Текст книги "Zipporah's Daughter"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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‘Yes, Papa,’ said Sophie.

‘A room has been prepared for her?’

‘Yes, Papa, the grooms said you were bringing a young lady.’

‘All is well, then. Lottie, go up with Sophie. She will show you the way.’

I felt sorry for Sophie. I said: ‘I shall have to learn to find my way about the château. It’s vast, isn’t it?’

‘It is large,’ she agreed.

‘Take her up then,’ said the Comte, ‘and when she is ready bring her down, and we will eat then. Journeys make one hungry.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Sophie quietly.

He laid his hand on my arm. ‘You and Sophie must be friends,’ he said. I glanced at Sophie and guessed that for her that was a command. I did not take such commands. But I did want to make the acquaintance of my sister. I wanted to be friends, but we should only be so if friendship came naturally; and at the moment I could not tell what she was thinking of me.

‘Please come with me,’ said Sophie.

‘Thank you,’ I replied and was glad that Jean-Louis had taught me French. His mother had been French and although he was very young when she left him, he had a natural aptitude and had kept it by reading in that language; and he taught me to speak and write it. My mother had been eager for this. I saw now that it was because my real father was French. This now enabled me to converse easily with Sophie.

I followed her up the staircase and finally we came to my room. It was very grand, with a four-poster bed, the curtains of which were moss green with a tracery of gold thread; they matched those at the windows and the colours were brought out in the Aubusson carpets which added such luxury to the room.

‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ said Sophie formally. ‘Here is the ruelle where you will make your toilette.’

This was a curtained-off alcove in which was all that was needed for my comfort.

‘The saddle horses had already come with your baggage. It has been put here.’

I had an idea that she was trying to act as normally as possible to hide her astonishment at the revelation of our relationship.

I wanted to know how she felt and I couldn’t resist asking: ‘What did you think when your father told you who I was?’

She lowered her eyes and fumbled for words, and I was suddenly sorry for her because she seemed afraid of life—something I promised myself I would never be—and she was also afraid of her father with whom I had quickly become on easy terms.

I tried to help her. ‘It must have been a great shock to you.’

‘That you should exist?’ she said. ‘Well … no … These things happen. That he should bring you to the castle and introduce you like that’ she lifted her shoulders ‘well, yes. I was a little surprised because …’

‘Because I have only come on a short visit?’

‘That’s what I mean. If you had been going to live here with us …’

She paused. She had an irritating habit of not finishing her sentences; but perhaps that was due to the shock she had received. She was right. As I was merely a visitor I could have been introduced as such at first and then if the Comte wanted to break the news of our relationship he might have done so less abruptly.

‘I find it all wonderfully exciting,’ I said. ‘To find I have a sister is so thrilling.’

She looked at me rather bashfully and said: ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

At that moment the door opened and a face appeared.

‘Oh, it’s you, Lisette,’ said Sophie. ‘I might have guessed.

A girl came into the room. She could not have been much older than I—a year or two at the most. She was very pretty with fair curling hair and sparkling blue eyes.

‘So she is here …’ Lisette tiptoed into the room and surveyed me.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I am delighted to be able to return the compliment.’

‘You speak … prettily. Doesn’t she, Sophie? Not quite French but none the worse for that. Is that your first visit to France?’

‘Yes.’ I looked from her to Sophie. ‘Who are you?’

The girl answered: ‘Lisette. I live here. I am the niece of Madame la Gouvernante, the Femme de Charge. La Tante Berthe is a very important lady, is she not, Sophie?’

Sophie nodded.

‘I have been here since I was six years old,’ went on Lisette. ‘I am now fourteen. The Comte is very fond of me. I take lessons with Sophie and although I am merely the niece of La Gouvernante I am an honoured member of the household.’

‘I am delighted to meet you.’

‘You are very young to be a friend of the Comte. But they say the King sets the fashion and we all know how it is at Versailles.’

‘Hush, Lisette,’ said Sophie, flushing hotly. ‘I must tell you what Papa has just told me. Lottie is … his daughter. She is my sister …’

Lisette stared at me; the colour flooded her cheeks and her eyes shone like sapphires.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Whether you do or not, it makes no difference. He has told me and that is why she is here.’

