Later that day Louise sat down with pen and paper as Violette began to list all that she wanted sent from her Sussex home, which included the French furniture that had gone across the Channel with her when she married. Her housekeeper there and her lawyers in Chichester would organize everything and there should be no need for her to return to England.
In the evening they went to the theatre again. As they stood in their box to leave at the end of the performance, Louise, glancing down at the departing audience, happened to see a tall man, who had just left a seat immediately below. He was already making his way up the aisle and she could only see the back of him, but in the way he held his head and in the breadth of his shoulders he was so like Daniel that spontaneously she cried out. ‘Daniel!’
He did not turn. In any case, he could not have heard her in the buzz of conversation and the orchestra was still playing. But still she stood, looking after him until he was lost from sight.
Violette had turned from leaving the box and came to her side. ‘What is it, my dear?’
Louise smiled ruefully. ‘I saw someone who reminded me of Daniel. It was stupid of me to even think he could be here. It’s not the first time I’ve been reminded of him in a stranger’s physique or a turn of the head.’
‘That’s natural when you’re finding it so hard to live without him.’ Violette took her hand and patted it comfortingly.
Outside the theatre, Daniel decided to walk back to his hotel, although it was raining hard. It would be a long wait for a hackney carriage and he wanted to finish his packing for an early departure to take ship at Calais. His week in Paris had gone quickly, but he had not wanted to leave France without seeing the city and the Palace of Versailles, which Louise had spoken about many times. Although he had lost her, he had still wanted to add to his memories of her by following the paths she had trodden. He bent his head against the rain, which pattered against his hat, and the shoulder-cape of his coat billowed as he joined the dispersing crowd of theatregoers making their way along the street.
In the darkness, with the rain pouring in rivulets down the window, Louise did not see Daniel as the carriage overtook him and bowled past. She was trying to pay attention to Violette’s opinion of the play they had just seen, but she was still overwhelmed by the agonizing rush of love she had felt in being reminded of him.
Louise left Paris with Josette at the end of the week. She was thankful to know that capable Marie would always be at hand to care for Violette, who would never be lonely as so many old acquaintances had already been renewed.
Arriving home, Louise met Fernand, dressed for travelling, as he came through the hall.
‘So, you’re back from England at last,’ he greeted her. ‘Is the old hag on her deathbed yet?’
Louise flushed angrily. ‘I’ve forbidden you to speak of my aunt in such a way!’
‘Forbidden?’ he laughed mockingly. ‘I can say whatever I choose about that tight-fisted bitch. But don’t keep me in suspense. How ill is she?’
‘Violette has moved back to live permanently in Paris and is already enjoying a social round almost as if she were a young woman again.’
His face tightened and he spoke viciously through thin lips. ‘If you’d had any sense, you would have pressed a pillow over her face one night!’
Thrusting past her, he kicked a piece of her baggage out of his way, and went swiftly down the steps to his waiting coach.
From the first hour, Louise was back into the routine of the estate. The clerk, who also worked for Rose’s brother-in-law, had done well, and Pierre had been his usual reliable self in all matters. As yet, Louise could not foresee when the estate would start making a profit. It was still running on a loan from her bankers, for although debts incurred in reviving the husbandry of the land had been paid off, they had been replaced by others that she could not yet clear. There were worrying moments when she had to decide which bill needed payment most urgently. In her absence Fernand had far extended their hospitality budget. She did not know whom he had entertained in her absence, but the stock of wine in the cellar was severely depleted.
In May the Treaty of Amiens, which had been no more than a truce, ended as many had feared and hostilities were resumed. Louise read all she could about the war and, although she loved her country, she had begun to fear that Napoleon’s ambition was French domination of Europe, with the crushing of Britain as his ultimate aim.
When Louise went next to visit Paris her aunt had bought a mansion on the Rue d’Anjou, having liked the location. Violette had settled back into Paris as if she had never been away and held soirées that gathered a circle of intellectuals around her, including writers and artists and patrons of the arts.
A letter from Madeleine late in November showed that once again some previous correspondence had gone missing. Louise thought that her cousin had written coolly, almost as if displeased with her, but she could not imagine why. First of all Madeleine cast doubt on the wisdom of Violette’s move to Paris when France was too aggressive for its own good and blamed Louise for influencing her.
There are times now when I have to doubt your common sense, as I never did before. As I wrote last time, your action still puzzles me, but perhaps you are adjusting to life with Fernand. If that is the case, what you did is understandable and nobody wishes for you to have contentment in your life more than I do.
The rest of the letter followed the usual run of local news as well as announcing that Delphine and John would be moving to Washington, as he had just won an important election. They had already paid a visit to the capital and been received by George Washington’s successor, President John Adams and his wife, at the White House. At the end of the letter there was a brief reference to Daniel.
It was considerate of Daniel to write to me from his sister’s home in Charlestown, but I do not expect ever to hear again now that all that was between you really is a closed book.
Louise found the letter upsetting. Her cousin had never written in such a tone before. Puzzled, she shook her head as she put the letter away in her bureau.
