by William Hunt
For centuries past, the landed estates over which the big house stood had been under the stewardship of the Valans. And if anyone harboured doubts on this matter, the faded legends on the weathered limestone table tombs, that lay in the Hardcourt parish churchyard of St Mary’s, bore ample witness to the Valans’ name. And within the church itself, impressive marble plaque inscriptions further attested to the enduring family incumbency.
Now in his mid-forties, Jeffrey Vernon Valans had many years earlier succeeded the estates following the death of his uncle and with it he took the hereditary Viscountcy title.
The peer himself was a cornerstone of the English land-owning classes. An active member of Upper Parliamentary House, he had commanded the Third Grey dragoons during the American wars and served his country with distinction.
Yet, at the time he was engaged abroad. His beloved wife, Lady Caroline, took a fever and died. Thereafter, a bereft Lord Arlingham returned home from campaigning, to manage his Gloucestershire estates alone and prepare his only son and heir for the time of his succession.
But today was a day of celebration and those so invited now came to extend their best wishes to Rupert on the completion of his seventeenth year.
And a goodly mix it was too. Some of the estates more substantial tenant farmers and their wives were present. Whilst from the neighbouring town of Cheltenham: Major Alan Bullimore (an officer from His Lordships old regiment) was pleased to attend. Even the parish rector the Reverend Abel Rudhall, turned up in his modest gig… to the great amusement of the livery and household staff.
But as the guests arrived, all eyes became focussed on a splendid Landau. Who could this possibly belong to? Such a carriage was a rare sight in the provincial agricultural heartland of Gloucestershire.
Once inside Hardcourt Hall, the answer to their collective curiosity soon became apparent. Upon being cordially received and welcomed by their hosts: Lord Arlingham and Rupert. The guests were further invited to make the acquaintance of personages (clearly foreign), the ilk of which they were totally unfamiliar with.
The local gentry were especially taken aback. Not least by the flamboyant dress of these people – especially the male luminary – resplendently attired in an elegant, brightly patterned brocade silk coat and sporting the most elaborate periwig to boot.
Such a bold appearance stood in marked contrast to the subdued tailored waistcoats and plain rustic coats of the Gloucestershire farming provincials.
And how were the visitors to respond? Furthermore, when it became known that these people were French nobles, some of the guests began to bridle at the prospect of such a meeting.
However, all had been anticipated, and prior to the encounter, those incoming guests were briefed beforehand by an attendant. A formal bow from the gentlemen would suffice and the ladies may refrain from a curtsy and simply nod politely.
In the event, Henri Fontaine the Comte de Moritz, his wife the Comtesse Lisa, and their young daughter Mademoiselle Rosalyn were formally introduced by the hosts. And subsequently, (after the initial surprise) everything ran smoothly.
In fact, things went very well indeed. The Comte and his family were most fluent and learnt in things English. The Comte himself was a particularly charming man, and further disarmed the ladies by elaborately kissing their hands, when making their acquaintance.
Now as the servants distributed wine on sliver trays, the atmosphere became relaxed, and a general buzz of congenial conversation ensued from all sides.
Yet throughout the proceedings, Rupert Valans was keenly aware of a certain party still yet to arrive. In his heart, it was the presence of these latecomers whom he most eagerly wished to see.
Time and again, he averted his gaze through the window overlooking the grounds. At last, he perceived an incoming coach making its way through the front gates. With obvious pleasure, he brought his father’s attention to the latest arrivals.
“The Portlocks are here Papa.”
“And I suppose you wish to greet them, my boy?”
“If it may, please,” Rupert replied in eager anticipation.
“Of course, but don’t forget your other guests,” His Lordship reminded his son. “Return forthwith, sir.”
Rupert needed no second bidding, and as speedily as dignity would permit, made his way through the mansion house and outside onto the stone steps, just as the coach pulled up alongside.
The first person to alight (somewhat stiffly and assisted by a footman) was Squire Jonas Portlock. He was a substantial neighbouring landowner, and a long-time friend of the Valans. After a moment adjusting his attire, he espied his host in waiting.
