Текст книги "Zipporah's Daughter"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Looking up at those grim walls I wondered about the people who were living behind them. ‘But it is so unfair … so unjust!’ I cried.

‘Life often is,’ said the Comte. ‘One has to be always wary to make sure one does not take a false step which could end in disaster.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘One can’t. One has to walk carefully and one does learn as one gets older. In one’s youth one can be rash.’

He did not want me to be too depressed and that evening we went to the play; and how I loved to see those people’s elegant clothes and the women’s magnificent coiffures, all laughing and calling to each other.

Sophie was with us. She obviously enjoyed the theatre and when we returned to the hôtel I stayed in her room for a while and we discussed the play and laughed over the evening’s entertainment. I did believe I was getting to know Sophie better and beginning to understand that she had been rather lonely, and that she wanted to confide was really rather glad that she had found a sister.

We shall be great friends, I told myself. But then I remembered that I should shortly be returning to England and wondered when we should meet again. When she marries, I promised myself, I shall visit her; and she will visit me.

There came the great thrill of our visit to Versailles. Oddly enough, after the exploration of Paris it did not impress me as greatly. Perhaps I had become satiated by so much splendour and luxurious extravagance. Of course I thought it was wonderful and the Le Notre gardens superb; the terraces and the statues, the bronze groups and ornamental basins from which the fountains rose and fell—they were like fairyland; the orangery had been built by Mansard, the Comte told me, and was reckoned to be the finest piece of architecture in the whole of Versailles and I could well believe that; and it was impossible not to be impressed by the great central terrace and stretch of grass called the tapis vert. But what I remember most about Versailles was that crowded ante-chamber, named the oeil de boeuf because of its oval window, in which I, with Sophie and the Comte, waited for the King to appear from his apartments.

Everyone was very elaborately dressed, and the Comte, I supposed because he was an important person at Court, stood in a prominent position near the door with me on one side and Sophie on the other.

There was an air of suppressed tension in that room and such eagerness on the faces of everyone. They were all so anxious that the King should notice them on his passage through the room. I kept thinking of those people in the Bastille who had been despatched there for something of which they might well be unaware, and just because they had displeased someone who had the power to put them there. But hadn’t the Comte said the lettres de cachet had to be signed by the King?

There was a sudden hush, for a man had come into the room. The King of France! He was followed by several men but I had eyes only for the King. I think I should have known him for the King anywhere. He had an air of great distinction in a way which I can only describe as aloof. It was a handsome face, certainly marked by debauchery but the good looks remained. He moved with grace and he was most exquisitely dressed; diamonds glittered discreetly on his person. I could not take my eyes from him.

He was close to us now and the Comte had caught his eye. I felt myself propelled forward and curtsied as low as I could. Sophie did the same and the Comte bowed low.

‘Ah, Aubigné,’ said the King; his voice was low and musical.

‘I would present my daughters, Sire,’ said the Comte.

I could feel those weary looking eyes on me. A very charming smile appeared on the King’s face and for a few seconds he looked straight at me.

‘You have a very pretty daughter, Comte,’ he said.

‘On a visit from England, Sire. She returns there soon to her mother.’

‘I hope we shall see her at Court before she goes.’

The King had passed on. Someone else was bowing with the utmost servility.

The Comte was delighted. As we rode back to Paris in the carriage he said: ‘It was a great success. The King actually spoke of you. That’s why I told him you were here only on a visit. He liked you. That was clear. Aren’t you flattered?’

‘I have heard that he likes young girls.’

‘Not all,’ said the Comte with a laugh, and I noticed that Sophie shrank into a corner of the carriage. I felt sorry for her because the King had scarcely glanced at her.

When we reached Paris the Comte said that he wanted to speak to me and would I go into the petit salon where he would join me shortly.

I changed into a simpler dress and went down to the room where he was waiting for me.

‘Ah Lottie,’ he said, ‘flushed with success, I see.’

‘It was a very brief glory,’ I reminded him.

‘What did you expect? An invitation to sup with him? God forbid. I should not have taken you if that had been possible.’

‘I didn’t expect anything. I was just surprised that he looked at me for what was it?—two seconds?’