It worried her that Fernand had become even more unpredictable in his behaviour. Somehow he had managed to gain an entrée into the Napoleonic court and had begun inviting acquaintances from Paris to visit his country home. Some, who he wanted to help his advancement, usually came with their wives, and took part in all the local country activities. Yet one day he brought others, men who were hard drinkers and reckless gamblers, accompanied by dubious women. That night they quarrelled fiercely in their cups, overturning the card tables and breaking chairs. Against all the rules of duelling, two men took up pistols against each other in the rose garden, but both were too drunk to aim straight and missed each other.
After this incident Fernand did not invite them or their kind again. It was not Louise’s anger or her outrage over the damage caused that made him take action, but the protection of his local reputation. If the duel, without the presence of a doctor and two responsible, sober men as seconds, became public knowledge, it would result in a terrible scandal. It might taint his name as far away as Paris and, locally, it was all too easy to be dropped by the country society that he secretly despised. He needed their goodwill, for he wanted always to impress his Parisian guests of importance with his good standing in the neighbourhood. So, whenever he was in the capital and well away from the château, he joined in orgies with his wild friends, some of whom he met daily in their courtly roles at the Palace of the Tuileries. But in spite of his good looks, impeccable manners and his ability to charm women when it suited him, he still had not managed to gain an invitation to Malmaison. It had not occurred to him that Josephine might not like his sly-eyed handsomeness.
‘He reminds me of a snake,’ she had remarked to a friend.
She had spoken in Napoleon’s hearing. Usually he was intolerant of women’s opinions and disliked politically minded women who exerted their influence at the soirées that they held, but what Josephine had said about Ferna
nd de Vailly stuck in his mind. He reminded himself that the fellow had done some good work for France when spying in England during the truce, but personally he did not like spies any more than he could endure traitors. Mentally he crossed off Fernand de Vailly’s name for any position of importance.
It was not long after Louise had received the disturbing letter from Boston that Rose and Jerome were married. Rose did not expect to have an easy time with his sisters as the new first lady of the household.
‘But I’m starting as I mean to go on,’ she told Louise determinedly. ‘I shall be kind, but firm.’
It took until spring the following year before her sisters-in-law accepted her true position at the château. Then it was only because one married an elderly widower and the other went to live with them in Bordeaux. Louise visited Violette as often as was possible. Although she had written to Madeleine that her letter had puzzled her, no explanation was given in subsequent months-old correspondence that sometimes managed to filter through the hazards of war.
It was early December and Louise was sitting with Rose by a cheerful fire in the music salon, discussing a book they had both read, when a maidservant brought in a letter.
‘A messenger has come from Paris, madame. He will await a reply.’
‘See that he has food and a hot drink,’ Louise said as she took the letter. Then, seeing it was from Violette’s lawyer, she was alarmed and tore it open.
I regret to inform you that on December 2nd at half past seven in the evening, Madame Violette died of a seizure of the heart. Earlier she had arrived at Notre Dame for the crowning ceremony of the Emperor Napoleon and Empress Josephine, when she collapsed and was taken home. Although her doctor did all possible to save her, it was in vain. Pray accept my sincere condolences. I await your instructions.
Louise, her face white to the lips with shock, looked across at Rose. ‘My dear aunt has died! I can scarcely believe it! I must leave for Paris at once.’ She dropped her face into her hands, unable to hold back her sudden flood of tears.
Rose darted forward from where she sat to put a comforting arm about her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry. Such a lively lady! You shall not travel to Paris on your own. I’ll come with you!’
The journey and the days that followed were steeped in grief for Louise. It should have been some consolation to her that the last two years had been among the happiest her aunt had ever known, but her personal sense of loss blocked out all else. The day of the funeral was bitterly cold, snow having fallen in the night. Yet the church was full, many among the mourners having reason to be grateful for the hospitality and generous help Violette had given them in their émigré days. She was buried in a churchyard in the heart of the city she had loved.
It was as Louise turned away from the graveside, wiping her eyes under her black veil, that her arm was gripped painfully. Even as she gasped with shock and surprise, she was wrenched about to face an aristocratic-looking woman in her mid-fifties, well dressed in black, who was completely unknown to her, but whose eyes were blazing with fury and hatred.
‘How dare you mourn your good aunt when you’ve never mourned your evil husband’s victims!’ She hissed her words in her wrath.
Louise wrenched herself free, wondering if the woman was mad. ‘I don’t know you, madame!’
‘But I remember seeing you at Versailles with the Queen! Your husband is that monster, Fernand de Vailly!’
‘Why should you call him that?’
‘He murdered my family!’
Rose, who had been near enough to overhear the woman’s first accusing words, had been quick to turn and divert the mourners leaving the graveside out of earshot and had signalled to Antoine and Ginette that they should take over from her. Then she turned back to Louise’s side. ‘Go away!’ she ordered the woman. ‘You’ve no right to make such accusations!’
‘I have every right!’
