Drop of the Dice

by Philippa Carr

  ‘He might have gorged himself sick,’ said Nanny Goswell indignantly.

  ‘Then that would have been a good lesson for him,’ said Sabrina severely.

  ‘It’s someone else that wants to learn a lesson,’ retorted Nanny Goswell.

  Nanny Curlew said some punishment must be inflicted and Sabrina was sent to bed. I went up at that time when she should be going to sleep to find her reading a book.

  ‘I like being sent to bed,’ she said complacently.

  I tried to explain how worried we had all been about Jean-Louis and she flung her arms about my neck and said she hadn’t meant to worry me—only old Aunt Aimée. ‘She ought to worry,’ she said. ‘She takes Lance away from you with those silly old cards.’

  There was no doubt of her love for me; as for myself, she supplied that need in my nature for the child my marriage so far had failed to produce.

  There was another occasion—a card party once more. We had dined and just as our guests were about to go into the card room, there was a sound on the stairs and there stood Sabrina. She had dressed herself in one of my more elaborate gowns which hung loose about her and trailed on the floor. That was not all; she had touched her cheeks with carmine, her face was thickly powdered and she had placed a patch on her chin. She was wearing my emerald necklace, brooch and bezoar ring.

  ‘Sabrina!’ I cried.

  ‘I thought I would like to join the card party,’ she said.

  Lance roared with laughter. ‘Come along then, Sabrina,’ he said. ‘What will you play? We thought of faro for this evening.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Sabrina languidly.

  ‘Where did you get those things you are wearing?’ I asked.

  ‘You know. They are yours.’

  Nanny Curlew appeared on the stairs. ‘Oh, Miss Mischief,’ she muttered.

  ‘Take Sabrina up,’ I said. ‘She thought she would join us, but it is a little late for her.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ said Sabrina eagerly.

  Nanny Curlew had her firmly by the hand and was dragging her away.

  ‘What a charming creature,’ drawled one of the ladies.

  ‘She is Clarissa’s cousin,’ explained Lance. ‘She provides us with amusement. Now for the game. Shall we truly turn to faro tonight?’

  When they were settled I went up to the nursery. Sabrina robbed of her finery and in her own nightdress looked subdued. I think that she thought for once that her little effort had failed.

  I washed the cosmetics from her smooth young skin and I couldn’t help laughing when I thought of the figure she had cut.

  She laughed with me.

  ‘You liked it, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘Did I look very funny?’

  ‘It was wrong of you to come down like that… but yes, you did look funny.’

  ‘Lance liked it,’ she said.

  I could see that he was making headway in her affections and as he did so without making the slightest effort it said a lot for his charm.

  Once again I disturbed a scene in the nursery and once again Aimée was there. The nannies were talking about last night’s incident.

  ‘There she was, the minx,’ Nanny Curlew was saying, ‘all fine feathers—patched and powdered. I never saw the like.’

  Sabrina stood by, listening appreciatively.

  ‘And not only that,’ put in Jeanne. ‘She was in Milady’s best emeralds and that ring of hers. All sparkling and glittering…’

  ‘She must have looked a funny sight,’ said Nanny Goswell.

  ‘She looked ridiculous,’ said Aimée. This should be put a stop to. If I had my way…’

  Sabrina surreptitiously put out her tongue and looked in Aimée’s direction.

  ‘All those jewels,’ mused Jeanne. ‘Worth a mint of money, they say. Why, you could buy a flower-shop in the heart of Paris for what they’re worth.’

  Aimée said: ‘Ah, hello, Clarissa. We were talking about last night.’

  ‘Sabrina felt like dressing up,’ I said.

  ‘Where did she find that jewellery? You must be rather careless with it.’

  ‘Not usually. I was going to wear it last night but changed my mind at the last minute. It was in my jewel-box.’

  ‘On the dressing-table,’ piped up Sabrina. ‘I knew where to get it.’

  Aimée lifted her shoulders in a gesture of helpless resignation. I said nothing.