‘You are a beautiful girl, Lottie. You stand out in a crowd. It means that now the King has spoken to you … or been aware of you … you could go to Court if the occasion arose. It is always well to be in a position to go.’

‘Well, I shall be on my way home soon. I suppose I should be thinking of my return now. I only came for a short visit, didn’t I?’

‘And you have enjoyed that visit?’

‘It has been wonderfully exciting and different from anything I ever knew before.’

‘I don’t intend to lose you now that I have found you, you know.’

‘I hope you won’t.

He looked at me steadily. ‘I think, Lottie, that you and I understand each other well. We stepped easily into the roles of father and daughter.’

‘I suppose we did.’

‘I am going to tell you something. I have written to your mother asking her to marry me and she has consented.’

I stared at him in amazement. ‘But …’ I stammered. ‘Her … her home is at Eversleigh.’

‘When a woman marries she leaves her home and goes to that of her husband.’

‘You mean she will come to live here?’

He nodded. ‘And it is your home too,’ he added.

This was bewildering. First a father appearing, then the scenes I had witnessed during the last weeks, and now … my mother was going to marry the Comte.

‘But …’ I said because I had to go on talking in the hope of collecting my wits meanwhile …‘you … er … you haven’t seen each other … for years before you came to England.’

‘We loved each other long ago.’

‘And then … nothing happened.’

‘Nothing happened! You happened. Moreover we are both free now. Neither of us was then.’

‘It seems to me so very sudden.’

‘Sometimes one knows these things at once. We did. You don’t seem very pleased. Are you wondering about yourself? Lottie, it is my earnest wish and that of your mother that you will be with us. This is your home now.’

‘No … My home is in England. You know about Dickon.’

‘My dear, you are so young. You know there can be no thought of a marriage yet.’

‘But I do know I love Dickon and he loves me.’

‘Well, you have to grow up a little, don’t you? Why shouldn’t you do that growing up here?’

I could not think of anything to say. I wanted to be alone to ponder this new turn in affairs and to ask myself what effect it was going to have on my life.

The Comte was saying: ‘Your mother is making arrangements to come to France.’

‘She can’t leave Eversleigh.’

‘Arrangements will have to be made. In fact she has been making them for some time. We agreed to this two weeks ago. We both decided that having found each other we were not going to risk losing each other again. Lottie, I can never explain what a joy it has been to find you … and your mother. I thought of her over the years and it seems she did of me. What is between us is something which rarely comes.’

I nodded and he smiled at me fondly, realizing that I was thinking of Dickon; and although he believed that I could not possibly understand, he did not say so.

‘Now we have a chance to regain what we have lost. We both realize that. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Your mother will be coming here soon. We shall be married then. I wanted you to hear it first from me. When your mother comes she will tell you what arrangements have been made. In the meantime we must prepare for the wedding.’

He put his arms about me and, drawing me to him, kissed me. I clung to him. I was very fond of him and proud that he was my father. But when I tried to look into the future, it seemed very misty to me.

The news that my father was to be married was received in his household with consternation, I think, although no one said very much to me. Armand shrugged his shoulders and seemed cynically amused because the bride was to be my mother, and the romantic plans were clearly the outcome of an old love-affair.

‘So we have a sister and belle mère at one stroke,’ he said, and I was sure he went off to laugh about it with his cronies—worldly young gentlemen like himself.

Sophie was inclined to be pleased. ‘He will be so taken up with his own marriage that he won’t think about arranging one for me,’ she confided to me.

I replied: ‘You worry too much. If you don’t want to marry the man they choose for you, just say so. Be firm. They can’t drag you screaming to the altar.’

She laughed with me and it occurred to me that we were beginning to get on very well.

Lisette talked excitedly of the marriage.

‘He must be deeply enamoured,’ she said, ‘for there is no need to get heirs.’

‘Surely that is not the only reason for marrying,’ I said.

‘It usually is the main one in France. Otherwise men would never marry. They like a variety of mistresses.’

‘How cynical you all are! Don’t you believe in love?’

‘Love is very fine when there are advantages to let it flourish in comfort. I think that is the view of most people. I have learned to stare cold hard facts in the face and it seems to me that on this occasion your father must be truly in love.’