“Rupert! A very happy birthday to you,” he called out cheerily.
Rupert smiled, “Thank you, Squire Portlock.” The squire took note of the other carriages already lined up and clearly felt an explanation was in order.
“Ah! But please accept my apologies at the lateness of our coming. Unfortunately, we were held up by cattle drives to Gloucester market.”
Now the squire’s wife, Mrs Johanna Portlock duly presented herself and taking a firm hold of her husband’s hand she stepped down from the coach. She promptly directed the footman to retrieve a package from the coach seat. And without further ado, she led the party on toward the waiting young man.
At the top of the steps, Johanna Portlock brushed aside her cape, threw back her hood and held Rupert in a respectful but affectionate embrace.
“Rupert, my dear boy… Seventeen years old today. Ah! If only your mother could see you. How proud she’d be.”
At the time of Lady Caroline’s demise, Johanna Portlock (with whom Lady Caroline was closely attached) played a key role in the supervision and general welfare of the infant Rupert, until Lord Arlingham returned from the America’s. Thereafter, an indelible bond was forged between the two families.
“And see! To mark the happy occasion, we have brought you a gift.” Johanna Portlock bid the footman step forward, so Rupert might view the package. Rupert thanked the squire and his wife for their kindness, but clearly his mind was elsewhere.
“Where is Toby?” Rupert asked with obvious concern. All eyes turned to the coach. Squire Portlock began to huff at his son’s non-appearance.
“I suppose he’s staging a grand entrance for himself,” he remarked impatiently, and raising his voice the squire called out, “Toby! Present yourself. There’s a good fellow.”
Taking his cue Toby Portlock casually appeared from the rear of the coach. He was a good-looking raffish youth. (His looks – he inherited from his mother). Rupert beamed delightedly at the sight of his childhood companion.
Toby grinned and nodded nonchalantly back to his old friend. That was enough. Disregarding all further protocol, Rupert hastily excused himself from company and forthwith descended the stone steps to meet his old friend.
“Come straight in, you two,” Mrs Portlock echoed the concerns of Rupert’s father. Then, leaving the two chums to renew their acquaintance; Jonas and Johanna Portlock (with the gift carrying footman in tow) passed through into Hardcourt Hall.
Not since Christmas half term had Rupert and Toby found themselves alone together. And at this stage of their young lives, six months was a long time. After a brief awkward pause, Toby took the lead.
“Well and how are you, my birthday boy?”
“Oh! Speaking with all the benefits of seventeen years’ accumulated experience, I would say not too badly at all,” Rupert replied. Both laughed, and the ice was broken. Arm in arm, the two ascended the steps.
“And how has ‘Kings’ treated you on your final term?” enquired Rupert returning the compliment.
“Oh! Abominably as always,” said Toby, donning a theatrical scowl.
“Athenian philosophy and Spartan discipline in equal measure.” Rupert chuckled, “I suppose I was fortunate to have a private tutor, but that’s in the past now.”
Toby agreed, “Yes, schoolings almost over. The Greek classics can go hang for al
l I care. We start anew dear friend. The two of us together.”
Rupert’s heart warmed with pleasure at Toby’s last remark. They reached the top of the steps, when Toby’s attention was taken by the Landau.
“I say! Whose is that?”
“Oh! The Comte de Moritz, and his family,” Rupert explained, “They are here by invitation.” Toby nodded as one with prior understanding.
“My guvnor mentioned something about it. Distant relations, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” confirmed Rupert. Toby found this rather amusing, and wryly commented.
“Well, well! The Frenchie’s advance into deepest Gloucestershire no less. Something to do with that Paris malarkey, I’ll warrant?”
Rupert was mildly offended, at these cavalier remarks, and gently rebuked his friend. “That’s most impolite of you, Toby,” but upon catching his friends surprised reaction, he hastily softened his position.
“We were to stay with them on our Grand Tour after all.”
“Hmm! Do you know if this Tour is still on?” Toby asked in a critical manner. Rupert shrugged, “I don’t know, Toby. Nothing is decided yet. Come! Let’s get you introduced.”