‘And … your mother?’ Lisette was looking at me questioningly.

‘My mother is in England,’ I told her. ‘I have just come for a visit.’

Lisette continued to look at me as though she saw me in a new light.

‘Did the Comte visit her often?’

I shook my head. ‘They hadn’t seen each other for years. I only knew he was my father when he visited us a short time ago.’

‘It is all so odd,’ said Lisette. ‘I don’t mean your being a bastard. Heaven knows there are plenty of them about. But not to see you all those years and then to bring you here and make no secret about it.’

‘My father feels he does not have to keep secrets,’ said Sophie.

‘No,’ said Lisette quietly. ‘He acts as he wishes and everyone must accept that.’

‘Lottie wants to wash and change. I think we should leave her now.’

With that she took Lisette’s arm and led her out of the room and Lisette seemed to have been so overcome by the news of my identity that she went docilely.

‘Thank you, Sophie,’ I said.

I found a dress in my baggage—hardly suitable to the grandeur of the château but it was of a deep blue shade which matched my eyes and I knew was becoming. In due course Sophie arrived to take me down. She had changed, but her dress did no more for her than the one in which I had first seen her.

She said: ‘I don’t know what you thought of Lisette. She had no right to come in as she did.’

‘I thought her interesting, and she is very pretty.’

‘Yes.’ Sophie looked rueful as though regretting her lack of claim to that asset. ‘But she does give herself airs. She is only the housekeeper’s niece.’

‘I gather the housekeeper is a very important person in the château.’

‘Oh yes. She looks after the domestic side … the kitchens and the maids and the running of the whole place. There is a good deal of rivalry between her and Jacques, who is the major-domo. But my father has been very good to Lisette, having her educated here. I think it is part of the bargain he made when Tante Berthe came. I always call her Tante Berthe because Lisette does. Actually she is Madame Clavel. I don’t think she is really Madame but she calls herself that because it is better for a position of authority than Mademoiselle. She is very stern and prim and no one could imagine her ever having a husband. Even Lisette is in awe of her.’

‘Lisette is not the least bit reserved.’

‘Indeed no. She pushes herself forward on every occasion. She would love to join us at table but Armand would never have that. He has strong ideas about the servants and that is all Lisette is … in a way. I think she has to do quite a lot of things for Tante Berthe. But it was just like her … pushing in as she did. She was astounded to hear you were …’

‘Yes, I gathered that. But I suppose a great many people would be.’

She was thoughtful. ‘My father does exactly what he wants, and quite clearly he is proud of you and wants everyone to know he is your father. You are very good-looking.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t need thanks for saying it. I always notice people’s looks. I suppose it is because I am so plain myself.’

‘But indeed you are not,’ I lied.

But she just smiled at me. ‘We should go down,’ she said.

The first meal in the château was rather a ceremonious occasion. I don’t remember what we ate. I was too excited to notice. The candles on the table gave a touch of mystery to the room—tapestried like the hall—and I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched by ghosts who would appear at any moment. Everything was so elegant: cutlery, silver goblets, and silent-footed servants in their blue and green livery gliding back and forth, whisking away dishes and replacing them with a speed which was like magic. What a contrast to Eversleigh, with the servants trudging in and out with their tureens of soup and platters of beef and mutton and pies!

But it was, naturally, the company which demanded my attention. I was presented to my brother, Armand, a very worldly young man about eighteen years old, I imagined, who appeared to be greatly amused to discover who I was.

He was very handsome and very like the Comte in appearance though lacking that firmness of jaw which perhaps came later in life, for I was sure Armand would be just as intent on having his own way as his father was, but perhaps had not yet found how to get it on every occasion. At least that was my impression of him. He was fastidious, that much was obvious; his dandyism was more pronounced than that of his father. I sensed this by the manner in which he lightly adjusted his cravat and touched the silver buttons on his jacket. His expression was one of haughtiness and his manner was intended to remind everyone that he was an aristocrat. His eyes rested on me with some approval and I felt a glow of pleasure; those striking looks which I had inherited from my ancestress Carlotta were a passport to approval wherever I went.

