“You can’t!” I cried. “For one thing, Dickon would never allow it.”
“Do you know, little Claudine, I am no longer a child to be told do this… do that.” He was looking at me with a teasing indulgence. “I am a man… and I will do what I will.”
“That’s true,” agreed Charlot. “We are men… and we are going to do what we think fit, no matter who tries to stop us.”
“Our father will soon put a stop to those plans,” said David. “You know very well he would never give his consent to your going, Jonathan.”
“I don’t need his consent.”
Charlot smiled complacently at Louis Charles. “He has no jurisdiction over us.”
“He will prevent it, you’ll see,” said David.
“Don’t be too sure of that.”
“Well,” I said practically, “how are you to set about this great adventure?”
“Never trouble your head,” replied Charlot. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh no,” I cried, “I am quite stupid… but not so stupid as some who indulge in wild fantasies. Remember the stories of Uncle Armand? How he made some plan to descend on the agitators? What happened to him? He was sent to the Bastille… and there a strong and healthy man was turned into a pitiable invalid. And… according to the Lebruns he is dead now. He never recovered from his incarceration in the Bastille.”
“He must have been careless. He made mistakes. We should not do that. This is a noble thing to do. I refuse to stand aside any longer while these things are happening to my people… my country.”
David said: “It is indeed a noble idea, but a great deal of careful planning is needed.”
“Of course it needs planning,” retorted Charlot. “But how can we plan until we get there… until we know what we shall find?”
I said: “I believe you are serious.”
“Never more so,” answered Charlot.
I looked at Louis Charles. He nodded. Of course he would go where Charlot went.
I forced myself to look at Jonathan, and I saw the blazing blue of his eyes, and I felt hurt and angry because that flame was there for a project which did not concern me… and he could so impulsively risk not only his own life but those of Charlot and Louis Charles.
“You would surely never go with them,” I said.
He smiled and nodded.
“But you are not French. It is not your problem.”
“It is the problem of all right-thinking people,” said Charlot a little sententiously.
He was motivated by love of his country; but it was different with Jonathan, and he had wounded me deeply. He had shown me clearly that I was only of secondary importance to him.
He wanted this adventure more than he wanted me.
All the next day Jonathan was absent and Charlot and Louis Charles with him. They returned in the evening and did not say where they had been; but there was a certain smug satisfaction about them. The next day they went out riding again and did not return until late.
I talked to David about them and he expressed some anxiety as to what they were planning.
“It must be all talk,” I said. “They could not possibly go to France.”
“Why couldn’t they? Charlot is a zealot and Louis Charles would always go along with him. Jonathan…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Jonathan has often made wild plans and I can assure you that many of them never materialized. He likes to imagine himself on a magnificent charger riding into danger and riding out again victorious. He has always been like that.”
“He is very like his father.”
“My father would never have quixotic ideas about rescuing strangers. He always said the French brought the revolution on themselves by their own folly—and now must pay the price for it.”
“But he went over there magnificently and came out victorious.”
“He would always have a purpose. He went solely to bring out your mother. He would plan coolly and efficiently. These three appear to be allowing their emotions to get the better of their common sense.”
“That is something you never do, David.”
“Not willingly,” he agreed.
“What are we going to do about them? I feel they are reckless enough to attempt anything.”
“My father will soon be home. He will deal with it.”
“I wish they would return.”
David took my hand and pressed it. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There is so much going on. We are almost at war with the French. They wouldn’t find it very easy to get over there in the first place. They would find the obstacles… insurmountable.”
“I hope you are right,” I said.
I was greatly relieved when the next day Dickon and my mother returned home.
“All is well,” said my mother. “We have delivered the Lebruns to their friends. It was a happy reunion. They will find the refuge they need, but it is going to take them some time to recover from their terrible experiences.”
The storm broke at dinner.
We were all seated round the table when Charlot said almost nonchalantly: “We have decided to go to France.”
“You couldn’t possibly do that,” said my mother.
“Couldn’t? That’s a word I don’t accept.”
“Your acceptance of the English language is immaterial,” put in Dickon. “I know you have an imperfect understanding of it, but when Lottie says that you could not possibly go to France, she means that you could not be so foolish as to attempt to do so.”
“Others have done it,” Charlot pointed out.
He looked defiantly at Dickon, who retorted: “She means it is impossible for you.”
“Do you imply that you are some superhuman being who can do what others can’t?”
“You may have a point there,” said Dickon aggravatingly. “I’ll have a little more of that roast beef. They do it well in the kitchen.”
“Nevertheless,” said Charlot, “I am going to France.”
“And I,” put in Jonathan, “am going with him.”
For a moment father and son stared steadily at each other. I was not sure of the look which passed between them. There was a certain glitter in Dickon’s eyes, something which made me think, fleetingly, that he was not altogether surprised. But perhaps I thought of that after.
