Zipporah's Daughter (Knave of Hearts) (47 page)

The musicians were already in the gallery and as soon as the meal was over they would play for dancing. Dickon whispered to me that he was going to make the toast now.

He stood up and there was silence.

“My friends,” he said, “you all know what occasion this is, and I want you to drink a toast to our daughter, Claudine, who this day has left her childhood behind her and become that most delectable of beings… a young lady.”

“To Claudine.”

As they raised their glasses I noticed that my mother’s attention had strayed and I realized that something was going on in the hall. Then I distinctly heard the sound of rather shrill raised voices. Was it guests who had arrived late?

One of the servants came in and going to my mother whispered something to her.

She half rose.

Dickon said: “What is it, Lottie?”

There was silence round the table. This was the moment when I should get to my feet and thank them all for their good wishes and propose the toast to our guests which my family would drink. But it was my mother who stood up. “You must excuse me,” she said. “Friends have arrived… from France.”

Dickon went out with her and everyone was looking at each other in amazement. Then Charlot said: “You will excuse me, please.” And he, followed by Louis Charles, left the dining room.

“Friends from France!” said Jonathan. “They must be émigrés.”

“How exciting!” That was from Millicent Pettigrew.

“Those dreadful people,” said someone else. “What will they do next? They say they will kill the Queen.”

They were all talking now. It was an excited buzz. I looked along the table to Sabrina. Her face had changed and she looked like an old woman now. She hated any sort of trouble and no doubt she was thinking of those terrible days when Dickon had been in France and she had suffered agonies of fear for her son. But that was over and Dickon had come back triumphant—as if Dickon could ever do anything else!—and he had brought Lottie home with him. We had reached the happy-ever-after stage, and Sabrina did not want to be reminded of what was happening on the other side of the Channel. We were in our cosy corner, apart from strife; she wanted to wrap her family in a cosy cocoon and keep it safe. Any whisper or suggestion of horror should be shut right away. It was no concern of ours.

Dickon came back into the dining room. He was smiling and I noticed that Sabrina’s anxieties faded away as she looked at him fondly.

He said: “We have visitors. Friends of Lottie’s… from France. They have arrived here on their way to friends in London. They have escaped from France and are in a state of exhaustion. Lottie is arranging beds for them. Come along, Claudine, say your piece.”

I stood up and thanked them all for their good wishes and proposed the toast to our guests. When it was drunk we sat down and the conversation was all about the revolution and how terrible it must be for those aristocrats who went in fear of the mob and had to flee their country.

“So many are getting out,” said Jonathan. “There are émigrés all over Europe.”

“We shall insist that they put the King back on his throne,” said Lady Pettigrew, as though it were as simple a matter as finding the right husband for Millicent.

“That might be rather difficult, considering he has lost his head,” Jonathan pointed out.

“I mean the new one. Isn’t there a little Dauphin… King now, of course.”

“Young, very young,” said Jonathan.

“Young men grow up,” retorted Lady Pettigrew.

“A statement of such undeniable truth that I cannot challenge it,” went on Jonathan.

I felt laughter bubbling up within me in spite of the subject. Jonathan always amused me, and I imagined his being married to Millicent and having a lifetime of verbal fencing with his mother-in-law. Almost immediately I was appalled by the thought of his marrying Millicent. I could not imagine her in a gondola listening to Italian love songs. Nor did I want to think of her in such a situation.

Charlot and Louis Charles did not immediately return. I guessed they were with the new arrivals. It was much later when we were dancing in the hall that they joined the company.

I danced with Jonathan, which was exciting, and I danced with David, which was pleasant, though neither of them danced well. My brother Charlot danced far better. They paid more attention to such matters in France.

I sought out Charlot and asked about the visitors.

He said: “They are in such a sad state. They could not face all those people. So your mother took them into the solarium while fires were lighted in their bedrooms and the warming pans put in the beds. There they were given food and as soon as the rooms were ready they went to bed.”

“Who are they?”

“Monsieur and Madame Lebrun; their son and his wife and the son’s daughter.”

“Quite a party.”

“They have had some hair-raising adventures. They almost did not get away. Do you remember them?”

“Vaguely.”

“They had that big estate not far from Amiens. They had left their
château
some time ago and had been living quietly in the heart of the country with an old servant. But they were discovered and flight became necessary. They have been helped by some. There are a few worthy people left.”

Poor Charlot! He was deeply moved.

The party was over and the guests had left, except those who were staying the night. I lay in my bed, too tired to sleep. It had been an exhilarating evening and everything had worked out as smoothly as my mother had planned—except for the untimely arrival of the Lebruns. And even that had been handled with the utmost discretion.

I had come to a turning point in my life. There would be pressure on me now to make up my mind. David… or Jonathan? What an extraordinary choice for a girl to have to make. I began to wonder how much they loved me. Was it because of who I was, or because it had been expected and was what the family hoped would happen? I had a notion that they had been cleverly manoeuvred towards this situation.

Jonathan undoubtedly wanted to make love to me. But he might have had the same feelings for a milkmaid or any of the servants. It was because of who I was that he wanted marriage.

And David? No, David’s affection was solid. It was for me only, and when he offered marriage it was for the sake of true love.

David… Jonathan! If I were wise it would be David; and yet I had a feeling that I should always hanker for Jonathan. I should have to decide… but not tonight. I was too tired.

I slept late next morning, for my mother had given instructions that I was not to be awakened. When I went downstairs most of the overnight guests had left, and those who had not were on the point of doing so.

I said my farewells and when we stood waving to the departing guests I asked about the French people.

“They are sleeping,” said my mother. “They are quite exhausted. Madeleine and Gaston Lebrun are too old for this sort of thing. How sad at their age to be driven out of their country.”

“Worse still to be driven off the earth.”