The Comte sat at the head of the table and Sophie at the extreme end. She seemed pleased because of the distance between them. I was on the Comte’s right and Armand was immediately opposite me, but it was such a large table that we all seemed a long way apart.

Armand asked me a great many questions about Eversleigh and I explained how my mother had fairly recently inherited it and that I had spent the greater part of my life at Clavering in another part of the country.

Sophie said nothing and everyone seemed to forget that she was there, but I was drawn continually into the conversation and was able to make a contribution until they talked of Court matters, to which I was only too ready to listen.

Armand had returned from Paris in the last few days and he said that the attitude of people was changing there.

‘It is always in the capital that such changes are first visible,’ said the Comte, ‘though Paris has hated the King for a long time now. The days are well past when he was known as The Well Beloved.’

‘It is the Well Hated now,’ added Armand. ‘He refuses to go to his capital unless it is absolutely necessary.’

‘He should never have built that road from Versailles to Compiègne. He should never have lost the regard of the people of Paris. It is downright dangerous. If only he would change his way of life there might be time yet …’

‘He never would,’ cried Armand. ‘And who are we to blame him?’ Armand’s eyes slid found to me rather maliciously, I thought. I knew what he meant. He was accusing my father of resembling the King in his morals. It wasn’t fair. I felt a great urge to defend my newly-found father against his cynical son. ‘But,’ went on Armand, ‘I believe the Parc aux Cerfs is scarcely in use now.’

‘It is because he grows old. However, I think the situation is becoming more and more dangerous.’

‘Louis is the King, remember. No one can change that.’

‘Let us hope no one tries to.’

‘The people will always be dissatisfied,’ said Armand. ‘There is nothing unusual about that.’

‘There have been riots in England,’ I put in. ‘It is said to be because of the high cost of food. They brought in the soldiers and several people were killed.’

‘That’s the only thing to do,’ said Armand. ‘Bring in the military.’

‘We should make the economy stronger,’ said the Comte. ‘Then we should not have these areas of poverty. The people, when roused, can be a formidable force.’

‘Not while we have the army to keep them in check,’ said Armand.

‘The people may try to raise their voices one day,’ the Comte went on.

‘They’ll never dare,’ retorted Armand lightly. ‘And we are boring our new sister Lottie with this dreary talk.’ He spoke my name with the emphasis on the last syllable which made it sound different and rather charming.

I smiled at him. ‘No, I am not in the least bored. I am finding everything too exciting for that and I like to know what is going on.’

‘You and I will ride together tomorrow,’ said Armand. ‘I will show you the countryside, little sister. And, Papa, I suppose you are proposing to show Lottie Paris?’

‘Very soon,’ said the Comte. ‘I have promised myself a jaunt to town.’

The meal seemed to go on for a long time but in due course it was over and we went into a little room where we drank wine. Even excited as I was, I was so tired that I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. The Comte noticed this and told Sophie to take me to my room.

The days were full of new impressions and yet how quickly they slipped past! I was enchanted by the château itself; a magnificent piece of architecture which was the more fascinating because it bore the mark of several centuries. It was necessary to be some distance from it to see it in all its glory and during those first days it was a delight to ride away from it and then halt to look back at the steep-pitched roofs, the ancient battlements, the pepperpot towers, the corbelled parapet supported by more than two hundred machicolations, the cylindrical keep overlooking the drawbridge, and to marvel at its sheer strength and apparent impregnability.

I felt moved to think that this was the home of my ancestors and then again I was aware of that twinge of remorse because I had been so happy in dear comfortable Clavering with my mother and Jean-Louis, which was all I asked for then.

But how could anyone help being proud of being connected with the Château d’Aubigné!

At first I believed that I should never learn the geography of the inside of the château. In those early days I was continually getting lost and discovering new parts. There was the very ancient section with its short spiral staircases; in this were the dungeons and there was a distinct chill in that part of the building. It was very eerie and I should have hated to be there alone. I knew that fearful things had happened there, for there the family’s enemies had been imprisoned. I could guess at the dark deeds which had been perpetrated in those gloomy dungeons. The Comte himself showed them to me … little dark cells with great rings attached to the walls to which prisoners had been manacled. When I shivered he put his arm round me and said: ‘Perhaps I should not have brought you here. Will it make you like the château less? But, Lottie, my dear, if you are going to live life to the full, you must not shut your eyes to certain features of it.’