Louise intervened fiercely before Rose could speak again. ‘Allow this lady to speak, Rose! I want to know what grounds there are for this accusation against Fernand and me.’
The woman became a little calmer, but was no less furious. She drew herself up, holding her head high. ‘I’m the Duchesse de Roget. My two sisters, their husbands, and seven of my nephews and nieces, all under the age of thirteen, went to the guillotine. They were caught as they tried to flee to safety in England, because your husband betrayed them!’
‘But that’s impossible! He was also condemned. Everybody knows that his life was saved only because of an accident with the tumbril on his way to the scaffold.’
‘Do you truly believe from all you must know of him that he is innocent of the crime I have related?’ The question was rapier-like in its directness.
‘I should need absolute proof before I would believe anybody guilty of such horror.’
Rose intervened, aware of curious glances being cast in their direction. ‘It’s very cold and very public standing here. Would it not be better to discuss this matter in a carriage?’
The duchess gave a vague nod to show she had heard and continued to address Louise as they went side by side towards the nearest equipage, which was the one Violette had bought for herself. ‘I can see my accusation has come as a great shock to you, Madame la Marquise.’ Her tone had become easier. ‘I had believed you knew of your husband’s crimes, but clearly you did not.’
As soon as the three of them were settled in the carriage, Louise clasped her trembling hands in her lap as she faced the duchess, Rose seated at her side.
‘Tell me what you have to say,’ she said, keeping her voice firm.
‘It was during the Reign of Terror that Fernand de Vailly was a spy in Paris and elsewhere for the traitor and regicide, the Duc d’Orléans. Because your husband was a fellow aristocrat, other nobles trusted him when they were desperate to escape with their families to England. He would profess to know a secret route with safe houses along the way to the coast, one he declared he would follow himself as soon as he could locate you. He would say that he could not leave France without taking you to safety too.’
Louise shuddered inwardly at Fernand’s duplicity. ‘How were those unfortunate people entrapped?’
‘They were allowed to get halfway to the coast before an ambush was sprung. To my knowledge only two people ever escaped, each on a separate occasion, and they were both young men travelling with parents and siblings, one with his betrothed as well. The two youths met each other during exile.’
‘Why have they not denounced my husband?’
‘Because one eventually died in England of the wounds he had sustained during the ambush. He was lying bleeding in the bushes when a peasant woman and her husband found him. They took him into their hovel and the woman nursed him until he had recovered enough to get away, but his physical strength was never the same. The other young man was my nephew. He married in England, but a fever took him. His young widow is English and has no wish to live in France, but I visited her during the time of the Treaty of Amiens, and it was she who related the treachery that had sealed the fate of those dear to me.’
‘Why were you not with your relatives in their attempt to escape?’
‘My husband and I had taken our only child to southern Italy for her health’s sake before the Revolution started, and we decided to stay on till all was well in France again. Then our daughter married an Italian, so we have settled there permanently and this is only my second visit home.’
‘I still don’t understand why you haven’t spoken out against my husband.’
The duchess shrugged. ‘Without witnesses?’
Rose turned to Louise. ‘I know that it’s hard for you to accept all you have been told, but I heard in my exile from another émigré of an aristocrat, bearing Fernand’s name, who had deliberately betrayed his own kind.’
‘Has that émigré returned to France?’ the duchess demanded sharply.
‘I have no idea. It was a chance meeting and I never saw him again.’
Lo
uise still felt it only fair to continue to protest on Fernand’s behalf. ‘But my husband was imprisoned and destined for the guillotine, or else his name would never have appeared on the list of deceased!’
‘Agreed,’ Rose endorsed. ‘Maybe he fell from Orléan’s favour and Fernand’s account of his escape is the truth.’
Louise accepted it was the most logical explanation. Many supporters of the Revolution, as well as the ringleaders, had risen high and fallen again during those tumultuous times. She also believed she knew what had caused Fernand’s treachery. It was greed. Not for money then, but for power and position in the new regime. But eventually Orléans had gone to the guillotine, as so many of his victims had done before him, and Fernand had escaped to England just in time to give himself an alibi as an innocent émigré. It was then that he had been able to visit her aunt. She no longer doubted that the Duchess de Roget had told her the truth.
‘We have met through a tragic and treacherous event in the past, Madame la Duchesse,’ she said. ‘Pray accept my most heartfelt sympathy on your terrible bereavement.’
The duchess inclined her head in acknowledgement as she alighted from the carriage. She was too arrogant to show pity, but it was obvious to her that Fernand de Vailly’s wife was in torment over what she had learned.
Most of the mourners invited back to the mansion on the Rue d’Anjou had already arrived by the time Louise and Rose joined them. There were several curious glances sent in Louise’s direction as those present wondered about the altercation they had witnessed in the churchyard, but nothing was said and they left none the wiser after wine and refreshments had been served. Ginette and Antoine left too. They had asked no questions, but had seen that Louise had been deeply affected by the encounter, on top of her deep grief for her aunt.
New World, New Love Page 27