“The idea was worthy of you, madame,” the deep voice of Count Axel de Fersen came quietly.
She turned to look at him and there was something in their eyes that betrayed their secret as surely as if they had shouted it aloud. Amé drew in a little breath. She knew that these two were in love with each other. She was not shocked, she was not even surprised. She only saw that for a moment the darkness and the shadow which she had felt menaced the Queen the last time they had met at Versailles had lifted. Here for a few hours at least was only light and happiness and a love which was too strong to be denied.
With an effort Marie Antoinette looked away from the young Swede.
“I feel tonight that we should all be poets,” she said. “If I was clever enough, I would write a poem about all this, it could not be worse poetry than that which is circulated around the streets of Paris.”
There was a note of bitterness in her voice and Amé knew that she was referring to the lampoons that daily found their way into the hands of French citizens and which had even been discovered in The Palace. Vitriolic, bestial and obscene, they portrayed the Queen as a monster of viciousness.
“Don’t think of such things, madame,” Axel de Fersen said quickly, making no pretence of being ignorant of what she referred to. “I am no poet, but there are two brief lines that keep coming to my mind this evening.”
“What are they?” Marie Antoinette asked.
“Faith, love and hope,
These three united for ever.”
His voice as he spoke the words was deep and low with emotion.
“That is lovely!” Marie Antoinette exclaimed. “I shall remember those words always. What is more, I shall embroider them on an almanac for you so that you can see them always too.”
She realised as soon as she had spoken that what she had said was indiscreet and so she turned to Amé,
“You, mademoiselle, will you remember those lines when you return to England and recall a night that you spent in the gardens of the French Capital?”
“I shall remember them for ever, madame,” Amé replied. “Faith, love and hope – they are all any of us can ask for in life and all that any of us need or desire.”
Marie Antoinette glanced at her in surprise.
“You are so young to speak of such things with so much certainty. Faith usually comes after suffering and love when we least expect it.”
“But hope is with us always,” Amé said quietly, “from birth to the grave.”
“Hope, yes, we can always go on hoping,” Marie Antoinette agreed,
There was a note almost of despair in her voice. Then her mood changed.
“Come,” she said gaily, “let’s go and see if there are enough faggots behind the Temple of Love to keep the fire burning until the dawn. It would be sad indeed and an ill omen if the fires of love should be quenched for want of fuel.”
Laughing, she led Amé away, holding her arm in an affectionate manner and the courtiers standing around whispered that a new favourite had come to Court.
The Duke would have followed Amé, but the British Ambassador spoke to him and he was forced out of politeness to return his salutation.
“I would like if possible to have word with you where we cannot be overheard,” the Ambassador said.
The Duke glanced round.
“Let us stroll along to the terrace,” he suggested. “There is a seat there that no one could approach without our seeing them.”
“Good!”
The Ambassador led the way and the two men seated themselves where they could watch the other guests moving under the trees and yet for the moment remain unobserved.
“Is anything the matter?” the Duke asked as his companion seemed reluctant to speak.
“I would like to hear if you are prepared to give it to me, your version of what happened at the Princesse de Frémond’s party last night. Your Grace will appreciate that the most extraordinary rumours are flying around Paris at present.”
“We can expect nothing else,” the Duke said sharply and, without adding a lot of unimportant details, he told the Ambassador exactly what had occurred.
“Miss Court must be a very brave young woman,” the Ambassador exclaimed when the story was finished.
“She is religious,” the Duke replied, “and, of course, such a scene as that was abhorrent to her.”
“And yet she is not a Roman Catholic?” the Ambassador questioned.
“Why do you say that?” the Duke enquired.
The Ambassador looked embarrassed.
“I merely thought that seeing Your Grace is a Protestant – ”
“My Ward is a Catholic,” the Duke said briefly. “You have obviously been questioned on this score. I see no reason why there should be any mystery about it.”
“No, no, of course not,” the Ambassador agreed. “I am afraid Your Grace will find that you will be asked a great number of questions, most of which will be instigated by the Duc de Chartres.”
“Why should the Duc be so interested?” the Duke asked.
“You know the answer to that,” the Ambassador replied. “He grasps every opportunity, however slender, that may make trouble for the Court. Already there is a lampoon on the streets showing an English girl draped in a Union Jack declaiming the immorality and the vice, not only of the Cardinal but of the Queen and the Royal household.”
“It is disgraceful,” the Duke said angrily. “Can it not be prevented?”
The Ambassador made a hopeless gesture with his hands.
“Even the authorities seem powerless,” he answered. “They have no idea where these filthy libels are printed. One, of course, suspects the Palais Royal, but they are distributed everywhere. It is not only the rabble who read them, but decent people too. Duchesses look at them in their baths, Princesses peruse them while they are dressing. They say that one was discovered on the balcony outside the Queen’s window and another in a napkin that the King unfolded at dinner. There is nothing we can do about it.”
“Then I imagine the best thing to do is to ignore them,” the Duke suggested.
