Hélène stared at her for a moment and then said, ‘You are saying I could too?’

Annette nodded again. ‘Yes, miss, if you wanted… if you put your hand…’

Hélène stepped forward and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Show me.’

Annette hesitated and Hélène said, ‘Take my hand and show me where.’

Annette did as she was asked and Hélène rested her hand against the bulge beneath Annette’s apron. For a moment she felt nothing, and then there was a definite movement under her palm and then another. She glanced up into Annette’s face. ‘I felt it,’ she said in wonder. ‘I felt him move! Fancy being able to feel him move before he’s even born! He’s alive inside you, Annette. Waiting to be born.’

Annette, who had already experienced this wonder, knew it again. Her baby was alive… and kicking. ‘It may be a girl,’ she murmured.

‘What? Oh, yes, I know, but when he kicked I thought, it’s a boy!’

At that moment they heard Rosalie’s voice in the corridor and Hélène moved quickly away. ‘I must get ready,’ she said. ‘Maman will be in to see how we are getting on in a minute.’

At once Annette moved to the bed where Hélène’s undergarments, chemise and stockings had been laid out ready by Rosalie’s maid, Yvette. The pale yellow silk gown was hanging in the wardrobe and once Hélène was ready, Annette lifted it over her head. Its graceful folds slipped over her hooped petticoat, the square neckline emphasising the delicacy of her shoulders. Hélène stood facing the mirror staring at her reflection as Annette adjusted the back and straightened the neckline.

‘I don’t look like me,’ she said.

‘You look beautiful, Hélène,’ replied Annette, in that moment quite forgetting to address her as ‘miss’. ‘Come to the dressing table and let me arrange your hair.’

When Rosalie finally came into the room she found Hélène standing by the window, ready dressed, a circlet of fresh flowers resting on her hair.

‘My darling girl,’ she whispered, ‘you’re all grown up!’ She turned to Annette. ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful? I was going to send Yvette in to do her hair, but there is no need. Well done, Annette. Now,’ she carried on briskly, ‘you and Louise are both ready, Hélène, so go downstairs and wait for me there. Pierre will take the three of us to the village first and then come back for Clarice and Papa.’ She bustled out of the room and returned to where Yvette was arranging Clarice’s veil.

The two girls looked at each other and there was a moment’s return to the bond of friendship they had known as children, then Annette said, ‘You’re quite ready now, Miss Hélène, so I must go down to help in the kitchen. There’re so many last-minute things to be seen to.’ She bobbed a curtsy and went down the back stairs, leaving Hélène alone in her room with the memory of the baby, kicking her hand. She knew nothing about babies, had no idea how they were conceived. She knew it took a man and a woman to produce a child, but how that was achieved she had no idea. When they kissed, perhaps? Ladies and gentlemen did not kiss each other until they were married, so perhaps a kiss between husband and wife was what started the growth of the baby. Her mother had never even mentioned the subject and Hélène knew she could not ask for enlightenment there, but Annette? Annette knew – she must do because she was having a baby. When next they had any time together, Hélène decided she would ask Annette; then she would know. She thought again of the baby’s feet kicking against her hand. When he’s born, she thought, I shall see those little feet.