  I did not want to discuss Sabrina with Aimée so I turned to go and as she followed me out she said in a sibilant whisper: ‘Something will have to be done about that child. She’ll grow up into a… monster.’

  I looked back, hoping Sabrina had not heard. She did not appear to have, she was listening to Jeanne, whose hands had gone to the Jean-Baptiste she wore under her blouse. She was murmuring: ‘All those fine jewels. Mon Dieu, she might have lost some of them. And there’s enough there to buy a flower-shop in the heart of Paris.’

  A few months had passed and the summer was nearly over. It was September and the leaves were turning to bronze, but most of them were still on the trees and it was a pleasure to walk through the woods. When I came in I was thinking that very soon we should be leaving the country for London, for when the season started that was where Lance wanted to be. He would find some excuse for returning there and as the management of the country estates was in good hands he could do this with ease.

  There were card parties in the country but there were even more opportunities for gambling for large stakes in London. He liked to go to the clubs and play, and it was in London that he had his circle of reckless friends.

  I was determined to make the most of the days while they were still warm and I could ride or walk through those lovely leafy lanes and watch the coming of autumn, with its mists and fruits and silvery cobwebs which suddenly seemed to be draped everywhere.

  I remember distinctly coming in from my ride with Sabrina. She was quite a good little horsewoman now. Gone was the leading rein and she had discarded her pony for a small mare which Lance had given her. She loved the mare dearly and was growing more and more fond of Lance. She liked his indifference to her waywardness and I think she was a little fascinated by his handsome looks and elegant way of dressing.

  ‘He’s my cousin,’ she said once, with a certain satisfaction. ‘Of course not a real one—only because you’re married to him.’

  Sabrina found it difficult to be indifferent to anyone. It seemed that for her there could only be fierce loves and fiercer hates. I was very glad that Lance was beginning to be included in the former.

  So we came in that day little suspecting that anything unusual had happened. There was a dinner party that night and I went to my room to prepare myself. Jeanne was usually there laying out my things, but on this day she was absent, and nothing had been prepared.

  I rang the bell and one of the servants came to answer my call.

  ‘Will you please find Jeanne and tell her that I am waiting,’ I said.

  She went off in search of her.

  That in itself was strange, for at such times Jeanne always assumed an air of importance and bustled about my room long before it was time for me to dress.

  Jeanne did not come. In due course the servant appeared, rather breathless and concerned.

  ‘Please, Milady, I can’t find Jeanne. She don’t seem to be in the house.’

  This was growing very strange. Had she gone out somewhere and forgotten the time? That must be the explanation. She never went very far. Sometimes she would take a walk in the woods in order to gather herbs, for she liked to make a few medicinal and cosmetic concoctions and was fond of remarking that everything of worth came out of the earth. It was an old saying which had caught her fancy.

  At any moment I expected her to come bursting in breathlessly.

  But no such thing happened. The minutes ticked away and still Jeanne did not return.

  I had decided to wear a dress of cream-coloured brocade, thinking that my emeralds would go well with it. I went to the cup
board and brought out the dress. Then I went to my jewel-case. To my consternation it was empty. The emerald necklace and brooch had gone, together with the bezoar ring.

  This was very strange. I could not understand it, and now I was beginning to feel alarmed.

  I went to Jeanne’s room. There was an emptiness there. The bed was neatly made but there was no sign of Jeanne. I went to the cupboard. It was empty. Her best black gown which she liked to put on in the evenings was gone. There was nothing at all there. I opened the drawers in the chest near the window. Every one of them was empty.

  Jeanne had gone!

  It was impossible. There must be some explanation. As if she would have gone away like that! As if she would disappear without telling me! But where was she?

  I began to look frantically around for a note. There was none.

  I went back to my room and pulled the bell-rope. The little maid appeared again.

  I said firmly; ‘Find Jeanne. Let everyone look for her. Her bedroom is empty. Her clothes have gone.’

  The maid stared at me open-mouthed.

  ‘We must find her,’ I said.

  But we could not find Jeanne. She was not in the house, no one had seen her go out, yet everything she possessed had gone.

