‘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 li
ghtly. ‘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 t
ake 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.
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