Then Dickon spoke. He said: “You’re mad.”
“No,” said Jonathan. “Determined.”
Dickon went on: “I see. So it is a plan. Who is going to join this company of fools? What about you, David?”
“Certainly not,” said David. “I have told them what I think of the idea.”
Dickon nodded. “It is a pleasant surprise to find that a little sanity remains in the family.”
“Sanity!” retorted Jonathan. “If sanity is devoting oneself exclusively to books and mathematics, then the world would not have progressed very far.”
“On the contrary,” contradicted David, “ideas… thought and education have done more to advance it than rash adventurers.”
“I would contest that.”
“That’s enough,” said Dickon. “I suppose you have all been moved to this by the arrival of those refugees. You should have heard some of the stories they have been telling us. France has become a land of savages.”
“There are fine people there still,” said Charlot, “and they are doing all they can to save the country.”
“They’ll have a hard task. I warned them years ago that they were heading for disaster.”
“It’s true,” said my mother. “You did, Dickon.”
“Then they were preaching against us… joining the American colonists. What fools! Who can be surprised at the state they are now in?”
“I can,” said Charlot. “But it is no use trying to make you understand.”
“I understand well enough. You are not very profound, you know. You’re just a little band of idiots. Now that’s an end of the matter. I want to enjoy my roast beef.”
Silence fell
on the table. Sabrina, who had come down for the joy of having Dickon at the table and seeing him enjoy his roast beef, looked a little strained. She hated conflict.
My mother was anxious too. It was such a pity. After being away, even for such a short time, she wanted to enjoy her homecoming.
Dickon said he wanted to see Jonathan in his study after the meal. When I went upstairs I heard them talking quietly there.
My mother came to my bedroom. She sat on my bed and looked at me sorrowfully.
“How did all this come about?” she asked.
I told her how they had talked and become so absorbed in their plotting that the rest of us did not seem to exist for them.
“It was Charlot who started it, I think,” I said.
“Charlot was always a patriot. He is his father’s son. It is a pity he and Dickon cannot get on.”
“I don’t think they ever would. They have a natural antipathy.”
She sighed and I smiled at her.
“Dearest Maman,” I said, “you cannot have everything in life, can you? And you have so much.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I have, and Claudine, remember this when you grow older: one of the best things in life is to have your happiness when you are mature enough to enjoy it.”
“Well, that is the way you have had it.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry about these foolish young men. They’ll realize their folly. Dickon will make them see it.”
But he did not.
They went off secretly the next day and nobody thought anything about them until evening when they did not return.
We spent an uneasy night and the next morning a letter arrived for Dickon from Jonathan.
They had arranged their passage in a boat calling at the Belgian coast and by the time Dickon received the note, they should be about to land.
A Wedding at Eversleigh
OUR HOUSEHOLD WAS DISRUPTED. Dickon raged and my mother was plunged into melancholy. Although she had never been so close to Charlot as to me, and they had grown farther apart since her marriage to Dickon, he was her son, and I realized during the weeks which followed how his flight saddened her. She knew Charlot had never really wanted to stay in England, and she felt a certain guilt because she understood how frustrated he must have felt. He had come for a holiday—as we all had—and to have been forced to stay in England had angered him.
I had often heard him say that he wished he had gone back that time with my mother. He would never have come away if he had. He would have stayed behind to fight. David said: “You would not have been there long to fight. You would have been just another in the long march to the guillotine.”
One remembered these conversations now; one remembered so much. Rides had lost their savour. There was no fear, no hope, of Jonathan’s springing out on me. He had gone. What if he never came back?
My mother mourned secretly; she did not want to upset Dickon more than he already was. After a while he ceased to show a great deal of distress even though Jonathan, his son, had gone away and into danger so acute that it was hard for any who had not experienced it to imagine. I supposed that Dickon was not very emotionally involved with either of his sons; but they were his heirs, and like most men he had wanted sons. I wondered whether he considered the possibility of Jonathan’s not coming back. Perhaps he consoled himself that he still had David.
During the first weeks we looked out for them. I would find myself at the top of the house, watching the road; and sometimes my mother would creep up to watch with me. Then she would grip my hand and I knew that she was seeing herself once more in the mairie with the mob below her. Such experiences are never forgotten; and at times such as this, naturally they became more vivid.
Once she broke down and cried: “This terrible revolution. What good can it possibly bring compared with the evil it has wrought! My father lost his only son. Just think of it! He went out one day and he only came back all that time after when my father was dead. You wouldn’t have known him, Claudine.”
I pressed her hand; then I kissed it.
“Thank God I have you,” she said.
“I will always be near you.”
“Bless you, dearest child. I believe you will.”
I would have done anything at that moment to bring her comfort.
I think what Dickon felt most was anger. He had never liked Charlot, and I am sure would not have minded his going in the least. He was angry because it had upset my mother.
