Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 09]

by The Adulteress

  The Comte was such a dazzling figure that I felt proud as surely anyone would have to be to acknowledge him as a father. That emotion was immediately followed by shame when I thought of poor Jean-Louis, so kind, gentle and self-sacrificing. He had cared so deeply for me and it was not in my nature to be indifferent to such devotion. His eyes used to light up when I appeared and when I sat beside him his eyes would glow with a tenderness which warmed me. I had made a great show of looking after him just to see his pleasure in my presence. One cannot lightly dismiss such a father and rejoice in his replacement. When he had died I had been desolate—so had my mother for that matter. She had loved him too. People’s emotions were too deeply involved for me at my age to understand then, but try as I might I could not suppress the excitement my mother’s revelation had aroused in me.

  Strangely enough I did not connect the Comte’s fortuitous reappearance with my involvement with Dickon. If I had thought about it, I would have accepted the fact that he had not come to England by chance after all those years.

  When I went down to dinner I was composed. My mother watched me anxiously and there was a constrained atmosphere throughout the meal which the Comte did his best to disperse by telling us accounts of amusing happenings at the Court of France.

  When we rose from the table my mother pressed my hand and looked appealingly at me. I smiled at her, kissed her hand and nodded. She understood. I accepted my new father.

  We went into the punch room to drink some after-dinner wine and my mother said: ‘I have told her, Gerard.’

  He swept aside all embarrassment and, coming to me, took me into his arms; then he held me away from him.

  ‘My daughter,’ he said. ‘I am so proud. This is one of the happiest moments of my life.’

  And after that all the embarrassments were gone.

  I spent a great deal of time in his company. My mother arranged it, I believe. Very often she left us alone together. She seemed very anxious that we should get to know each other. He talked constantly about my visiting France and said he would not be content until he had shown me his château and I said I should not be content until I had seen it.

  I was fascinated by him—everything about him pleased me: his easy manners, his gallantry, even what we in England might call his dandyism. It enchanted me. But most of all I was delighted by the fact that he treated me as a grown-up, and because of this it was not long before I was telling him about Dickon.

  I loved Dickon. I was going to marry Dickon. Dickon was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

  ‘I think,’ I said, ‘that you must have been rather like him … once.’

  ‘Ah,’ he replied, laughing, ‘you see what the years do. I am no longer handsome like Dickon. My only consolation is that Dickon will come to this pass one day.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ I cried. ‘You are as fascinating in your way. Dickon is just younger … although he is a lot older than I. About eleven years older ….’

  My father put his head on one side and said: ‘Poor old man.’

  I knew that I could talk to him about Dickon as I never could to my mother.

  ‘You see,’ I explained, ‘she hates him. It has something to do with tricks he played when he was a boy. He was very mischievous, as most boys are. I am sure you were just as bad.’

  ‘I dare say,’ he agreed.

  ‘So it is rather silly to have prejudices about people …’

  ‘Tell me about Dickon,’ he said.

  So I tried to describe Dickon, which wasn’t easy. ‘He has beautiful blond hair which curls about his head. I think it is what is called hyacinthine. I have always liked hyacinths for that reason. His eyes are blue … not dark blue like mine, but lighter. His features look as though they have been sculpted by a great artist.’

  ‘Apollo has returned to Earth,’ said the Comte lightly.

  ‘He is very charming.’

  ‘So I gathered.’

  ‘In an unusual way,’ I said. ‘He never seems to take things seriously … except us. I think he takes that seriously. He has a quick wit which can be cruel sometimes … though never to me. Somehow that makes me love him more. He would be too perfect without it.’

  ‘A little imperfection makes the charm irresistible,’ said the Comte. ‘I understand.’

  ‘If I tell you something, you won’t tell my mother, will you?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘I think she is a little jealous of him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, you see, it is due to her mother … my dear grandmother, Clarissa. She is a darling. Long before she married my mother’s father, she had a romance—very brief but very memorable—with a young boy. It was very—’

  ‘Innocent?’

  ‘Yes. He was transported because of the ’15 Rebellion. Then she married my grandfather and my mother was born. The young man returned years later after my grandfather was dead, but instead of marrying my mother he married her cousin Sabrina, then he was killed at Culloden. Sabrina had his child and that was Dickon. He was brought up by my grandmother and by Sabrina and they both doted on him. They still do. I have always thought that my mother believed her mother loved Dickon more than she did her … her own child. It’s a bit complicated, but do you see?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Therefore she hated Dickon.’

  ‘Isn’t there a stronger reason than that?’

  ‘Oh, reasons build up, don’t they? You only have to start by disliking people and then you can find all sorts of reasons why you should.’

  ‘I see you are something of a philosopher.’

  ‘You are laughing at me.’

  ‘On the contrary, I am overcome with admiration. If I smile it is because I am so happy that you should confide in me.’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might influence my mother.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Dickon and I are in love.’

  ‘He is many years older than you.’

  ‘Only eleven. And people grow up.’

  ‘An indisputable fact.’

  ‘And when I am forty he will be fifty-one. We shall both be old then … so what does it matter?’