“One can do nothing else,” the Ambassador answered.
He hesitated a moment and it was obvious that there was something else on his mind.
“What is it you wish to ask me?” the Duke enquired.
“It is an impertinent question,” the Ambassador said, “and Your Grace will, I hope, forgive my asking it, but how, in the short time you have been in France, have you succeeded in making such a bitter enemy of the Duc de Chartres?”
“Is he my enemy?” the Duke queried.
“He is indeed,” the Ambassador replied. “Did you not know that his spies are watching you wherever you go and whatever you do? They are outside your house both day and night. And for all I know, the Duc may have hirelings inside listening to all you say. There are at least two people here tonight who, I know, will report to the Duke in the morning that you and I have had a conversation alone. I believe they cannot hear what we are saying, but I would not trust even the stone slabs beneath our feet in case they should be in the pay of the Duc.”
“My dear fellow, you alarm me,” the Duke said lightly.
The Ambassador’s face was grave.
“There are strange things happening in France at present, things that I don’t pretend to understand. Already the natural affection of the people for the Queen has been completely changed. Now they detest her. She now stands for all their sufferings, for every privation and for every injustice. What is more, the enemy against her gathers strength day by day.”
The Duke flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his coat.
“What ultimately do you fear?” he asked. “Revolution against the Monarchy?”
“I pray it will never be as serious as that,” the Ambassador replied, “and yet one feels sometimes as if one lives on a volcano. When you return home, I would be grateful if you would carry a secret memorandum for me to the Prime Minister. I am getting to the stage when I do not even trust
my own couriers!”
“I will, of course, be only too pleased to be of what service I can,” the Duke answered. “But I think now I should go in search of my Ward.”
“She went with the Queen towards the Temple of Love, but I see now Her Majesty is by the fountains with the Princesse de Frémond.”
The Duke looked over the balustrade of the terrace. He could see Isabella flirting outrageously with two enraptured young men who were vying for her favours. He could see Hugo standing apart, looking a little ill-at-ease and undoubtedly bored.
Politely he said ‘goodnight,’ to the Ambassador and walked across the lawn to join his cousin.
“Where is Amé?” he asked.
“I thought she was with you,” Hugo replied.
“The Queen took her to see the Temple of Love,” the Duke said, “and I have not seen her since.”
“In such a crowd it is impossible to see anyone,” Hugo answered. “Let’s walk to the Temple of Love. We will very likely find her there. She was exclaiming earlier this evening over its beauties.”
“The fire behind it is very effective, but if I am not mistaken there will be grumbles in Paris tomorrow at the extravagance of burning so much wood.”
“I have never met people more ready to complain!” Hugo exclaimed. “There is always something wrong, either things are done too meanly or too extravagantly. It must be impossible to strike the happy medium where a Frenchman is concerned.”
“I doubt if he knows the meaning of the words. A happy medium and ‘taking the middle course’ were coined by an Englishman for an English way of life.”
Hugo laughed.
“Sebastian, we shall make a Politician of you yet. I have seldom heard a more Whiggish remark.”
The Duke, however, did not smile.
They were nearing now the Temple of Love and he was looking amongst the many people gazing at it to see if he could discern Amé. It was getting late and the young couples had paired themselves off. Everywhere there were soft laughter and sighs, one hand seeking another hand, eyes speaking an invitation and lips pouting provocatively.
There were so very many lovely women, their naked shoulders like pink pearls against the purity of their gowns that it was easy for a man to be bemused by them, but the Duke sought only one face. Still there was no sign of Amé. He and Hugo walked back from the Temple of Love towards the spot where Marie Antoinette was holding court.
Her cheeks were flushed, her voice rang out gaily and behind her, his handsome face inscrutable and very serious, stood Axel de Fersen.
It was difficult for the Duke to attract the attention of Her Majesty when there were so many other people around her, but finally he managed to be beside her and, when she turned to look enquiringly at him, he made a deep bow.
“I regret to trouble you, madame,” he said, “but I cannot find my Ward. I last saw her, honoured by being in your company, walking towards the Temple of Love.”
“What can have happened to her?” Marie Antoinette exclaimed,. “She must be somewhere about. Maybe she is playing truant and has disappeared into one of the charming little arbours. There are many, you know, in this garden.”
“Perhaps, madame, you will be gracious enough to remember when she left you,” the Duke persisted.
The Queen turned and glanced towards the Count.
“How long was Miss Court with us?” she asked.
“We had gone behind the Temple,” the Count replied, “and Your Majesty spoke to some of the people who were keeping the fire alight. It was then that I saw a man approach Miss Court and speak with her. She seemed to hesitate, then, seeing that Your Majesty was engaged, she slipped away with him without saying farewell.”
The Queen laughed up at the Duke.
There, I told you it was an assignation! Your Grace must be kind and understanding. When one is young, it is very easy to fall in love on a night like this.”
Her voice was soft and now she looked not at the Duke but at the Count de Fersen.
“I thank you, madame, for the information,” the Duke said a little stiffly.