‘And that amazes you?’

‘I suppose such things can happen to anyone—even men like the Comte.’

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed at me.

I was delighted to see my mother when she arrived. She seemed to have cast off years. I felt very tender towards her because I realized that her life had not been easy. True, she had loved the Comte and betrayed her husband, but that was one of the reasons for her years of contrition, and being the woman she was, she suffered very deeply through what she would call her sin. Now she blossomed; her eyes shone and there was a faint flush on her cheeks. She looked years younger. Like Pilgrim, I thought, when the burden fell from his shoulders. She was like a young girl in love.

The Comte had changed too. I was amazed that two elderly people—at least they seemed elderly to me—could behave like two young people in love. For indeed, they were in love and love appeared to have the same effect on people in their forties as it did on those in their teens.

She embraced me; the Comte embraced me; and we all embraced each other. All the retainers came into the hall to greet her. They bowed low and were all smiling and chattering and the Comte stood by, like a benign god, smiling on the happiness he had created.

Armand and Sophie greeted her with their own special brand of behaviour: Armand, smiling rather condescendingly as though he were confronting two children who were having a special treat, and Sophie nervously, certain that her new stepmother would find faults in her, in spite of the fact that I had assured her my mother was the easiest person in the world to get along with.

They were to be married the following week and the ceremony would take place in the castle chapel. I was all eagerness to ask questions about what was happening at Eversleigh but I did not get a chance to talk to my mother alone until much later in the evening.

We had eaten in the dining-room and I saw how impressed and enchanted she was by the château—just as I had been; and when we arose from the table she asked me to take her to the room which had been prepared for her.

‘We have hardly had a word alone since I arrived,’ she said.

When we were in her room she shut the door and as she looked at me some of the happiness faded from her face, and I felt misgivings that all was not as well as it had seemed.

I said: ‘There is so much I want to know. What about Eversleigh? What are you going to do about everything there?’

‘That is what I want to explain to you. It is taken care of …’

Still she hesitated.

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘No no. It has all worked out very well. Lottie, I have made Eversleigh over to Dickon.’

‘Oh!’ I smiled. ‘It is what he wanted, and of course, it is the solution.’

‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘It is what he wanted and it is the solution.’

‘So … he’ll have Eversleigh … and Clavering. I suppose he’ll be at Eversleigh most of the time. He loves that place and of course he is one of the family. If Uncle Carl had not been so eccentric it would have gone to him.’

‘Well, he has it now, and I have a letter for you, Lottie.’

‘A letter!’

She was a long time producing it and when she did she held it as though it were some dangerous weapon.

‘It’s from Dickon!’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘It will explain.’

I threw my arms about her and kissed her. I was longing to read the letter and did not want to do so until I was alone, but as she had asked me to talk to her I did not feel that I could leave her immediately.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I cried. ‘Everyone gets what they want! And you are happy aren’t you, Mother? You truly love him, don’t you?’

‘I have always loved Gerard.’

‘It’s so romantic … one of those “and they lived happily ever after” endings. It’s nice to know they do occur sometimes.’

‘We intend to be happy … after all these years. And, Lottie, this will be your home, you know.’

I frowned. ‘Well, I suppose so really. But I shall visit my relations in England. I suppose my grandmother will be at Eversleigh with Dickon’s mother.’

‘They will not be able to tear themselves away from him, and Eversleigh is a big house. They need not get in his way.’

I was smiling. It was all working out so happily. I would go to Eversleigh and he would be there. I was clutching his letters in my hand and it was difficult to stop myself tearing it open.

Perhaps she understood my impatience for she said: ‘Well, that is what I wanted to tell you.’

‘Dear Mother,’ I replied, ‘it is lovely to see you here. It is the most exciting and beautiful place you could imagine. I love it. And it is wonderful that you and the Comte are going to be so happy.’

‘He is so fond of you. He was delighted with you as soon as he saw you.’

‘I like him, too. Good night, Mother. I’ll see you in the morning. There is so much to talk about.’

‘Good night, my child,’ she said, ‘and always remember that everything I have ever done has been for your good.’

‘I know that. Good night. Sleep well.’

Then I was gone.