“Fraternise might be a more appropriate definition. Don’t you think?” replied the mischievous Toby with a twinkling grin.
Rupert raised his eyes disapprovingly at his friend’s robust and disrespectful mien. And without a further word, Toby Portlock was ushered inside to meet the foreign dignitaries.
With the Portlocks formally introduced, all the guests were now accounted for’ and whilst awaiting the call to dinner, the party mingled sociably enough in the drawing room of Hardcourt Hall.
Which was no hard work as (notwithstanding the Comte’s consummate socialising skills), the company were acquainted well enough.
However, Rupert, mindful of Toby’s earlier comments, felt it politic to bring his friend into the closer orbit of his continental cousins. At first opportunity, he collared Toby for an informal chat with Mlle Rosalyn.
“Toby has taken time out from Kings School Gloucester to attend my birthday party,” Rupert told her by way of conversation.
When Mlle Rosalyn politely enquired if Toby liked it at Kings, Toby roundly declared that he was “Fonder of a hog’s pen,” and he sincerely looked forward to the end of term when he would “pass through its portals for the last time”.
Mile Rosalyn was momentarily taken aback by Toby’s bravado, and then giggled in sympathy. “I also,” she nodded earnestly. “Papa sent me to St Peter’s Convent.” The school was very strict.
However, the Covent refused to take an oath of allegiance to those “Parisian Jacques” – and here she spoke with a pout of contempt. Afterwards, there had been some trouble, and the Convent was forcibly closed.
“Papa sent for a nun from the sisterhood to instruct me at our Chateau… until we could stay no longer,” Mlle Rosalyn was sad to relate. But now in England, what was she to do?
Alas Mlle Rosalyn (who at thirteen years of age) had no idea where or when her schooling would re-commence. As far as she could tell, no Jesuit or indeed Catholic clergy of any order were to be found in Gloucestershire.
Toby pointed out the Reverend Abel Rudhall conversing with one of his gentry’ parishioners, “We have a churchman here today. Might he be of assistance?”
“But he is not of the true Catholic Church!” Mlle Rosalyn replied in a scandalised tone. None of you are." Toby glanced at Rupert with a wide grin.
“It seems we must recant our Protestant folly, old chum.”
Rupert’s diplomacy – now gone awry – was rescued from further discomfort by the timely announcement of his father calling the guests to order. And thereafter, Rupert was beckoned to join him.
Conversation ceased, and the servants quickly replenished wine goblets before withdrawing. An expectant and respectful silence ensued for the speechmaking that was to follow.
Shortly afterwards Lord Arlingham began his address:
“Today we celebrate Rupert my only son’s seventeenth birthday. And on this most happy occasion, our joy is tempered by the poignant reflection that Lady Caroline, my beloved wife and mother of my son, is no longer with us to share this moment.”
At this point, all eyes were irresistibly drawn to the smiling portrait of her Ladyship hung over the marble mantelpiece, elegantly reposed in a white, silken, low-cut gown and wearing a pretty bergère hat.
“But in our hearts, she bides within us… and always will.”
His Lordship paused appreciatively as a murmur of sympathetic noises arose from the audience. And the moment was briefly given over to past remembrance of Lady Caroline.
He continued, “I am further reminded. Indeed I will never forget whilst I and my regiment (and here His Lordship glanced briefly at Major Bullimore) were so engaged in the America’s. The debt of thanks I owe to those here today, who attended Rupert during my absence.”
There could be no doubting the direction of Lord Arlingham’s praise. The longstanding special relationship with the Portlocks was solidly reaffirmed that day.
“Now as he marks another year towards his coming of age, I would be singularly gratified, if you would all join me in a toast to the Honourable Rupert Valans… My beloved son.”
Goblets were raised in unison, and all wished Rupert: “A Happy Birthday.”
But the proceedings were not quite concluded. To everybody’s surprise, Lord Arlingham begged the company’s pardon, but by their leave the Comte de Moritz also wished to say a few words. There being no objections raised, His Lordship duly ushered the Comte forward.