After that he took me to those apartments where, in the past, he and his ancestors had entertained kings when they travelled in the district. In these rooms with their elegant furnishings, I was shown a different aspect of the château.

From the battlements one looked for miles over beautiful country to the town some way off with its shuttered houses and its narrow streets. There were so many impressions to absorb in a short time and I often thought: I will tell Dickon about this when we meet. He would be most interested and I was sure he would be in his element looking after an estate like this one.

But it was the people around me who interested me more than anything.

I was frequently with the Comte, for it seemed as though he could not have enough of my company, which considering the way in which he ignored Sophie was remarkable. I had obviously made a great impression on him, or it may have been that he had really loved my mother and I reminded him of that long-ago romance. I wondered. She must have been very different from the people he would have known. I had seen a portrait of his wife and she was just like Sophie, timid and nervous-looking. She had been very young obviously when the portrait had been painted.

Sometimes Sophie would come to my room and Lisette would join us. I felt sometimes that Sophie wanted to forbid the girl’s intrusion but she seemed afraid of her, as she was of so much.

I myself was rather pleased when Lisette came, for her conversation was lively and in spite of the fact that I was growing fond of Sophie, I did not find her company very enlivening.

I had caught a glimpse of the formidable Tante Berthe, a big woman with a stern face and tight lips which looked as though they would find it very difficult to smile. I had heard that she was very pious and kept the serving girls in order, which, Lisette told me, was quite a task as the men were always trying to seduce the girls.

‘You know what men are,’ said Lisette, laughing at me. ‘They are torn between their desire for the girls and their fear of Tante Berthe. If any of them were caught in what they call flagrante delicto, which means caught in the act, she would insist on their being dismissed.’

‘Surely the Comte would not allow that to happen.’

‘You mean in view of his own inclinations.’ Lisette continued to laugh. She did not seem to care what she said about anyone and I was sure she would never restrict her own behaviour. It was true that she had the redoubtable Tante Berthe behind her and that lady would surely not allow her own niece to be turned away.

Lisette liked to talk about lovers and I thought she did it to tease Sophie. I quickly came to the conclusion that she very much enjoyed showing her superiority in wit and looks over poor Sophie.

‘One day a husband will be found for me,’ she said, ‘just as yours will be, Sophie.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘The difference will be that yours will be a nobleman and mine a good solid member of the bourgeoisie who finds favour with Tante Berthe.’

Sophie looked apprehensive as she always did at the mention of marriage.

‘It might be very pleasant,’ I told her.

‘I know it will be awful,’ she replied.

I told them about Dickon and they listened avidly, especially Lisette.

‘Trust you,’ said Lisette, who enjoyed treating me with a mingling of familiarity and camaraderie, as though we were two of a kind.

‘It can’t be long now,’ said Sophie mournfully. ‘I shall be taken to Court. Papa thinks I shall be perfectly safe there. The King likes young girls but he won’t look at me.’

‘I sometimes think,’ said Lisette, ‘that I should like to be selected by the King’s pander to minister to His Majesty’s delight.’

‘Lisette!’

‘Well, it would be better than being pushed off to some boring old gentleman who has a little money but not too much, for being the niece of a housekeeper—even such a housekeeper—does not warrant too much.’

‘You mean you would like to go the Parc aux Cerfs?’ asked Sophie incredulously.

‘They say it is most luxurious and when the King grows tired of the girls they are given a good dowry and can marry, which they do, the dowry making them very desirable. Those dowries, they say, are more than an average husband can earn in a very long time. So those girls—and their husbands—are lucky. Don’t you think so, Lottie?’

I pondered it. ‘I believe a lot of people starve here and in England,’ I said. ‘But from what I hear it is worse in France. If those girls please the King in that way of their own free will and are paid for it, it may be it is better than living in dire poverty all their lives.’

‘You talk like Armand,’ said Sophie. ‘He is very loyal to the King and would like to live just as he does. He loathes the complaining poor—especially when they riot. He says they will never be content whatever they have so why bother to make conditions better for them.’