As soon as I was in my room I slit the envelope. Dearest little Lottie [he had written],

When you read this Eversleigh will be mine. It was like a miracle. Prince Charming appears out of the blue and whisks your mother off to his romantic castle and she leaves Eversleigh to me.

Isn’t that exciting? I often think of you and our little romance. It did amuse you, didn’t it? Our little game of pretence? We tried to forget that you were only a child and I must admit that at times you did not seem so. But facts are facts. You are going to live in France now. You will meet interesting people, for I believe Monsieur le Comte leads a very colourful life. I am so pleased that you will have such a wonderful time.

I shall soon be installed in Eversleigh with my mother and your grandmother. It is a family house, isn’t it? Generations of the Eversleigh clan have lived here … so even when I marry they won’t be moving out. I dare say that will be fairly soon. I am really so much older than you, Lottie, and it is time I was settled—especially now that I have Eversleigh and new responsibilities.

My blessings on you, dear Lottie. I hope you won’t forget the pleasant times we had together.

Dickon.

I read it through again. What did he mean? There were three facts which kept going round in my head. Eversleigh was now his. I was a child. He was going to marry soon.

It was all over then. Dickon no longer loved me, no longer wanted me. He wrote as though what had been between us had been some game of make-believe.

I began to see it all very clearly. It had been Eversleigh he had wanted. And now that he had it I had no place in his picture of the future.

I had never felt so miserable in the whole of my life. I threw myself on to the bed and stared up at the tester.

It was over. There was no need now for Dickon to marry me to get what he wanted.

So … he had jilted me.

The Procuress

THERE WAS GREAT EXCITEMENT throughout the capital and indeed throughout the entire country because of the royal wedding. The people seemed to have forgotten their grievances and were growing excited at the prospect of all the fetes and entertainments which would be planned to celebrate the great occasion. The weather was beautiful; the may was in blossom; and it was a time for rejoicing.

It was three years since my mother had married my father and it amazed me to see how happy they were together. I think I had grown a little cynical. Dickon’s defection had made me grow up overnight. I still thought of him; he was enshrined in my heart as the perfect lover and no matter what I heard of him, nothing could change that. I used to talk about him to Lisette and Sophie and would build up romantic dreams, the theme of which was that there had been a terrible mistake; he had not written that letter jilting me; he had not married, and all this time he had been pining for me, for he had received a false letter from me.

It eased me, that dream, ridiculous as it was, for there were letters from my grandmother and Sabrina telling us how wonderful Dickon was and how happy with his dear wife Isabel, who had brought him a fortune and new interests in life.

My mother always gave me the letters to read with a certain embarrassment and apprehension, but I had learned to hide my feelings; I would read them avidly and then go away and tell myself I didn’t believe a word of them.

‘Dickon’s father-in-law is a very influential man,’ wrote Sabrina. ‘He is a banker and some high official at Court. It is all rather secret and we are not sure what he does there. He has his finger in many pies … and that means Dickon has too. You may be sure he makes the most of everything that comes his way …’

Once my grandmother and Sabrina came to visit us. They wanted to assure themselves that my mother and I were really happy.

Dickon did not come with them. ‘I suppose he can’t get his fingers out of all those pies,’ I said maliciously.

They laughed and replied that Dickon was indeed busy. He was in London a great deal and there was Eversleigh to run. He surrounded himself with good men … the right people.

‘He talks of you often, Lottie,’ said my grandmother. ‘He was so sweet to you when you came to stay, wasn’t he? Not many young men would have taken so much notice of a little girl.’

My mother put in rather tartly: ‘He took a lot of notice of Eversleigh and that included Lottie at that time.’

My grandmother ignored that and insisted: ‘It was a charming gesture to take so much interest in a little girl and he used to do everything to make Lottie happy.’

Yes, I thought. He kissed me in a way that I find hard to forget. He talked to me of marriage … and how happy we should be together. He persuaded me to love him. He tricked me, and when he got Eversleigh he jilted me.

I knew now that my mother had contrived it. She had sent for my father who had come and changed everything. Then she had given up Eversleigh because she thought that when Dickon had it he would cease to want me.

