‘She must be - oh, eighty-five or -six by now,' Charles said. 'Astonishing that she has lived so long. Do you realize that when she was born, King James II was still on the throne? How the world has changed in her lifetime!'
‘But you are a long-lived family. Your grandmother was nearing ninety when she died, and your father lived well into his seventies.'
‘Yes. Still, I don't suppose she can last much longer.'
‘I think she feels that herself. She wanted to know whether you will continue the pension after she is gone,' Allen said. Charles looked blank.
‘Should I? I don't know. I inherited the pension from my father and brother, and never much thought about it.'
‘Your father began it so as to support your aunt while she brought up the child!'
‘Yes, the mysterious child! He must be well grown by now,' Charles smiled.
‘He is twenty-seven,' Allen said. 'You could consider him independent. On the other hand, he has no other form of income, and family, as you have said, is a wonderful thing.'
‘Well, the amount is not much, and I have no wish to inflict hardship on him. Does his grandmother leave him anything?'
‘Aliena will leave him the house, which was bought outright for her in the beginning. They have moved, you know, from Clichy to the Rue de St Rustique, on the slopes of Montmartre, within sight and sound of the convent at the summit. She can hear their bells, and makes her devotions by their divisions. It comforts her a little, I think. It was hard for her to give up her orders. She goes up to the convent for Mass, and is a great favourite with the nuns. But she was always loved.' Charles looked at him curiously.
‘I know a little of the story, of course, that Aunt Aliena's daughter produced this child and died doing so, and that the child was carried away to be concealed in France, and Aunt Aliena left her convent to bring him up. But you were a party to it all, you must know a great deal more. Won't you satisfy my curiosity?’
Allen shook his head. 'It would do no one any good for the secret to be known. The arrangement was made so that young Henri could be brought up in obscurity and though I acknowledge that you have the best right to ask questions, I beg you will not.'
‘I knew you would refuse me,' Charles sighed. 'But I love you for it. Well, as to the pension, do you recommend that I continue it? You have seen him - what sort of a man has he made?'
‘He is very handsome, very charming, and popular. He is well liked at Court, speaks sensibly, has the entrée everywhere.' That was the truth; but Allen hesitated, wondering whether to add the rest, that he was a rake, and a gambler, and that the move to the smaller house had been made by Aliena in order to pay off his debts; and the further, unspoken truth, that he was breaking his grandmother's heart. In the end he said cautiously, 'It would ease your aunt's anxiety greatly to know that you would continue the pension to him after her death.’
That was enough for the good-hearted Charles. 'Then I shall do it. Will you write and tell her so? I should wish her to be happy, and after all, the young man is of our blood. One does what one can.'
‘Bless you, Charles,' Allen said.
CHAPTER TWO
In the days of the first King Charles, an ambitious master of Morland Place sent one of his younger sons to the New World, to settle some land along the banks of the Chesapeake in Maryland. Enthusiasm was high in those days, and hopes higher, but the settlers knew too little about conditions in the New World, and as an investment it did not answer. No golden fortune came back across the Atlantic to enrich the master and extend his influence. The son and his wife almost perished from famine and hardship, and though they did survive, communication between York Plantation and Morland Place was thereafter slight.
Charles Morland found his way to York almost by accident. He had been ‘botanizing' in the West Indian islands, but as the summer drew to a close he began to think about getting home. He inquired about boats going northwards to New York, and was directed to the master of a Dutch privateer who was calling at Yorktown.
‘It's on the Chesapeake Bay,' he told Charles, 'and there's plenty of trade between there and New York. You'll get a ship easily.’
At Yorktown Charles grew interested in the new place and decided to stay for a week or so, and in conversation with the landlady of his lodging house he learned of the near proximity of York Plantation.
‘Charles Morland,' she said musingly. 'There was a Charles Morland visited there some years back.'
‘That would have been my father. I remember he wrote once to say he had stayed there.'
‘Well, you'll know all about the family, then,' she said disappointedly. Charles smiled and shook his head.
‘My father was so little at home that I can remember only two conversations with him in the whole of my life.’
The goodwife settled herself in gossiping mode, arms folded and feet spread.
