I saw him often but never alone. There was always someone to chaperone me and I was not sorry. There were reasons why I did not want to be alone with him and I did not want to probe too deeply into them.
He went away eventually but in less than a month he came back again.
‘He is very anxious to marry with Aubigné,’ said Lisette.
‘I think he is really fond of Sophie,’ I replied.
Lisette looked at me scornfully. ‘Such a good family to be allied to,’ she said cynically.
But he had changed. He was quiet. I often saw his eyes on me broodingly and I thought a great deal about him; so that was one of the reasons why I did not want to be alone with him.
August had come and it was about this time that I began to notice the change in Lisette. There were times when she looked a little older and sometimes she seemed quite pale with little of that colour which used to be so charmingly and delicately pink in her cheeks.
One day I said to her: ‘Lisette, are you well?’
‘Why do you ask?’ she demanded quickly.
‘I thought you seemed a little pale … and somehow not quite yourself.’
She looked quite alarmed. ‘Of course, I’m all right,’ she said sharply.
But there was something wrong. I saw Tante Berthe watching Lisette closely and I thought: Something is worrying her. Once when I was going to see my mother I encountered Tante Berthe coming out of her room and she looked very stern and angry … more than that. I thought I detected anxiety and even fear.
My mother was very absent-minded when I was with her. I asked if anything was wrong with Tante Berthe and she answered quickly: ‘Oh no … no … nothing at all wrong with her.’
Everybody was changing. Nothing had been the same since that fearful tragedy. What was happening to everyone? Even Lisette had ceased to be the vivacious companion she had once been.
Lisette herself came to my room one evening. She said with a grimace: ‘Tante Berthe is taking me with her to visit some relations.’
‘Relations! I didn’t know you had any.’
‘Nor did I … till now. But they have appeared and they want us to go and see them. The Comtesse has given us permission to go.’
‘Oh, Lisette! How long are you going to be away?’
‘Well, they are some distance from here … down in the south somewhere. So we can’t go for just a week. I dare say it will be a month or two.’
‘Who is going to run the household?’
‘Someone will take Tante Berthe’s place.’
‘People have always said that nobody could. Oh, Lisette, I do wish you weren’t going.’
‘So do I.’ She looked bleakly miserable for a few moments. ‘It’s going to be such a bore.’
‘Can’t Tante Berthe go alone?’
‘She is insisting that I go with her. You see, they know of my existence and want to see both their long-lost relations.’
‘Oh dear. I’m not going to like it at all. It’s so different here now. First Sophie … and now you.’
I put my arms round her and hugged her. I have rarely seen her so moved. I thought she was going to cry and that was something I had never seen her do.
But she didn’t. She withdrew herself and said: ‘I shall be back.’
‘I should hope so. And make it soon.’
‘As soon as I can. Rest assured of that. This—’ she spread her arms ‘—is my home. That’s how I always see it … in spite of not being one of you and only the niece of the housekeeper.’
‘Don’t be silly, Lisette. You will always be one of us as far as I am concerned.’
‘I’ll be back, Lottie. I’ll be back.’
‘I know that. But I want it soon.’
‘Soon as I can,’ she said.
Before the month was out Lisette had left with Tante Berthe. I watched them from one of the towers and I wondered if Sophie was doing the same from hers.
I felt desolate.
Life had changed completely. I had lost both Sophie and Lisette and only now did I realise what parts they had played in my life.
I missed them terribly—Lisette understandably because she had always been amusing, vivacious and light-hearted; but I missed Sophie’s quiet presence too. It would have helped me if I could have gone to her room, tried to amuse her, talked to her. But she would not allow it and although she did not shut me out completely, she implied that she liked to be left alone and on the rare occasions when I did climb the stairs to the turret, Sophie always contrived that Jeanne should be with her so that we could not talk intimately. My visits grew less and less frequent, and I guessed that that was what Sophie wanted.
Charles came often and everyone was amazed at his devotion, for the Tourville estates were a good distance from Aubigné and the journey long and tiresome; but he continued to come. On the last two visits he had not seen Sophie. She did not want to see him any more than she wanted to see me; and Jeanne had told my mother that Charles’s visits upset Sophie so much that she would be affected by them for days afterwards.
My mother explained this to Charles and he listened attentively. I think,’ she said, ‘seeing you—and Lottie and Armand too for that matter—brings back memories of that night. She may change …’
My mother looked sad for she was beginning to believe that Sophie would never change.
‘Leave her alone for a while,’ she added hopefully.
‘I shall continue to come,’ said Charles; and when he said that I met his eyes and I knew that he did not come to see Sophie but me.
I wished that I could stop thinking of him, but I could not. I dreamed about him, yet the man in my dreams was half Dickon, half Charles. I was not sure which one it was and my feelings for Charles were beginning to be what they had been for Dickon.
I wished that Lisette were here. I could have talked to her and in her worldly way she would have given me advice.
