To Dream of Snow Read Free Page B

left the room and returned to her office.
    Marguerite knew that most of the women would have no idea where Russia was located or anything about it and she began by explaining how great the distance was from France. Then she put the facts forward as bluntly as the Comtesse had done to her, hearing gasps of astonishment and incredulity from those gaping at what they were hearing. She warned of inevitable homesickness and emphasized that she could not take anyone with family ties and responsibilities, for the obvious reason that travelling to and fro would be impossible and there was no way of knowing how long they would be expected to stay in Russia.
    â€˜Anyone interested must think it over carefully. I have to ask for a decision by the day after tomorrow at the latest,’ she concluded, ‘because the entourage will be leaving next week and travelling papers must be obtained.’
    At first there was a stunned silence. Then came an outburst of refusal and derision, only a few remaining silent.
    â€˜No! You must be mad to think of it, Marguerite! That Tsarina sounds a monster! She could have our throats cut for a misplaced stitch! Leave home for that? Never!’
    Ignoring the jibes of those already departing, some looking back over their shoulders at her as they laughed together, Marguerite turned to see how many had remained in the room. There were only five. Like most of the embroiderers in the establishment they had been trained as dressmakers before specializing in the more delicate work. She would be glad to have any one of them in her team.
    â€˜Are you all considering the proposal?’ she asked. Then, as they nodded, she added, ‘But I did say that I couldn’t take anyone with family responsibilities.’ Her gaze had rested on one of the women, who stood with folded arms. She was solidly built, amiable and level-headed, and although she was only in her early forties her hair was prematurely white.
    â€˜I’ll go on one condition,’ she stated decisively.
    â€˜But you are married, Jeanne Dudicourt,’ Marguerite pointed out.
    â€˜I’ll be thankful to leave my drunken sot of a husband!’ Jeanne replied forcefully. ‘I should have done it years ago, but I had the two kids and nowhere to go. Now my son is a mercenary in the army and I haven’t seen him since he marched off to a war seven years ago. I just hope to God that he’s still alive somewhere!’ Briefly she put her hands together in an attitude of prayer and shook her head anxiously. ‘So I’ll leave word with a neighbour as to my whereabouts in case he should ever turn up again. But I’ll also make her swear never to let the drunkard know anything. Not that he’d ever be able to find me! But I’ll only come if I can bring Rose, my daughter, with me. She’s seventeen, a good little needlewoman. She works over at the Desgranges atelier.’
    â€˜If she’s willing to come I’ll accept her on your recommendation.’
    â€˜Maybe my sister Sophie would come too. She embroiders for a bitch of a woman at the Valverde place and I know she’s been looking for a place elsewhere, but it’s not so easy. If she’s interested shall I bring her to see you?’
    Marguerite nodded. ‘Come to my place tomorrow evening when everyone has had time to think things over. Bring Rose too. We’ll have a glass of wine.’
    Another voice, rich in throaty cadences, spoke up. ‘I’m volunteering to go with you, Marguerite! It will break the monotony of this place and be an adventure if nothing else!’ The speaker was Violette Narbonne, her attractive feline face full of amusement, her hair a mane of wild, corn-gold curls.
    Jeanne gave her an amused glance. ‘Have you run out of Parisian lovers at last?’
    Violette laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘No, far from it, but a change should be interesting. I like the idea of a whole new field of