He bowed and backed from the Royal presence. Hugo was waiting for him on the edge of the throng.
“Well?” he enquired. “Did you learn anything?”
“I learnt that Amé is amusing herself with some gentleman unknown,” the Duke said, and his voice was hard.
“Gammon!” Hugo spoke peremptorily.
“Why so vehement?” the Duke enquired. “Surely it is natural? The child is happy. This is the first time she has had the opportunity of meeting men of her own age.”
“She has had the opportunity for nearly a fortnight,” Hugo replied, “and so far I have seen her take very little advantage of it. There is only one man she is interested in and it is you, Sebastian, and well you know it.”
“It appears you are mistaken,” the Duke said. “This is a night for love and Frenchmen are notoriously good at making a young woman’s heart beat more quickly.”
“I am not going to argue with you, Sebastian,” Hugo replied, “but personally I am worried.”
The Duke yawned and drew his watch from his pocket.
“I am not worried, only sleepy,” he announced. “I believe I am getting a little old for this sort of affair. I have always found that young people are notoriously inconsiderate, however, a glass of wine and perhaps a game of cards would be the best way of passing the time until my recalcitrant Ward condescends to find me.”
He walked away as he spoke towards The Palace, leaving Hugo staring after him.
But, as soon as the tall elegant figure had disappeared from the terrace, Hugo began to search the grounds himself. More inquisitive than tactful he intruded on loving couples embracing one another in the arbours and when they started apart, staring at him in consternation, he retreated without a word of apology, peering behind trees and into bushes, looking here, there and everywhere, until at last he must acknowledge defeat.
There was no sign of Amé.
It was then that he went to find Isabella. He had seen her but a short time before, even as the Duke had done and noticed with a heartache that was sheer physical agony that she was not only looking lovely but having apparently a great success.
The number of gallants around her had increased since then. There were five of them now flattering and teasing her, while she held them utterly captive with her loveliness and her wit.
Roughly, because the hurt and jealousy he was experiencing were almost more than he could bear, Hugo walked up to her and put a peremptory hand on her arm, saying,
“I must speak with you.”
Isabella looked up at him with a smile that seemed to Hugo utterly false because it was the same that she had lavished on the other men who surrounded her.
“Hugo!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been? I declare you have neglected me abominably.”
“I must speak with you,” he repeated.
“Is anything wrong?” she enquired.
“Yes,” he answered.
She followed him then without so much as a backward glance at the men who had kept her amused for so long.
“What is it, Hugo?” she enquired when they were out of earshot. “You are behaving very strangely.”
“Something strange has happened,” Hugo replied. “Amé has disappeared.”
“What do you mean?” Isabella asked, then with a little laugh she said, “How ridiculous you are being. She must be with Sebastian. I have not seen him for some time.”
“He has gone to the card room. He believes that she is being courted by some stranger. He is incensed at it, although he will not admit it.”
“But, of course, the child is doing nothing of the sort,” Isabella replied, “I know her better than that. But she must be somewhere about.”
“I have searched everywhere, everywhere, do you understand?”
“Then what can have happened – do you think the Cardinal – ?”
“Hush,” Hugo warned her. “But we
must make enquiries, but where and of whom I don’t know.”
“We can do nothing without Sebastian,” Isabella replied. “Where is he?”
Hugo pointed to the lit windows.
“In there,” he replied and then had to hurry to catch up with Isabella, who had already started across the intervening lawn.
She was breathless when she found him at last playing cards.
The tables were filled with many older guests, the stakes were very high and there were piles of gold Louis glittering before every player. The Duke had just won a considerable sum and his opponent, crimson with rage, although he dared not express it, was demanding another game as Isabella put her hand on the Duke’s shoulder.
“Sebastian, I must speak with you immediately.”
“I regret that I must refuse you, Isabella, this is an inconvenient moment,” the Duke replied. “I am honour-bound to give this gentleman his revenge.”
“Unfortunately he must wait for another occasion,” she replied sharply. “I beg of you, Sebastian, to come outside at once.”
There was something in her insistence and the serious expression on her face which told the Duke that this was no trifling matter. With apologies which were badly received, he left the card table and followed Isabella on to the terrace where Hugo was waiting.
“You are extraordinarily importunate,” he began with a drawl that Hugo recognised as his habitual armour against a betrayal of his feelings.
“Sebastian, don’t you understand what has happened?” Isabella asked him. “Amé has disappeared.”
“I have already discussed that matter with Hugo,” the Duke retorted.
“And, since you have discussed it, he has searched the entire grounds,” Isabella snapped. “The child is not here.”
For a moment there was silence and then the Duke in a different tone, asked,
“Are you absolutely certain of this?”
“I have looked everywhere – everywhere,” Hugo replied.
The Duke’s fingers tightened on his snuffbox until the knuckles showed white.
“You think then – ?” he started.
“It is the Cardinal,” Isabella said. “Of course, it is the Cardinal. He must have discovered just who she is.”
Love Me Forever Page 17