And how right she had been! I suppose I should have been grateful to her, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have cared for what reason Dickon wanted me. Perhaps I refused to let myself forget him; perhaps the idea of lost love pleased me, made me feel that my life, though tragic, was full of interest. That may well have been the case, but the fact remained that Dickon was always ready to come into my thoughts, and with the memory would come that frustrated longing.

‘There is only one fly in the ointment,’ said Sabrina; ‘they can’t get children.’

‘Poor Isabel, she does so long for a healthy child,’ added my grandmother. ‘There have been two miscarriages already. It seems as though she is ill-fated. Dickon is most disappointed.’

‘It is the only thing he cannot win for himself,’ I commented.

My grandmother and Sabrina never recognized irony when it was directed against Dickon. ‘Alas, that is so, my dear,’ said Sabrina sadly.

So there I was at the time of the royal wedding. The little Austrian girl who was about my age was coming to France to marry the Dauphin, who himself was not much older. The Comte would be at Court and I supposed we should all go to some of the entertainments. There would be balls and ballets and we should be able to catch a glimpse of the notorious woman, Madame du Barry, who was causing such a scandal at Court. She was vulgar and breathtakingly beautiful, I believed, and the King doted on her. Many had tried to remove her from her position, but the King remained enslaved.

There was always some intrigue in progress; life was rich, colourful and uncertain—the more so because on occasions we heard of the rumblings of discontent throughout the country. News would reach us of riots in a small town, a farmer’s haystacks being burned down, a baker’s shop raided … Small outbreaks in remote places. We took little notice of them. Certainly not during those golden days before the wedding.

The château had become my home by now but I never really got used to it. It could never be home to me as Clavering and Eversleigh had been. There I had been in the houses of my ancestors—but in a way the castle was that too; yet there was something alien about it. It seemed full of echoes from the past and I could never quite forget those dungeons which the Comte had shown me soon after my arrival.

My mother had settled in with ease and had taken on the role of Madame la Comtesse without any apparent effort. I supposed that was because she was happy. I marvelled that she, who had lived rather quietly, could suddenly become a figure in society, although throughout it all she preserved a certain air of innocence which was very attractive. There was mystery about her. She had a virginal air and yet it was well known that she had borne the Comte’s child—myself—all those years before when she had been the wife of another man, and the Comte had had his own wife and family. As for the Comte, he had become a doting and faithful husband, which I was sure was something society had never expected of him. It was a miracle. The miracle of true love. That, I would say to myself, is how Dickon and I would have been had we been allowed to marry.

I was educated with Sophie according to French custom, which meant that there was an emphasis on what was considered gracious living rather than academic achievement. Literature was important, as was an appreciation of art in any form, and fluency of language and the ability to converse with wit and charm; we must be skilled in courtly arts such as dancing, singing and playing a musical instrument; and we had special teachers for these subjects. I found them very interesting—far more so than the tuition I had received from my English governesses. Lisette shared our lessons.

Lisette was very bright and learned with a feverish application as though she were determined to excel, which she did. Sophie lagged behind. I often tried to point out to her that it was not so much that she was slower to comprehend as that she believed herself to be, and so willed it.

She would always shake her head and Lisette said that she would never grow out of it until she married and found a husband and children who adored her. ‘And that,’ added Lisette, with one of her looks of wisdom, ‘will never come about because she will not believe it even if it were actually the case.’

Lisette and I were high-spirited. If something was forbidden we were always seized with the urge to have it. We broke the rules set down by our teachers and once, when we were in Paris, we slipped out after dark and walked through the streets, which was a very daring thing to do. We were accosted by two gallants and were really frightened when they took our arms and would not let us go. Lisette screamed and attracted the attention of some people who were passing. Fortunately they stopped and Lisette cried out that we were being held against our will. The gallants released us and we ran with all the speed we could muster, and so reached the hôtel in safety. We did not try that again, but it had been a great adventure and, as Lisette said, it was experience.

Sophie was quite different, timid and subdued; and we always had great difficulty in persuading her to do anything which was forbidden.

So Lisette and I became the friends, whereas Sophie always remained something of an outsider.

‘It’s as though we are the sisters,’ said Lisette, smiling fondly at me.