  I had to dress. The party must go on, however disturbed I was.

  I put away the brocade dress. I did not want to look into that empty jewel-case. There must be some explanation about the disappearance of my jewels. There was one solution, but I refused to believe it although the logical sequence was beginning to force itself into my mind.

  I put on a gown of scarlet, rather flamboyant, but as Lance had assured me, in excellent taste… a dress which required no embellishment.

  I was desperately uneasy. I was worried. I was frantic. I was fond of Jeanne—more fond than I had realized. I would not believe what, on the face of it, was the only logical answer.

  Aimée came in while I was dressing. She was quivering with excitement; her eyes looked luminous and unnaturally large. There was a high colour in her cheeks.

  ‘Where is Jeanne?’ she asked. ‘I wanted to tell her… Isn’t she here?’

  ‘I can’t find her. I think she must have been called away.’

  ‘Called away! Who would call her away, and would she go without telling you?’

  ‘I can’t understand it, Aimée. I am very worried.’

  ‘Disappeared,’ murmured Aimée. ‘It can’t be. She was comfortable here. Why should she go away?’

  I shook my head, and a sharp look came into Aimée’s eyes. ‘Is… is anything missing?’ she asked.

  I was silent. I did not want to tell her about the jewellery. I should have to do so in time… but not yet. I kept telling myself that Jeanne would be back. There must be a simple explanation of her disappearance.

  ‘Because if there is…’ went on Aimée.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? She was always talking about a flower-shop in Paris. That was her great aim in life.’

  ‘You can’t think that Jeanne… Oh, it’s quite impossible. She has been with me so long! She looked after me in Paris

  ‘She always longed to be back there. That I know. That flower-shop in Paris was what she dreamed of. One of her own. It’s what she always wanted.’

  ‘As if she would go without telling me! I don’t believe she would ever have gone. She was so happy to have her home with us.’

  ‘She was by no means sentimental. Hard as nails, I’d say. That’s how they are brought up in the streets of Paris.

  ‘She was not hard. She was so good to me when I needed help.’

  Aimée nodded. ‘Well, who knows? Perhaps she’ll come back. Has she taken some of her clothes with her?’

  ‘All,’ I said.

  ‘Oh dear. Then it really seems…’

  Lance came in while we were talking.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘Everyone seems to be whispering together.’

  I said: ‘Jeanne has disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared? How? When?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. She’s gone—that’s all.’

  ‘Jeanne! I can’t believe it.’

  I nodded. ‘It seems to be true.’

  ‘I really think we ought to see if anything is missing,’ said Aimée.

  ‘I don’t believe Jeanne would ever take anything that did not belong to her,’ I began.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe she’d go off without saying a word,’ retorted Aimée. ‘I think you ought to look round and see what valuables are missing. Jewels, most likely, as they would be easy to carry.’

  I felt myself trembling as Aimée went to my jewel-case on the dressing-table and opened it. She looked at me with wide-open eyes. ‘Did you have anything in it? It’s empty now.’

  I said reluctantly: ‘I think my emeralds were in it… and the bezoar ring.’

  ‘No!’ She almost let the case fall from her hands as she stared from me to Lance.

  ‘You’ve put them somewhere else…’ she said breathlessly.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Oh yes, you must have,’ cried Lance. ‘They’re somewhere in this room.’ He refused to accept the implication, as I did. He was silent for a few seconds then he burst out: ‘Gad, you don’t think that she

  ‘It appears so,’ said Aimée. ‘She seems to have walked out with your emeralds, Clarissa. Who would have believed it, and yet she was always talking about a flower-shop in Paris. What was it she used to say: “They’d buy a flower-shop in the heart of Paris.”’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ I said emphatically. ‘It really is quite ridiculous.’

  ‘I expect they’ll turn up,’ said Lance. ‘All of them… Jeanne and the jewels.’