‘It is hard to pass an opinion on those girls,’ I temporized. ‘One would have to experience the sort of places they come from. Perhaps we are complacent … and lucky never to have known hardship.’

Lisette was studying us thoughtfully, but she did not speak which was unusual for her.

‘At least,’ said Sophie, ‘they can choose their own husbands.’

Poor Sophie, she was always uneasy when marriage was talked of.

I had been at the château a week when the Comte announced that he was going to take me to Paris and perhaps if possible give me a glimpse of the Court at Versailles.

I was greatly excited, but when he said that Sophie should accompany us she was thrown into a state of apprehension because she was afraid a husband would be found for her.

A few days later we were in Paris. I was so fascinated by this great and enchanting city that I did not think of Dickon for two whole days before I realized the omission and reproached myself for it.

We went first to the Comte’s magnificent town house—one of the mansions situated in the Rue Saint-Germain which were called hôtels and belonged to the country’s most wealthy noblemen. With their emblazoned pediments these tall buildings were very grand and impressive. The house was as luxuriously furnished as some parts of the château but in the style which had become so popular during the reign of Louis XV—a combination of classic severity and the rococo. I knew little of such things than I learned later. All I was aware of at that time was that the exquisite beauty overwhelmed me, and it gave me infinite pleasure merely to look at the beautiful chairs upholstered in Gobelin tapestry and the unusual sofas called sultanes, the carved cabinets and the inlaid tables. The rugs and carpets were of delicate colouring and toned beautifully with the paintings which adorned the walls. The Comte pointed out with pride his Boucher and Fragonard—two painters who had just been making their way when he had bought their pictures and were now Court Painters for the King, who might be profligate and given more to erotic pursuits than matters of state, but certainly had an appreciation of art. This had been encouraged by Madame de Pompadour when she had been alive and ruled the country through her lover.

I was enchanted by the mansion but even more so by what was inside it.

Then there was Paris itself—city of charm, noise, gaiety, mud and … contrasts. Perhaps it was the last of these which struck me more than anything else, when I come to look back—those few glimpses I had of the squalor and horror which existed side by side with the utmost elegance and richness.

The Comte was determined that I should love Paris. I was to discover later that there was a motive in this and that he and my mother were planning to divert my thoughts from Dickon. At that time I put it down to an intense national pride. And indeed he had much to be proud of in that respect.

So he was determined to show me everything, but first he took us to a fashionable dressmaker so that Sophie and I might have dresses made for a presentation at Versailles.

‘I want you to be acknowledged by the King,’ he told me, ‘because without that you cannot go to Court. It may be that you won’t be. We have to wait and hope that he will appear. All you have to do is curtsey lower than you ever have done before and if he addresses you, answer him clearly. It would be a brief encounter and if he should speak to you I will make it known that you are on a short visit to France in case he should ask someone to make plans for you. There will be others present all hoping for the honour of being addressed—however briefly—by the King, and he will be passing through the ante-room on his way to some engagement.’

‘And for this we must have new dresses?’

‘You must do me credit,’ said the Comte.

‘It seems a great deal of formality.’

‘That,’ said the Comte, ‘is France.’

So we went to the dressmaker—a very soignée woman—who seemed very old and was so patched and powdered that her face was scarcely visible. It was as though she were wearing a mask. She brought out bales of material which she caressed with long white fingers as though they were loved ones; she summoned her assistants and they turned me about, unpinning my hair and treating me as they might have done a bundle of merchandise; and all the time the dressmaker’s piercing eyes studied me. They glinted as she said: ‘She is a child … as yet … but we will do something.’

And to me: ‘When you are older … when you have become a woman eh? … then it will be a joy to dress you.’

They decided on rich peacock blue silk for me. ‘Very simple,’ she cried. ‘We show the child … but the woman to come.’

She spent a lot of time with me, less with Sophie. It was blue for her too, a light turquoise shade.

I laughed when we came out. ‘She takes her dresses very seriously,’ I said.

‘She is one of the greatest dressmakers in Paris,’ Sophie told me. ‘She once made for Madame de Pompadour.’