I now clearly understood my feelings for Dickon. It had been innocent love, young love, ‘calf love’ they call it; I saw no flaw in my idol; I had loved wholeheartedly. That was because I had been only a child with a child’s idealistic dreams. I now knew that Dickon had wanted Eversleigh and that my mother had given it to him to show that when he had it, he was no longer eager for me. It had changed my feelings for him. I knew he was an adventurer, an ambitious man with lusty appetites; and I knew, too, that I would have been disappointed in him, that I would have had to learn more of the ways of the world, that there would have been fierce battles between us. But I was still sure that some bond still held us together and that it was an attraction which would remain for ever.
I had thought that Dickon would be the only one; but now there was Charles.
I had no illusions about Charles. He was worldly, amoral perhaps; he had his own code of behaviour from which he would never swerve. He would never be faithful for long to any woman; he had been brought up with the philosophy of his ancestors—and French ancestors at that. He would say they took a realistic view of life, which was that men were polygamous and although they might love one woman more than others, that could not prevent their casting their eye about and satisfying their sexual needs outside their marriages.
Now I was wiser. I was approaching seventeen and becoming knowledgeable of the world in which I lived. This was different from the world of my mother, Jean-Louis, my grandmother and Sabrina. They had a different set of morals; they called them ideals. But this was France—a man’s country, which most women accepted. I fancied I never would. So it was disturbing to realize that although Charles de Tourville came to Aubigné ostensibly to see Sophie, he did in fact come to see me.
The weeks passed. It was August when Lisette had gone away. It was now well into October … a beautiful, colourful month, with the copper beaches turning to orange and the oak trees to bronze. But how shortlived! Soon the wind would strip those beautiful leaves from the trees and the winter would be with us.
In the old days I had loved the winter. We
would go out into the snow and come back and sit round the fire, talking … Lisette, myself and Sophie. We discussed people, life, any subject we could think of … with Sophie contributing hardly anything and Lisette always one step ahead of me.
Now it would be different. I was going to find the long cold days monotonous. But perhaps Lisette would be back soon.
It was a great day when we heard that Tante Berthe had written that she would be returning to the château at the beginning of November.
‘Thank Heaven for that,’ said my mother. ‘Nothing runs as smoothly without Tante Berthe.’
I was very excited at the prospect of having Lisette back with me. I imagined our conversations; we would work out a scheme for weaning Sophie from her solitude.
I remember the day well. It was the twelfth of November, a damp, misty, almost windless day—quite warm for the time of the year. I went to one of the turrets to watch for the arrival. I had been out the day before and had gathered green catkins from the hazel tree and a spray or two of gorse which I had found in a sheltered spot.
I planned to put them in Lisette’s room to show her how pleased I was that she had returned.
It was almost dusk when I saw a party of horsemen in the distance, and picking up my cloak I hurried down so that I should be in the courtyard to greet her.
I saw Tante Berthe—grim as ever—being helped out of her saddle by one of the grooms. But where was Lisette?
My mother had come out to greet Tante Berthe.
‘Welcome back!’ she cried. ‘We are so pleased to see you.’
‘Where is Lisette?’ I asked.
Tante Berthe looked at me steadily.
‘Lisette will not be coming back. She is married.’
I was too choked to speak.
‘Come along in,’ said my mother, speaking rather rapidly. ‘You must tell us all about it. I do hope Lisette is happy. I am sure she will be.’
I followed them into the hall as though stunned.
Lisette … married! Gone away to another life. Would I never see her again?
I felt bereft and had rarely been so wretched in the whole of my life.
Armand had been betrothed for some months to a young lady who was highly suitable, and everyone was very pleased about the proposed match. Marie Louise de Brammont was of the right family and upbringing and therefore a considerable heiress. Marriage was so pleasant when everything was as it should be, particularly if the bride and groom had no particular aversion to each other.
Armand was like any other young Frenchman. I was sure he had his amorous adventures but they were quite apart from marriage; and he was content with the match.
Both my father and mother realized that I was feeling the loss of Sophie’s company and they knew too that Lisette and I had been special friends; they tried in every way to help me over this depressing period which the loss of my young companions had brought me to; they took me to Paris, but somehow the delights of that city did not stir me out of my melancholy; they only served to remind me of it more vividly. In the streets I kept remembering that walk down the Champs-Elysees where the lamps were being hung; and I could not bear to go near the Place Louis XV.
There was a great deal of gaiety but I could not feel part of it. I listened to Court gossip, but it was immaterial to me whether Marie Antoinette received Madame du Barry or not. If the King was bewitched by this woman from the gutters of Paris—where some people said she came from—let him be. I did not care that the Barriens—the party round Madame du Barry—had succeeded in getting Minister Choiseul dismissed even though all this was of some importance to my father, who was deeply involved in Court intrigue. My mother used to be a little anxious about him because such activities could be dangerous. It was so easy to lose everything—one’s life as well as one’s estates. There were those dreaded lettres de cachet of which nobody spoke much because it was considered unlucky to do so.
But all the intrigue and gaiety of Paris could not lift me out of my gloom … until Charles came.