I doubted he had ever been so flouted in his life.
Sabrina became ill. I was sure it was with anxiety, and in a way this turned our thoughts from what was happening to them in France.
I would sit and read to her, which was what she liked, and she talked a great deal about the past. She remarked what a fortunate girl I was. I had been loved all my life; and she threw a little light on her own childhood, which made me see her differently.
She told me how when she was a little girl she had been forbidden to skate on a frozen pond because a thaw was setting in. She had disobeyed and fallen into the water, to be rescued by her mother, who caught a chill which shortened her life. Her father never forgave her. It was a shadow which had hung over her life. Only my great-grandmother, Clarissa, who was her cousin, had understood her. And then she had married the man whom Clarissa had loved.
I looked at her frail body, her white hair, and her thin but still-beautiful features, and I saw that her life had been overshadowed by guilt. She had shared Dickon with Clarissa and they had found their consolation in the son of the man whom they had both loved.
What happens in our young days must surely shape our natures. Dickon was arrogant, aggressive, seeing himself inheriting the earth as his right. Well, those two admiring women had helped to make him what he was. And Charlot… he had been brought up in France. It was his country and he would never tear himself away from it.
I prayed that he would never be caught by those who were making revolution. It would be a martyr’s death for him if he were. Louis Charles had always been something of a disciple. And Jonathan? No, I could not imagine anyone’s getting the better of Jonathan. He had that quality which was Dickon’s and somehow I felt he would always survive. I fostered that belief because it cheered me.
I was spending a great deal of time with David. I could discuss this alarming situation with him much more easily than I could with my mother.
I said: “I’m afraid for them. How I wish they would come home.”
“Jonathan will come, you’ll see. I don’t know about Charlot and Louis Charles. Charlot has been serious about this for a long time, and he carries Louis Charles with him. It is a new adventure for Jonathan. I fancy he will tire of it though. He does lose his enthusiasms rather quickly.”
The trip to London which was promised for my birthday was postponed. No one really felt in the mood for such frivolities.
“Perhaps,” said my mother pathetically, “when they come back we can all go together.”
Dickon, however, did go to London and my mother accompanied him. I wondered whether Jonathan had walked out on certain business commitments as well as his home.
The days passed quickly when the first shock was over. These consisted mainly of daily lessons for me. I spoke English fluently enough to satisfy even Dickon; and it was only rarely that a faint French accent could be detected.
David would often read passages to me from books which interested me, and I was learning something of the subjects which fascinated him. He liked me to ride round the estate with him and I was getting to know the tenants in the outlying districts. I took a great interest in the state of the cottages and when the young people were having babies. David was delighted and often commented on how popular I was with these people. He said that on those occasions when I was not with him they asked after me.
“The other day one of them said, ‘She’s one of us—Mistress Claudine is. No one would ever think she was aught else.’”
“It looks as thoug
h they have forgiven me for having a French father.”
“A great concession, I do assure you,” said David.
“Why are people so insular?”
“Because their horizons are as narrow as their minds.”
“Charlot was the same.”
I wished I had not said that. We were always trying to avoid any mention of what had happened.
“Charlot is so much a Frenchman that he cannot accept anything that is not French. My father is the same about England.”
“It seems to be a masculine failing.”
“Well, perhaps. Your mother, it seems, could be French or English… whatever is demanded. So can you, Claudine.”
“Home is where those whom you love are. It is not a house or a piece of land surely.”
“So this is your home, Claudine.”
“My mother is here. I suppose home would always be where she is.”
Then he said: “And others… perhaps.”
I looked at him steadily and replied: “Yes… and others.”
“Myself, for instance?”
“You, of course, David.”
“You will marry me, won’t you, Claudine?”
And I said: “Yes, David, I will.”
Afterwards I wondered why I had answered so promptly, for although since Jonathan left I had been more and more drawn to David, in my heart I was still unsure.
Looking back, I think I wanted to escape from this slough of despond into which we all seemed to have drifted. I wanted something to happen, anything which would lift us out of it. Since Jonathan had gone so lightly, so eagerly abandoning me for the sake of a new adventure, I had been telling myself that it was really David whom I loved, because I was sure that with David, I came first. And having promised, I tried to convince myself that I had done the right thing—that which in my heart I had always known.
David was jubilant, and almost at once the atmosphere in the house lightened. The gloom lifted and for a while I too felt quite joyous. The change in my mother was amazing and Dickon was so delighted that it appeared that what he wanted more than anything at this time was our marriage.
My mother threw herself into preparations with an almost feverish energy. When should the wedding be? There should not be too long a wait. Summer was the time for a wedding. Of course the summer would soon be over. This was August. There must be some time for preparation. What about the end of September? Or the beginning of October? It was finally decided that it must be October to give us the time we needed for preparation.
Voices in a Haunted Room Page 6