helene to a very good boarding school. His work as a merchant meant that we travelled a lot, and it was good for Helene to have that stability. Especially after what she had been through.”

“Oh? Which school was that?” Mrs Finch asked. “I have a niece who attends Lycée Fénelon.”

“Lycée Sainte-Geneviève is not actually in Paris.” Mrs Lavigne sat taller in her chair. “But it is a very respected school for young ladies just outside the city.”

“Of course.” Mrs Finch smiled, as Barker and Beth laid out delicate plates that held a mess of cream and fruit, and a crumbly substance that might have been sponge cake. “After all, they have a walking advertisement in the form of Helene here. Anyone can see she is a well-brought-up, educated young lady of refinement.”

Mrs Lavigne seemed placated by this, visibly relaxing under the compliment.

“Well, I for one am glad that such a difficult story has such a happy ending,” I said, lifting my glass in a toast. “And that we can all be here together sharing this lovely meal.”

“Hear, hear,” Mr Lavigne echoed vehemently.

We raised our glasses and then tucked into our desserts, which were surprisingly tasty. It seemed that adding a good deal of sugar to things made them much more palatable.

“I wonder, Miss Bloom, if—” Mrs Lavigne began, and I found I was steeling myself for what would come next, but nothing did because Oliver stood abruptly from the table, his face a mask of panic.

“Stop!” he yelled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

We all stared at him for a moment, words still dying on Mrs Lavigne’s lips, cutlery suspended in the air.

“Are you quite well?” Oliver cried, running to Helene’s side. She cringed back, eyes wide. “Beth, get in here!”

Beth appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked.

“Does this have strawberries in it?” Oliver demanded, gesturing at the table.

“Strawberries?” Beth looked blank and then her own face paled. “Oh, goodness, yes, I didn’t think. I…” Her eyes darted to Helene.

In an instant, Oliver had Helene on her feet. “Did you eat this?” he demanded, still holding her by her arm.

“Y-yes,” she murmured, clearly frightened. Her eyes moved to her father, her mother, then to me.

“Mr Lockhart,” I said gently, rounding the table. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

His gaze swung to mine, and I saw nothing but blind panic there. “We must call the doctor,” he croaked.

“Why?” Mrs Lavigne demanded, her voice high. “What has happened?”

Helene made a sound of realization, her eyes widening. “Strawberries,” she whispered. “S-strawberries made me ill.”

“What?” Mr Lavigne snapped, clearly riled.

“Eating strawberries makes Ellen very unwell,” Oliver snapped, equally sharp. “Last time, her throat swelled up so much she could hardly breathe. The doctor said…”

There was a beat then, a moment when everyone absorbed these words. A moment when all eyes turned to Helene who – apart from looking shaken by Oliver’s outburst – showed no signs of ill effect at all.