There was one person of whom Lisette was afraid and that was Tante Berthe. But then the entire household was in awe of that formidable lady.

Sophie’s continual fear was that a husband would be found for her; she dreaded that and had already made up her mind that whoever was chosen for her would dislike her for being expected to marry her.

Lisette said: ‘There is one consolation in being the niece of the housekeeper. One will very likely have the privilege of choosing one’s own husband.’

‘I should not be surprised if Tante Berthe chose one for you,’ I commented.

‘My dear Lottie,’ she retorted, ‘no one, not even Tante Berthe, would make me marry if I did not want to.’

‘Nor I,’ I added.

Sophie listened to us round-eyed and disbelieving.

‘What would you do?’ she demanded.

‘Run away,’ I boasted.

Lisette lifted her shoulders which meant: Where to?

But I had an idea that if I were desperately determined my mother would not want me to be forced and she would persuade the Comte not to do so … so I felt safe enough.

This was the state of affairs when one day—it must have been about six weeks before the wedding—my mother told me that she and the Comte were going to visit some friends north of Angoulême and they were taking Sophie with them.

This threw Sophie into a state of trepidation for it could mean only one thing. It must be something to do with betrothal because the Comte was not very fond of Sophie’s company, and I was sure that if it had been a matter of pleasure only they would have taken me with them.

When we heard that they were visiting the Château de Tourville, the home of the Tourville family, and that there was an unmarried son of the family who was some twenty years old, it seemed as though Sophie’s fears were justified.

I said goodbye to my parents and a despairing Sophie and then rushed back to Lisette, and the two of us went to the top of one of the towers to watch the cavalcade until it was out of sight.

‘Poor Sophie,’ said Lisette. ‘Charles de Tourville is a bit of a rake.’

‘How do you know?’

‘One of the advantages of being the housekeeper’s niece is that one has an ear—a foot rather—in both camps. Servants know a great deal about the families they serve and there is communication between them. Mind you, they are a bit suspicious of me in the servants’ quarters. An educated young lady who is on terms of familiarity with the daughters of the house! Mind you, that doesn’t go for much. Sophie is so mild and you, after all, dear Lottie, are a bastard sprig, and a belated rush into respectability by your parents doesn’t alter that.’

Lisette always amused me with her banter. Sometimes she seemed to despise the nobility but she studied so hard at lessons because she was so anxious to be regarded as a member of it. If I had my dreams about Dickon’s one day returning to me with explanations and reconciliations, she had her dreams of marrying a duke and going to Court and perhaps catching the King’s eye and becoming as great an influence there as Madame du Barry.

We often lay on the grass overlooking the moat weaving rosy dreams of the future. Sophie used to be quite baffled by the outrageous situations we conjured up; they were so fantastic and alike in one respect. Lisette and I were always the glorious heroines in the centre of our romantic adventures.

During the time Sophie was away—it was fourteen days and much of that was spent in travelling, we did spare a thought for her and wondered whether she would come back betrothed to Charles de Tourville. We made plans to comfort her and to keep her mind from the horror marriage would mean to her.

Our amazement was great when she did come. She was a different Sophie. She had become almost pretty. Even her lank hair had a special sheen to it; and the expression on her face was almost rapt.

Lisette and I exchanged glances, determined to find out what had happened to change her.

We might have guessed. Sophie was in love.

She even talked about it.

‘From the moment I saw Charles … I knew … and so did he. I couldn’t believe it. How could he feel like that …’

‘Like what?’ demanded Lisette.

‘In … love,’ murmured Sophie. ‘With me …’

I was delighted for her and so was Lisette. We were very fond of her and were always trying to help her when we were not endeavouring to make her join in some mischief. She talked of nothing else but Charles de Tourville … how handsome he was, how charming, how brilliant. They had ridden together—not alone, of course—but in a party; but Charles had always contrived to be beside Sophie. Her father and Charles’s father had become great friends; and my mother and Charles’s mother had found so much to talk about.

The visit had been a great success and nothing would ever be the same again.

Sophie had found her true self. She had been brought face to face with the fact that her lack of attraction had been largely due to herself. She was still reserved—one did not change one’s entire character overnight—but Charles had done a great deal for her and before I met him I liked him for doing that.