“We always seem to think alike. I want to say something to you, Claudine. I’m seven years older than you.”
“Then you must be twenty-four if my arithmetic does not betray me,” I said lightly.
“Jonathan is the same.”
“I have heard that he put in an appearance slightly ahead of you.”
“Jonathan would always be first even at such a time. We had one tutor who was always urging me to assert myself. ‘Go in,’ he used to say. ‘Don’t stand on the edge looking in. Don’t wait for your brother always. Go in ahead of him.’ It was sound advice.”
“Which you did not always take.”
“Hardly ever.”
“It must be a little disconcerting sometimes to have a twin.”
“Yes, there are the inevitable comparisons.”
“But there is supposed to be a special bond.”
“Jonathan and I have long ago released ourselves from that if it ever existed. He is indifferent towards me. Sometimes I think he despises my way of life. And I am not exactly overcome with admiration for his.”
“You are quite different,” I said. “The fairies at the christening dealt out the human qualities—this one for Jonathan, that one for David… so that what each possesses, the other doesn’t…”
“The qualities,” he said, “and the frailties. There is something I am leading up to.”
“I gathered that.”
“I should like to marry you, Claudine.”
“What!” I cried.
“Are you surprised?”
“Not really… only that you bring it up at this time. I thought—after my birthday.”
He smiled. “You seem to think there is some magic about the actual day.”
“That’s foolish, isn’t it?”
“Both your mother and my father would be pleased. It would be ideal. We have so much to interest us both. I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t thought you liked me. I believe you enjoy our talks and everything…”
“Yes,” I said, “I do. And I’m very fond of you, David, but—”
“Have you never thought of marrying?”
“Oh yes, of course.”
“And… with someone?”
“One can’t very well think about marriage without including a bridegroom.”
“And did you ever consider me?”
“Yes… I did. My mother talked to me about it. Parents always want to see their offspring married, don’t they? But my mother wants it to be right for me… she wouldn’t wish it otherwise.”
He came to me then and took my hands in his. I was reminded how different he was from Jonathan, but I knew that he would be kind always, and understanding and interesting; oh yes, it would be a wonderful life with him.
There was something missing though, and after my encounters with Jonathan, I knew what. I did not feel that overwhelming excitement when David took my hands, and I kept thinking of Jonathan in the sewing room slipping my shift from my shoulders; and I knew in that moment that I wanted them both. I wanted the gentleness, the reliability, the sense of security, the absorbing subjects I could share… all that came from David; and on the other hand, I wanted the excitement of that sensual allure which Jonathan brought me.
I wanted them both. What a quandary, for how could one have two husbands?
I looked at David. How pleasant he was. There was an earnestness about him—an innocence in a way. I believed I could enjoy a life spent, at Eversleigh, discussing with him the affairs of the estate, looking after tenants on the Eversleigh land, delving into matters which absorbed us both.
If I said Yes, my mother would be pleased. Dickon would be too, although he would be indifferent as to whether I chose David or Jonathan. But Jonathan had not asked me. Yet I knew that he wanted me… He lusted after me, as they put it in the Bible. And because of who I was he would have to marry me to get me into his bed.
I came very near to saying Yes to David, but something held me back. It was the memory of Jonathan, and the stirring of hitherto unknown emotions which he had aroused in me.
“I’m so fond of you, David,” I said. “You have always been my very good friend. But just now, I feel I want to wait.”
He understood at once.
“Of course, you want to wait. But think about it. Remember everything we could do. There is so much in the world to absorb us.” He waved his arms, indicating the shelves of books. “We have so much to share, and I love you very dearly, Claudine. I have from the moment you came here.”
I kissed his cheek and he held me against him. I felt pleasantly secure and happy; but I could not shut out the memory of Jonathan; and when I looked in David’s clear blue eyes I thought of the startling blue flame in those of Jonathan.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Perhaps that was understandable. I had had a proposal of marriage which I had almost accepted; I had also had the experience in the sewing room and I did not know which had affected me more deeply.
One thing I had done before getting into bed was to lock my door. Coming to the sewing room as he had, Jonathan had shown me clearly that he was capable of rash actions, and my response had taught me that I had to beware of my own feelings.
I spent the morning as I always did with my governess, and in the early afternoon I went for a ride. I had not gone very far when I was overtaken by Jonathan.
“Hello,” he said. “What a surprise!”
Of course I knew that he had watched me leave and had then come after me.
“I should have thought you would have been ashamed to show your face,” I said.
“I was under the impression that you rather liked it; and if it pleases you, that is all I ask.”
“What do you imagine Molly Blackett thought of your behaviour in the sewing room?”
“I must first ask a question of you. Does Molly Blackett think? I believe her mind is completely taken up with pins and needles and ladies’—er—is there such a thing as a placket? It would be most appropriate if there is, because that rhymes with her name.”
“She was shocked. You know very well that my mother did not wish to see her.”