He must have known we were in Paris. I wondered afterwards whether my mother told him so. She knew that I was attracted by him and he by me; she still lived in her idealist world and saw life not as it was but as she wanted it to be. I think it was her innocence which had so attracted my father. I would have been ready to swear that since he had married her he had been entirely faithful to her. She would accept this as the natural course of events and not realize how very powerful was the attraction she had for him. And that was, of course, part of her innocence.
I would never have such. Perhaps it was a pity. On the other hand, it might be better to know the truth and face life as it really was.
So while we were in Paris Charles came there. We rode in the Bois together. We walked during the days. Once we rode out of the city towards St Cloud and when we had left the town behind us we dismounted and tethered our horses and walked among the trees.
He said: ‘You know I’m in love with you, Lottie.’
‘What goes for love with you, perhaps.’
‘I thought we were becoming friends.’
‘We have seen each other fairly frequently.’
‘That is not what I meant. I thought there was an understanding between us.’
‘I think I understand you very well.’
He stopped suddenly and caught me up in his arms. He kissed me … once … twice … and went on kissing me. I was bewildered, making an attempt to hold him off—but it was rather feeble.
‘Lottie, why won’t you be true to yourself?’ he asked.
I withdrew myself and cried: ‘True to myself? What does that mean?’
‘Admit you like me, that you want me in the same way as I want you.’
‘The last thing I should want is to be one of that multitude who have ministered to your desires … temporarily.’
‘You know that is not what I want. I want you permanently.’
‘Indeed?’
‘I want marriage.’
‘Marriage. But you are betrothed to Sophie.’
‘No longer. She has rejected me … irrevocably. Those were her words.’
‘And so now you would turn to me?’
‘I turned to you the moment I saw you.’
‘I remember. You were looking for a victim at Madame Rougemont’s.’
‘Didn’t I rescue you? Didn’t I look after you? I protected you from the wrath of your family. I have always sought to please you. I was betrothed to Sophie before I met you. You know how these marriages are arranged. But why shouldn’t there be one which is a love-match, and why shouldn’t that be ours?’
I felt my heart leap with excitement. I could not curb my exultation. Escape from the gloomy château with its memories. Sophie in her turret, Lisette gone. One day so like another … and my inability to rouse myself from my lethargy and depression.
I struggled to suppress my elation.
I said: ‘There is Sophie.’
‘It is accepted now that she will never marry. It would not surprise me if she made up her mind to enter a convent. The life would suit her. But that does not mean that I must remain unmarried all my life. I have spoken to your father.’
I stared at him.
‘Don’t look alarmed,’ he said. ‘I have had a very encouraging answer. Your mother is anxious that you shall not be forced to do anything you do not wish. But the glorious truth is that I have your father’s permission to lay my heart at your feet.’
I laughed at the expression and he laughed too. He had a ready wit and he was well aware—how could he be otherwise?—that I knew the sort of life he had led. Our first meeting had been indicative of that.
‘So,’ he went on, ‘Mademoiselle Lottie, I hereby ask you to become my wife. At least,’ he went on, ‘you hesitate. Do you see, I feared a determined No. Not that I should have accepted it, but it is encouraging not to be refused in the first few seconds.’
‘You must see how impossible the whole thing would be.’
‘What of Sophie?’
‘Sophie has made the choice. She has left me free.’
‘And you think that with her in that turret, you and I … ’
He gripped me by the shoulders and looked into my face.
‘I want you Lottie,’ he said. ‘You will have such a wonderful time with me. You will see. I will awaken you to such delights that you never dreamed of.’
‘I am not interested … ’
‘Now, Lottie, I know you well. You are bursting from your shell. You long to experience that of which you have heard so much. I am sure you have had endless discussions with that girl—what was her name?—the one who came to Rougemont’s with you.’
‘You mean Lisette. She is married now.’
‘And enjoying life, I’ll swear. She would. She was that sort of girl. Dear Lottie, so are you. You will marry one day. Why not me? Wouldn’t you rather choose for yourself than have someone choose for you?’
‘Certainly I will make my own choice.’
‘Well, then, having your father’s permission to woo you, I shall begin now.’
‘Save yourself the trouble.’
His answer was to pick me up in his arms and hold me, looking up at me and laughing.
‘Put me down,’ I said. ‘What if we were seen?’
‘Everyone will understand. A gallant gentleman and a beautiful lady. Why shouldn’t they be in love?’
Slowly he lowered me until my face was on a level with his.
‘Lottie,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Lottie.’
And I just wanted to be held like that. I felt suddenly that life had become interesting again.
It was decided that Armand should be married at Christmas, which would mean that we would spend Christmas at Brammont, Marie Louise’s family home not far from Orléans.
Sophie would not come and declared her intention of staying at the château where she would be well looked after by Jeanne. Although my mother at first attempted to persuade her, she was relieved. The festive season would have been scarcely festive with Sophie hiding herself away and everyone knowing she was there.
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 09] Page 48