  ‘True, the gap lessens with the passing of the years, but alas, it is the present that we must consider. I think he has been a little premature with his proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. Queens are betrothed in their cradles.’

  ‘True again, but often those betrothals come to nothing. In life one often has to wait and see. What do you want to do? Marry Dickon now … at your age!’

  ‘I suppose everyone would say I’m not old enough. But I would wait until I am fourteen, say.’

  ‘Still very young, and what is it … two or more years away?’

  I sighed. ‘We shall have to wait till then, and when I am fourteen nothing—just nothing—is going to stop me.’

  ‘Perhaps then no one will want to.’

  ‘Oh yes, my mother will. I tell you she hates Dickon. She says he wants Eversleigh, not me. Oh, you don’t know. But Eversleigh belongs to my mother. It was left to her, you see, and I am her only child therefore presumably it would come to me in time. That’s why, she says, Dickon wants to marry me.’

  ‘And you, what do you think?’

  ‘I know he wants Eversleigh. He is managing Clavering at the moment, but it is not nearly as big as this place. He says that when we are married he will come to Eversleigh. It is all very natural, isn’t it? He’s ambitious. I shouldn’t want him to be otherwise.’

  ‘And your mother thinks that, but for Eversleigh, he would not wish to marry you.’

  ‘That’s what she says.’

  ‘And,’ he added, looking at me quizzically, ‘there is no way of finding out.’

  ‘I don’t want to find out. Why shouldn’t he want Eversleigh? I know it has a part to play in his wanting me. How could it be otherwise? To like someone because they own a house is no different from liking someone because they have prett
y hair or eyes.’

  ‘I think it might be considered rather different. The eyes and hair are part of a person … a house is not.’

  ‘Well, never mind about that. I am going to marry Dickon.’

  ‘And I can see that you are a young lady of great determination.’

  ‘I wish you could persuade my mother. After all … you are a member of the family now, aren’t you? As my father, you should have a say in the matter, though I warn you nobody’s say is going to have any effect on me.’

  ‘I can well believe that, and as an only recently recognized member of the family circle and one whose right to his daughter’s regard is as yet fragile, I would not venture to attempt to persuade her. I could only offer advice, and advice, as we know, even if we listen to it, is something we only take when it agrees with what we intend to do. So I will only say to you what I would to anyone with a problem and that is: wait and see what happens.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Until you are of an age to marry.’

  ‘And if it is really Eversleigh he wants?’

  ‘You have said that you know he does.’

  ‘But more than me, I mean.’

  ‘The only way to find out is for your mother to leave Eversleigh to someone else and then see if he wants you.’

  ‘She would have to leave it in the family.’

  ‘No doubt some long-lost relative will appear.’

  ‘Dickon is a member of the family. My Uncle Carl wouldn’t leave it to him because his father was what he called “a damned Jacobite”. Uncle was a trifle illogical because my mother’s grandfather was one too. But perhaps he felt that wasn’t so bad, being a generation earlier.’

  ‘It brings us all back to the golden rule. Wait and see. And after all, my dearest Lottie, when you consider the facts there is little else you can do.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m too young to know my own mind … which is what my mother says.’

  ‘I think you are mature enough to know exactly what you want from life. I’ll tell you another golden rule. Take it, if you must, but when the reckoning comes, pay up cheerfully. It’s the only way to live.’

  I looked at him steadily and said: ‘I’m glad you came back. I’m glad to know the truth. I’m glad you’re my father.’

  A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. There was nothing sentimental about my new father. Jean-Louis’s eyes would have filled with tears if I had said anything like that to him.

  My father said: ‘This is the time to offer my invitation. I shall have to leave shortly. Will you come back with me … for a little visit? I should love to show you something of my country.’

  I was proud to travel with him and revel in that special treatment he received wherever he went. He was rich and powerful in his own country, of course, but he had a natural air of distinction which was not lost on those whom we encountered. He commanded the best service naturally as though it were his right, and people presumed it was and gave it to him unquestioningly.

  A new world was opening to me and I realized how quietly we had lived in the country. True, there had been the occasional visits to London, but they had been few and I had never been to Court, though I believed our Court, presided over by good but homely King George and his plain consort Queen Charlotte, was very different from that of the profligate Louis XV of France. It was a cynical commentary on life that the virtuous—and none could deny our King and Queen were that—should be jeered at while the immoral—and Louis XV’s Court was undoubtedly that—should be admired. Well, perhaps not exactly admired, but considered interesting and a good place to be in.

  My new father was determined to enchant me, to lure me, as I see now, to an appreciation of his country and his way of life. And I was willing enough to be charmed.

  We took the journey to Aubigné fairly slowly, breaking our journey at night in delightful inns. The Comte proudly called me his daughter and I shone in reflected glory.

  ‘We shall visit Paris and perhaps Versailles later,’ he said. ‘I shall not let you go until you have seen a great deal of my country.’

  I smiled happily. None could have been more eager to see than I.