“But I wished to see you more closely in that delicious state of undress.”
“It was very foolish and decidedly ungentlemanly.”
“The best things in life often are,” he said ruefully.
“I dislike this flippant talk.”
“Oh come! You know you find it irresistible… as you do me.”
“I knew you always had a high opinion of yourself.”
“Naturally, for if I don’t, who else will? They take their cue from me, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear any more glorification of your character.”
“I understand. It does not need glorification. You are wise enough, chère Mademoiselle, to see it as it really is, and that pleases you. I believe it pleases you mightily.”
“You are absurd.”
“But adorable with it.”
My answer to that was to whip up my horse. I turned into a field and galloped across it. He was beside me. I had to pull up, as I had come to a hedge.
“Let me make a suggestion,” he said. “We could tether our horses and sit under yonder tree. Then we could talk of many things.”
“It is hardly the weather for sitting out-of-doors. I believe it could snow in a moment.”
“I would keep you warm.”
I turned away again but he laid a hand on my bridle.
“Claudine, I do want to talk to you seriously,” he said.
“Well?”
“I want to be near you. I want to touch you. I want to hold you as I did yesterday. That was wonderful. The only trouble was that dear old Molly Blackett would come blundering in.”
“What do you want to talk seriously about?” I asked. “You are never serious.”
“Rarely. But this is one moment when I am. Marriage is a serious business. My father would be quite pleased if you and I married, Claudine, and what is mo
re important—so would I.”
“Married to you!” I heard a pitch of excitement in my voice. I went on scathingly: “Something tells me that you would not be a very faithful husband.”
“My chère Mademoiselle would keep me so.”
“I think I should find the task too onerous.”
He laughed aloud. “Sometimes you talk like my brother.”
“I find that rather a compliment.”
“So now we are to hear of the virtues of St. David. I know you are rather fond of him—in a special sort of way.”
“Of course I’m fond of him. He is interesting, courteous, reliable, gentle…”
“Are you, by any chance, making comparisons? I believe Shakespeare once commented on the inadvisability of that. You will know. If not, consult Erudite David.”
“You should not sneer at your brother. He is more…”
“Worthy?”
“That is the word.”
“And how it fits. I have an idea that you are more favourably inclined towards him than I like.”
“Are you by any chance jealous of your brother?”
“I could be… in certain circumstances. As no doubt he could be of me.”
“I don’t think he has ever aspired to be like you.”
“Do you think I have ever aspired to be like him?”
“No. You are two decidedly different natures. Sometimes I think you are as different as two people could be.”
“Enough of him. What of you, sweet Claudine? I know you respond to me. You like me, don’t you? You liked me very much when I came into the room and routed old Blackett and I kissed you. True, you put on your mask of properly-brought-up-young-lady. ‘Unhand me, sir!’ which really meant I want more of this… and more…”
I was scarlet with mortification.
“You presume too much.”
“I reveal too much which you would prefer to hide. Do you think you can hide the truth from me? I know women.”
“I had gathered that.”
“My dearest little girl, you don’t want an inexperienced lover. You want a connoisseur to direct you through the gates of paradise. We would have a wonderful time together, Claudine. Come, say yes. We’ll announce it at the dinner party. It’s what they want. And in a few weeks we’ll be married. Where shall we go for our honeymoon? What say you to Venice? Romantic nights on canals… the gondoliers singing love songs as we drift along. Does that appeal to you?”
“The setting would be ideal I am sure. The only thing I should object to is that I should have to share it with you.”
“Unkind.”
“You asked for it.”
“And the answer is?”
“No.”
“We’ll make it Yes.”
“How?”
He looked at me intently; his expression changed and the set of his lips alarmed me faintly.
“I have ways… and means,” he said.
“And an inflated opinion of yourself.”
I turned sharply away. He fascinated me and I had to overcome a desire to dismount and face him. I knew that would be dangerous. Beneath the light banter there was a ruthless determination. I was very much aware of it and it reminded me strongly of his father. It was said that men wanted sons because they liked to see themselves reproduced. Well, Dickon had reproduced himself in Jonathan.
I started to gallop across the field. Ahead of me was the sea. It was a muddy grey on that day with a tinge of brown where the frills of waves touched the sand. The tang of seaweed was strong in the air. It had been a stormy night. I felt a tremendous sense of excitement as I galloped forward and let my horse fly along by the edge of the water.
Jonathan pounded along beside me. He was laughing—as exhilarated as I was.
We must have gone a mile when I drew up. He was beside me. The spray made his eyebrows glisten; his eyes were alight with those blue flames which I was always looking for; and I thought suddenly of Venice and gondolas and Italian love songs. In that moment I would have said: “Yes, Jonathan. It is you. I know it will not be easy; there will be little peace… but you are the one.”
After all, when one is seventeen one does not look for a comfortable way of life. It is excitement, exhilaration, and uncertainty which seem appealing.