  ‘They won’t,’ contradicted Aimée firmly. ‘I know her type. She’s typical of the back streets of Paris. Hard as nails and sharp as broken glass, that’s what they are… looking for chances and never missing them when they come. It would not surprise me if she were already on the boat, crossing to France. She’ll get her ambition… a flower-shop in the centre of Paris. It’s what she was always talking about.’

  I shook my head miserably and Lance came to me and put an arm about me.

  Nothing was done about Jeanne that night. I would not allow anyone to say that she had run away; I believed she would come back and that there was some explanation.

  The party went on; the gambling took place. I was too upset to do anything but retire to my room.

  I was still awake when Lance came up. For once I was not interested whether he had won or lost at the tables. My thoughts were all for Jeanne. I kept seeing her in her various moods; often sharp and astringent of tongue, trying to hide that innate sentimentality in her caustic comments, and at heart good and kind. I would never forget what she had saved me from when I was young and helpless.

  And now to find that she was a thief…

  I just would not believe that.

  I talked about her to Lance, for I could not sleep and he, understanding how I felt, did not sleep either.

  He said gently that there was only one explanation and we must accept it. Jeanne had decided to leave us. It was hard for people to live out of their native environment. Perhaps all those years she had been hankering for her native France. She had longed for a flower-shop of her own. She had seen the valuable jewellery and she had calculated what it would be worth. She had often mentioned it.

  The temptation was too strong for her,’ said Lance. ‘Poor Jeanne, she could not resist it.’

  Lance thought he understood. He knew a great deal about irresistible temptations.

  The next day he sent men to Dover and Southampton to discover if there was any sign of Jeanne trying to escape to France. It was impossible to find any information about her.

  But as the weeks began to pass, even I began to believe that there could be no other explanation. Every time Jeanne had picked up my jewellery—as she had been in t
he habit of doing since Lance had given me the emeralds—she had seen through it the flower-shop of her dreams.

  It seemed that every way I looked at it this must be the case. The temptation had been too strong for her and she had left me to own a flower-shop in the heart of Paris.

  Then I had never really known her. She could not be the woman I had always believed her to be.

  It was a heartbreaking discovery. What had I known of Jeanne? What did I know of anybody?

  DISCOVERY IN A SHOP WINDOW

  IT WAS ONLY DURING the next weeks that I realized how very much Jeanne had meant to me. She had been the mother-figure in my early impressionable days and I could not forget her. In spite of all the evidence something within me refused to accept the fact that she had run away in order to steal my jewellery and buy a flower-shop. She had looked after me since I was more or less a baby with my parents in Paris and when ill-fortune had overtaken me she had cared for me. Then she had come to England to find me. Oh no, I would not believe that Jeanne was a common thief.

  There was some explanation. There must be.

  ‘What?’ asked Aimée.

  As for Lance, he shrugged his shoulders. He did not want to dwell on the matter. It was a blow losing the jewellery, he agreed, but when his winnings warranted it, he would buy more for me. It was no use crying over what was done, was his motto.

  Jeanne had gone and there was no way we could find her without a great deal of trouble and expense. Besides, what if we did? Should we take the flower-shop away from her?

  ‘No, let her keep it,’ said Lance. He had a grudging admiration for one who could devise such a plan and carry it out. If his luck held he would buy me bigger and better emeralds.

  He was ready to forget Jeanne. He almost wished her well of her ill-gotten gains. He did not understand that her action had wounded me far more deeply than the loss of the jewels. His indifference about the important things in life exasperated me—especially when I compared it with his intense passion for gambling.

  It was three or four weeks after Jeanne’s disappearance and we were back in London. The season had begun and although we did not go often to Court it was necessary to do so now and then. The new King was reckoned to be a boor and it was always the King and Queen who set the mode of the Court. This King had no Queen—or rather, he had, but he had put her away years ago on account of her suspected intrigue with Count Königsmarck. His German mistresses reigned in her place and on account of their lack of charm, as well as their rapaciousness, they were not very popular. So there was no great desire to go to a Court which was not in fact the centre of polite society. Queen Anne had called George ‘the German Boor’, and apparently the description fitted him.