  He was delighted with my prowess on horseback, for he said it was a more interesting way of travelling than by coach. They were golden days, riding side by side with him, still marvelling at the fact that he was my father, still feeling twinges of remorse that I should be so pleased about it, chattering away blithely with less restraint than I showed towards my own mother or ever had to Jean-Louis. The reason was, I suppose, that the Comte was a man of the world and his attitude towards me was that I was aware of the basic facts of life. He implied that he saw no reason for attempting to protect me from what a person of my intelligence must already know. It made it easy for me to talk to him about Dickon. He seemed to understand my feelings and never insulted me by suggesting that I could not feel as deeply as I said I did because I was too young. I felt no longer a child in his company and that was one of the reasons why I enjoyed being with him so much.

  It was not until we were in France that he told me of his family and whom I should meet. Strangely enough, until that time I had not thought of his having a family. He had talked so much about his life at Court, and I could not imagine him in the heart of domesticity.

  He began: ‘My daughter Sophie would be a year or so older than you. I hope you will be friends.’

  ‘Your daughter!’ I cried as the realization dawned upon me. ‘Why … she is my sister!’

  ‘Half-sister,’ he corrected. ‘Her mother died five years ago. She is a good girl. She will become your friend, I am sure. In fact, I shall insist that she does.’

  ‘A sister …’ I murmured. ‘I do hope she likes me. All your insistence won’t be able to make her if she doesn’t.’

  ‘She has been brought up to obey … a little more strictly, I imagine, than you have been.’

  ‘Sophie,’ I murmured. ‘How interesting. Oh, I do look forward to seeing her.’

  ‘I want you to be prepared for our household. I also have a son, Armand, Vicomte de Graffont. Graffont is a small estate we have in the Dordogne district. Armand will, of course, have my title when I die. He is five years older than Sophie.’

  ‘So … I have a brother, too. How exciting! I wonder how many people have families they don’t know about.’

  ‘Thousands. Life is not always lived to a regular pattern, you know. I suppose almost everyone has a secret tucked away somewhere.’

  ‘It is fascinating. Oh, I do so long to meet them. Will they be at the château or in Paris?’

  ‘Sophie will be at the château with her governess. I cannot speak for Armand. He leads his own life.’

  ‘It sounds so interesting.’

  ‘I trust you will find it so.’

  ‘I am so excited. It grows more fascinating every minute. First a new father … and now a sister and brother. Are there any more relations?’

  ‘Distant ones who won’t concern you. That is all my immediate family circle.’

  I was so excited I scarcely noticed the countryside. We had come to France by way of Le Havre and travelled to Elboeuf and then spent a night at Evreux, the capital of Eure, in which province the Château d’Aubigné was situated.

  When we reached Evreux, the Comte sent two of the grooms on to the château to warn them of our coming, and very soon we were making our way southwards, for, said the Comte, now that he was so near home he had an irresistible urge to be there.

  As we approached, I had my first glimpse of the castle, which was set on a slight incline; built of grey stone it was overpoweringly intimidating with its buttresses and corbelled watch-towers. I gazed in wonder at the imposing edifice with its pepperpot-like roofs on either side of the gatehouse.

  The Comte saw how impressed I was and said: ‘I am gratified. I think you like my château. Of course it is no longer as it was originally. Once it was just a fortress. What you see now is as it became in the sixteen
th century, which was when French architecture was at its best.’

  Dusk was falling and in the half light the château looked mysterious, almost forbidding, and excited as I was when I rode into the courtyard, I felt a sudden shiver of apprehension as though I was being warned of a certain menace.

  ‘In the morning I will show you the inside of the chateau myself,’ said the Comte. ‘I am afraid you will find me rather boastful and over-proud.’

  ‘Anyone would be,’ I told him.

  ‘Well, it is your family now, Lottie,’ he replied.

  I stood in the hall with the Comte beside me, his hand on my shoulder while he watched me closely to see the effect his home was having on me. Needless to say, I was overcome with mixed emotions. It was so grand, so redolent of the past; I could believe that I had stepped into another century; there was a pride in my knowledge that I belonged to the people who had lived here for centuries, and after what had happened to me I was prepared for anything. But there was that. faint feeling of unease which persisted and which I could not understand.

  I looked at the ancient walls hung with tapestries depicting what appeared to be scenes of battle, and where there was not tapestry there were gleaming weapons; several suits of armour stood in darkened corners like watching sentinels and I could easily have convinced myself that they moved and that there was something here in this hall which was assessing me in the same way as I was this house. On the long oak table were two candelabra—one at each end—and the candles threw flickering light on the vaulted ceiling.

  A man came hurrying into the hall; he looked very important in his blue and green livery with heavy brass buttons. He greeted the Comte obsequiously.

  ‘Everything is prepared, Monsieur le Comte,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said my father. ‘Does the Vicomte know I have returned?’

  ‘Monsieur le Vicomte was out hunting when your messengers arrived. He had not yet returned.’

  The Comte nodded. ‘Mademoiselle Sophie …’

  ‘I will send someone to her apartment, Monsieur le Comte.’