I was impressed, but more interested in the sights of Paris than the forthcoming visit to Versailles which was the reason for so much planning.

The Comte and I were often alone. He seemed to want that and poor Sophie was often excluded from our expeditions. We did not always use his coach but for fun would take the little carriages which were called pots de chambre because of their shape, and although they exposed us to the weather we did not mind that in the least. In these we would ride round Paris. Whenever I hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on a road, I can be transported to those days which seemed to hold a special magic for me.

The Comte wanted me to understand the life of Paris. He wanted me to hear the people coming in through the barriers from the country in the early morning bringing the produce they sold in the markets. It was a city which awoke early and at seven o’clock, although there were no carriages on the roads, people began to stir and go to their business. I was most amused when the waiters from the lemonade shops came running to the various apartment houses with their trays of coffee and rolls for the petit déjeuner of the people who lived there. The various trades seemed to have their special times for making themselves seen and heard. At ten o’clock the legal practitioners went to the Châtelet and, wigged and gowned, they made an extraordinary spectacle with those whose cases they were going to try running along beside them. At midday it was the stockbrokers. But at two o’clock all was quiet. That was the dinner hour and it was not until five that the city became lively again. Then it was at its most noisy, for the streets were blocked with carriages and pedestrians.

‘The most dangerous time is when it begins to get dark,’ said the Comte. ‘No lady must ever be out alone at that time. Thieves abound … and worse. The Watch is not yet on duty and no one is safe. Later on when the streets become full of people it is not so bad.’

The play started at nine and after that the streets quietened down a little until round about midnight when carriages carrying people from supper and gambling parties would go rumbling through the streets.

I loved it all. I wanted to get up early to see the peasants arrive with their fruit, flowers and provisions of all sorts as they made their way to Les Halles. I wanted to see the bankers of Gonesse bringing in their bread. I wanted to buy coffee from the coffee women who stood on the street corners with their tin urns on their backs; it was two sous a cup and served in earthenware vessels but it tasted like nectar to me. I loved the street singers, some of them singing sacred hymns and others specializing in obscenity.

I think the Comte enjoyed those days too and perhaps saw Paris more intimately than he ever had before. He would dress very simply when he took me walking and he always held my arm firmly. I was touched by the way he always protected me from the splashing of carriages, for the Paris mud was notorious and contained an element of sulphur in it which would burn holes in one’s clothes if not removed at once. He took me to Notre Dame, that great landmark of a great city. How it inspired me with its grandeur, but most of all by its antiquity. We went inside and when he had shown me the glorious wheel window in the north transept and the rose window over the organ and we had climbed the three hundred and ninety-seven spiral steps of the turret to look at Paris from the top of the Cathedral, we sat inside in the gloom and the Comte told me of some of the events which had taken place in the history of Notre Dame. Afterwards we looked at the gargoyles which decorated the walls of the Cathedral and somehow my mood changed. They were such strange faces … so wicked … so cunning.

‘Why did they put them there?’ I demanded. ‘They have spoiled its beauty.’

All the same I could not stop looking at those hideous faces … saturnine … evil, but what struck me most was that they seemed to be leering, revelling.

‘In what are they revelling?’ I asked.

‘The follies of human nature, I always thought,’ answered the Comte.

He must have been impressed by the effect this had on me, but he was determined to show me everything possible during our tours of the city. Our rides took us past various prisons. Two stand out in my memory—the Conciergerie on the Quai de l’Horloge whose circular towers could be seen from the bridges and bank of the river; and the Bastille at the Porte St-Antoine with its grim bastions and towers. I shuddered at the sight of the gallery from which cannon projected.

‘They are not all criminals who are imprisoned there,’ the Comte explained. ‘Some are victims of their enemies … men whose politics have betrayed them … or perhaps they have become too dangerous through Court intrigue.’

He then told me of the infamous lettres de cachet, which were warrants of imprisonment issued by the Kings of France. Although they were countersigned by a minister they had to be signed by the King. ‘There is no redress,’ said the Comte. ‘Any man can receive his lettre de cachet and never discover the reason why, for once he is incarcerated in the Bastille, he has little hope of ever getting out.’