I turned my horse and said: “Home. I’ll race you.”
And there we were once more pounding along the beach. He kept beside me but I knew he was choosing the moment to go ahead. He had to show me that he must always win.
In the distance I saw riders and almost at once recognized Charlot and Louis Charles.
“Look who’s there,” I cried.
“We don’t need them. Let’s go back and do that gallop again.”
But I called: “Charlot.”
My brother waved to us. We cantered up to them and I saw at once that Charlot was deeply disturbed.
“Have you heard the news?” he said.
“News?” Jonathan and I spoke simultaneously.
“It’s clear that you haven’t. The murdering dogs… Mon Dieu, if I were there. I wish I were. I wish…”
“What is it?” demanded Jonathan. “Who has murdered whom?”
“The King of France,” said Charlot. “France no longer has a King.”
I closed my eyes. I was remembering the tales my grandfather used to tell of the Court, of the King who was blamed for so much for which he was not responsible. Most of all I thought of the mob looking on while he mounted the steps of the guillotine and placed his head beneath the axe.
Even Jonathan was sobered. He said: “It was expected…”
“I never believed they would go so far,” said Charlot. “And now they have done it. That vile mob… They have changed the history of France.”
Charlot was deeply affected. He reminded me of my grandfather at that moment, of my father too. Patriots, both of them. Charlot’s heart was in France with the royalists. He had always wanted to be there to fight the losing battle for the monarchy. Now that the King was dead—murdered like a common felon on that cruel guillotine—he wanted it more than ever.
Louis Charles looked at Jonathan almost apologetically. “You see,” he said, as if he needed to explain, “France is our country… he was our King.”
We all rode back together quietly, subdued, in mourning for a lost régime and the death of a man who had paid the price for the excesses of those who had gone before him.
The news had reached Eversleigh. As we sat at the table, the execution of the King of France was the only topic of conversation.
Dickon said he would have to leave for London and Jonathan must go with him. He guessed the Court would be in mourning.
“It is alarming to all rulers when one of their number is treated like a common criminal,” commented David.
“Yet this death comes as no great surprise,” said Jonathan.
“I always believed that it could never happen,” added Charlot vehemently. “No matter how powerful the revolutionaries became.”
Dickon said: “It was inevitable. When the King failed to escape and join the émigrés, he was doomed. If he had been able to join them, the revolution might have come to an end. And he could so easily have escaped! What an example of idiotic ineptitude! Travelling in style… the grand carriage… the Queen posing as a governess! As if Marie Antoinette could ever be anything but Marie Antoinette! One could laugh if it were not so tragic. Imagine that cumbersome and very, very grand carriage riding into the little town of Varennes, and the inevitable questions. Who are these visitors? Who is this lady calling herself a governess? No marks for guessing! What a charade!”
“It was a brave attempt,” said Charlot.
“Bravery counts for little when folly is its companion,” said Dickon grimly.
Charlot was sunk in gloom. Never had I realized how deeply his feelings were involved.
Dickon was very well informed. We were never quite sure why he spent so much time in London about the Court; he was a friend of Prime
Minister Pitt, and at the same time on excellent terms with Charles James Fox and the Prince of Wales. It was rare that he talked openly of what we thought of as his secret life, though I daresay he confided to some extent in my mother. She went with him everywhere, so she must have had some notion of what his business was. But if she had, she never betrayed it.
On this occasion he did talk a little. He said that Pitt was an excellent Prime Minister, but he wondered how he would shape up to war.
“War?” cried my mother. “What war? Did not Mr. Pitt say that England was assured of peace for some years to come?”
“That, my dear Lottie, was last year. A great deal can happen in politics in a very short time. I am sure William Pitt regarded all that turmoil on the other side of the Channel as a local matter… no concern of ours. But we are all realizing now that it is of concern to us… of the greatest concern.”
Charlot said: “And it is right that it should be so. How can the nations of the world stand aside and let an outrage like this pass unavenged?”
“Quite easily,” retorted Dickon dismissively. He always showed a faint contempt for Charlot, which I think would have been more than faint but for the fact that it upset my mother. “It is only when events affect us tangibly that we act. The revolutionaries, having ruined France, now seek to see others in a similar plight. The success of the French debacle was assured by its agitators. They are the real provokers, those who pointed out to the people how wrongly they had indeed been treated, who stressed the differences between the aristocrats and the peasants, and who, where there were no grievances, created them. Now we shall have them here. The dog who has lost his tail cannot bear to see those who have retained theirs. The agitators will be here. That is one thing. I can tell you this: societies are being formed in London and as far as Scotland. They are seeking to bring about in this country that to which they have so successfully contributed in France.”
“God forbid!” said my mother.
“Amen, my dear Lottie,” replied Dickon. “We will not allow it here. Those of us who know what is going on will do everything possible to prevent it.”
“Do you think you will be able to?” asked Charlot.
“Yes, I do. We are aware of what is happening, for one thing.”
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