A Dangerous Masquerade Read Free

Helene said.  ‘Forgive me, comtesse.  I believed you must still be rich.  I saw you wearing your jewels once, though I did not see your face then for you were veiled.’
    ‘The comte kept me close,’ Constance replied.  She did not dare to confess to anyone that she was not the comte’s wife for fear that some grasping relative should come forward to steal what was Madeline’s by right.  Even to the nun who had befriended her she could not confess that she was merely the comtesse’s maid and the daughter of an English language teacher. 
    ‘Forgive me, I should not have asked – but of course you may see the children.’
    Constance had been taken to a house and shown the children who lived under the protection of the nuns.  All of them had had sad and sometimes terrible lives before they came to the house and her heart was torn by their stories:  girls who had been sold into a kind of slavery; young boys who were beaten and ill used by their masters, and others who could not even tell their stories because they were too traumatised to speak.
    Constance knew that she must help them.  She could not steal what belonged to her former mistress, but she would borrow the clothes and jewels to somehow make money for the children.  At first she’d tried to beg money from the ladies and gentlemen who sent her invitations to their card parties and balls.  Most gave her a few francs and forgot her the moment she left their house, the others simply refused.  Children of that kind deserved their fate; they were depraved and ignorant and it was a waste of the comtesse’s time to try to help them.  Instead, she should come to evening soirees and card parties and look for a rich gentleman to replace her dead husband.
    Constance had been angered by the attitude of many of these rich aristocrats.  They had so much but they would give nothing to help those who were deprived and ill-treated.  The anger had burned inside her for two days and then she’d hit upon her plan.
    Constance’s father had been a brilliant language teacher, which was why she spoke French like a native,  but he’d ruined his life because of the gambling fever that would not let him be.  At times he’d struggled against it for his daughter’s sake, especially after he found a good position working for a French aristocrat, but the need to gamble was so great that he had taught his daughter to play cards like a professional.  She’d played with him for buttons just to keep him happy, learning how to tell when she was being cheated; how to notice the signs when someone was uneasy and when they thought they had the winning hand.  For a while her father had fought his addiction and won, but then he lost his position, because he was unjustly accused of taking a broach from his employer’s wife’s room.
    Without a reference and with the shadow of being named a thief hanging over him, he’d gone back to the tables to try and win enough money to keep them both alive.  At first he’d succeeded, but then one night he was attacked, robbed and left for dead in the gutter.  He’d been alive when Constance and her faithful servant found him, but despite her nursing he’d died a few days later.
    ‘Forgive me, Constance,’ he begged her.  ‘I ruined your mother when I married her.  She was the daughter of a lord and should have made a good marriage but she fell in love with me and we ran away together.  When she died I promised her I would mend my ways and look after you.  Forgive me, daughter.  I’ve failed you, as I failed her.  Go to your mother’s family and ask them to help you.  It is your only chance of a future.’
    ‘It’s not your fault, Papa…’
    Constance had wept after he died, but she’d done everything that ought to be done.  Seeing him decently buried, though it took every penny she had and the sale of her mother’s pearls.  She had written once to her mother’s father but no reply had come and, alone, with few