She shivered. I knew all this had brought back to her mind that terrifying experience when she herself had come close to death at the hands of the mob. She understood as none of us could—except perhaps Dickon, and he would always be certain that he was going to get the better of whoever attacked him—the horror of what they called the Terror in France.

“We must do all we can to help,” she said. “They have family connections over here north of London and when they are sufficiently rested they will go to them. Dickon is sending a message to them today to tell them that the Lebruns have safely arrived in England and are staying with us for a few days. He will help them make the journey. Perhaps he and I will accompany them to their friends. Poor things, they must feel lost in a strange country. They haven’t much English either. Oh Claudine, I am so sorry for them.”

“So are we all,” I said.

“I know. Charlot is incensed.” She sighed. “He feels so deeply. I don’t think he will ever adjust himself to living here. He is not like you, Claudine.”

“I feel this is… my home.”

She kissed me. “And so do I. I have never been so happy. It is such a pity all this has to happen…”

I slipped my arm through hers and we went into the house.

We were at supper the following night and with us were the younger Monsieur and Madame Lebrun with their daughter Françoise, who was about my age,

They were very grateful for the hospitality they were receiving, and when Dickon said that he and my mother would accompany them to their destination and that they would spend a night in London on the way, they were overwhelmed with relief.

Conversation, rather naturally, was all about their escape and the state of affairs in France; and it was conducted in French, which shut out Sabrina, Jonathan and David somewhat. David could read French quite well but he did get lost in conversation. As for Jonathan I doubted whether he had ever bothered to learn much of the language. Dickon’s French was a good deal better than he allowed it to be thought and he always spoke it with an exaggerated English accent which suggested that he was determined no one should mistake him for a Frenchman. The rest of us, of course, were fluent.

We learned a little of what it was like to exist under the Terror. People such as the Lebruns lived in perpetual fear of it. They could never be sure of their safety from one moment to another. They had lived with a faithful servant who had married a man who had a small farm; and they had pretended to be relations of hers. But they could so easily betray themselves and it was when Monsieur Lebrun had tried to sell a jewelled ornament he had managed to salvage from his possessions that he was suspected and flight became imperative.

They had disguised themselves as labourers, but they were well aware that one gesture, one lapse from the patois they had adopted, could betray them.

My mother had found some clothes for them, which, if they did not fit very well, were better than the stained and tattered garments in which they had arrived.

Madame Lebrun said: “There are so many people who are kind to us. To see the mob… to hear those who have been one’s servants and whom one has treated well… turn against one… is so depressing. But it is such a comfort to learn that the whole world is not like that. There are many in France who help people like us. We shall never forget what we owe to them, for we could never have escaped but for them.”

Charlot leaned forward and said: “You mean… our own people.”

“Most of our kind would help if it were possible,” replied Madame Lebrun. “But we all have to help ourselves. We are all in danger. Yet there are those who have given themselves up to the task of helping such as we are out of the country and remaining there themselves for this purpose when they could escape. There are houses of refuge. You can imagine how dangerous it is. There has to be perpetual watch for the enemy.”

“Their unselfishness is very heartening,” said Charlot vehemently.

“I knew there would be such people,” echoed Louis Charles.

“I wonder what is happening in Aubigné,” said my mother.

“I saw Jeanne Fougère in Evreaux when we passed through.”

We were all alert now. Jeanne Fougère had been Aunt Sophie’s faithful maid and companion—an important person in the household because she had been the only one who could manage Aunt Sophie.

“When was that?” asked my mother eagerly.

“Oh… several months back. We were a long time there. We stayed at one of the houses I spoke of managed by people who help others to escape.”

“Months ago!” echoed my mother. “What did Jeanne say? Did you ask about Sophie—and Armand?”

Madame Lebrun looked at my mother sadly. “She said that Armand had died in the
château.
At least the mob had left him alone. I think she said that the young man who was with him recovered and went off somewhere.”

“And what of Sophie?”

“She was still at the
château
with Jeanne.”

“At the
château
! They didn’t destroy it then?”

“No, apparently not. They took the valuables and furniture and such. Jeanne said it was a shambles. But she had some chickens and there was a cow and they managed to live in a corner of the place. That was how it was then. People did not seem to bother them. Mademoiselle Sophie was an aristocrat, daughter of the Comte d’Aubigné, but she was almost a recluse… badly scarred. In any case they were living at the
château
unmolested. Jeanne was uneasy though. She kept lifting her eyes to the skies and murmuring: ‘How long!’ Perhaps even now the mood has changed. Now the King is dead, it will become worse, they say.”

“Poor Sophie,” said my mother.

The following day the Lebruns departed and, true to his word, Dickon went with them as their guide; naturally my mother went too.

After they had gone the whole mood of the house seemed to have changed. The Lebruns had brought into it a threat of what could happen to disrupt people’s comfortable lives. We had known, of course, what was going on over there, but this brought it home to us forcibly.

I soon discovered what was in Charlot’s mind.

It was naturally at the dinner table that we all gathered together and there the talk as usual turned to France and the plight of those refugees who were left behind.

The guillotine was claiming more and more of them every day. The Queen was in prison. Her turn would soon come.

“And our aunt is there,” said Charlot. “Poor Aunt Sophie! She was always so pathetic. Do you remember her, Claudine, in that hood she used to wear to cover one side of her face?”

I nodded.

“And Jeanne Fougère. She was a bit of a dragon. But what a treasure! What a good woman! She would not let us in very often to see Aunt Sophie.”

“She always liked you to go and see her though, Charlot,” said Louis Charles.

“Well, I do think she had a special fondness for me.”

It was true. Charlot had been a favourite of hers, if she could have been said to have favourites. It was a fact though that she had actually
asked
Charlot to visit her on one or two occasions.