“As you will, Henri.”
Under the watchful eye of the Gloucestershire gentry, the Comte took possession of the floor.
The Comte firstly apologised for delaying the dinner; but on this most auspicious occasion, he felt sure he might be forgiven for taking up a few more moments of their time.
The Comte was brief, and unsurprisingly directed his praise towards his hosts. Without the invaluable assistance of His Lordship (the guests were informed), their passage to “England’s blessed shores” might not have been possible.
And thereafter, he was deeply grateful to his gracious hosts, for granting them sanctuary at Hardcourt Hall.
“But may it please the company, if we take this opportunity of returning the courtesy, so generously bestowed upon us. Honourable Rupert. We celebrate your birthday with a gift from France.”
The Comte clapped his hands twice, and two burly servants appeared carrying a large and cumbersome object draped in a patterned rug.
Amid the growing curiosity of the onlookers, the servants (closely supervised by the Comte) carefully laid the object down on a prepared table space prominently displayed for all to see.
The Comte once more took centre stage and, not wanting in a little theatrical performance himself, slowly began to lift the cover. The company held its breath, and in the suspense that followed… You could have heard a pin drop.
Finally, and with a flourish, the Comte withdrew the rug. Whereupon the guests gave out a collective cry of wonderment at the sight that greeted them.
Encased in a glass dome, and sat upon a miniature chair with dainty hands poised outstretched over a keyboard and a toy dog at its feet, was an exquisitely decorated female manikin doll dressed in the height of French fashion.
It was an automaton.
“Good Lord”. “Upon my word”. Nobody had seen anything like it. Rupert himself was so engrossed at contemplating the beautiful doll that his father had to prompt a response from him.
“Well, my boy, what say you?”
Rupert recovered his composure, and began to express his thanks. Only to be abruptly drawn up short by his father.
“Rupert! Return the courtesy if you please.”
Rupert understood and resumed forthwith:
Comte de Moritz, Comtesse Lisa et Madamoiselle Rosalyn. Je suis profondément honoré de recevoir ce cadeau merveilleux. Je comprends qu
e c’est un automate, une merveille mécanique de notre temps, et je le chérirai toujours. Maintenant, avec la gracieuse permission du comte, puis-je, ainsi que mes chers invités, être divertis par une démonstration du charmant objet qui nous est présenté? Je vous remercie.
At the completion of Rupert’s acceptance speech and amid noises of lauded approval. A spontaneous scattering of applause burst forth from the guests.
The local gentry and their wives were much impressed. And in truth somewhat awe struck by these unexpected developments.
All this was not lost on Lord Arlingham, who gave quiet satisfaction at the auspicious turn of events. Rupert Valans had acquitted himself well in the eyes of all present. Was he not a most worthy heir to the Hardcourt Estates?
But the Comte was even more fulsome in his praise of Rupert’s linguistic skills.
“Bravo Rupert, spoken like a French Noble. No! Better still… A Bourbon… Oui?”
Then he turned his attention to the automaton.
“And in answer to your question. The spring is already wound. We set it in motion by pressing the lever down. So! Voila!”
The Comte stepped back and the doll began to perform.
To the sounds of a delightful musical accompaniment, the doll slowly began to move its hands gently up and down, as though in the act of playing the keyboard. Then to gasps of astonishment, the staring doll sensually and slowly blinked its blue eyes several times at the audience, whilst the music continued unabated. Even the little toy dog looked up at the doll and wagged its tail slowly from side to side.
The whole performance lasted one minute, after which the music ceased and all became motionless inside the glass dome once more.
For a moment, a stunned silence followed. Major Bullimore was first to recover his voice:
“Well, how in deuces name?” He exclaimed in loud bemused tones.
That set off a general hubbub. The Reverend Abel Rudhall could only conjecture that: “The Lord moves in a mysterious way…”
Comtesse Lisa joined her husband and volunteered some background information on the mechanical marvel.
“It was made by the Fromot brothers. They have a workshop in Paris. It took them two years to complete,” she explained to the marvelling audience.