‘Of course, it isn't Morland now, it's de Courcey, on account the Morlands only had daughters, and married into a French family - French and Papist, but you'll likely not mind that?’
Not knowing how she felt about such things, Charles confined his reply to a noncommittal grunt, which seemed to satisfy her.
‘Well, I don't mind it, for I'm broadminded. I get all sorts staying here, you wouldn't believe, and what I say is if they keep themselves to themselves and pay their bills, they can worship a block of wood if they like. The good Lord will sort them all out when the Great Day comes. But they're not well thought of in general, aren't Papists, even in Maryland, though Mr de Courcey is quite a gentleman, and to look at him, when he comes in to Yorktown every month, you'd never know any different.’
Charles wondered whether Papists were supposed to bear some brand or hideous deformity that marked them out as less than human. He made another encouraging murmur, and his landlady said, ‘I suppose you'll be wanting to pay your respects, now you're here?'
‘Well, I think I ought,' Charles said deprecatingly. ‘Family is family, you know, even if the connection is far back.'
‘Oh, they talk about the Morland connection; all the old families talk about England and where they came from. We know the whole story here. I can send a boy up the river with a letter if you want.’
Charles wrote, and the reply came inviting him most cordially to go and stay at York; and so having done a little shopping and attended to some business, Charles boarded the sailing boat that was sent for him, well primed by his hostess in the history of the family in its more sensational aspects.
Philippe de Courcey met the boat at the landing stage, from which well-tended green lawns ran up to the house.
The house was a pleasant surprise to Charles, for though not large, it was distinguished from its neighbours by being built of brick instead of wood. It presented a pleasant, symmetrical aspect, a long building of two storeys, with a white porch and stone chimneys at either end. White jasmine was scrambling energetically over the porch, and in beds all around the house were white rose bushes in full bloom.
‘Welcome, welcome, my dear Cousin Charles Morland,' de Courcey said, seizing Charles's hand in a friendly grip. Philippe was a tall, dark man, appearing taller by virtue of his great slenderness, and darker by his brown skin and blue beard-shadow, but his smile was open and friendly. ‘I hope you will not mind my calling you cousin. We think of ourselves as Morlands, you know, though we have lost the name.'
‘I am honoured, sir,' Charles said, following him along the broad path, while two Negro servants attended to the bags. ‘And delighted to exchange my lodgings for this beautiful house. You must be very proud of it.'
‘It is my second greatest joy,' he said. 'My grandfather, the first de Courcey to live here, built it. Brick, as you can imagine, was very expensive, stone even more so, and there was a great deal of jealousy amongst his neighbours, and some ill-natured inquiry as to where he got the money to afford it.' He smiled, a sudden white flashing in his dark face. ‘We in the family think we know where, but even we do not talk of it. T
hese roses are our particular pride, sir. They are all descendants of the one bush that our ancestor Ambrose Morland brought with him from England in 1642.’
The lawns were as fine as any Charles had seen in England, and he said so, to gratify his host. The setting, too, was beautiful in the sort of artfully natural way that English lords paid Capability Brown large sums of money to achieve. But it was evident that Nature had provided it here for nothing: pretty little creeks, spanned by rustic bridges, knolls and gentle slopes, clumps of tall graceful trees here and there. The less attractive parts of the estate were set at a good distance from the house - the scrawny cattle, the farm buildings, the long-legged fowls and the tough little black pigs, the acres and acres of corn and tobacco, and the wooden dwellings of the slaves that tended them.
Philippe de Courcey was anxious to show Charles the house, of which he was justly proud, though the furnishing presented to Charles the curious appearance of having been assembled almost at random. Many of the pieces were useful but plain local work; others the massive, heavily-carved treasures of earlier ages; and here and there throughout them were scattered what might have been the remains of a pirate's hoard: delicate little French chairs, an English table with intricate inlay, Italian statuary and hangings, Spanish mirrors and boxes. In the chapel, de Courcey displayed the other great treasure of the house, an ivory and rosewood crucifix which had also been brought from England by the first Morland planter.
‘The chapel caused a great deal of hostility of first,' he told Charles. 'My grandfather built it at the time when England was busy ejecting James II from the throne, and there were several anti-Catholic riots. The chapel windows were broken again and again, and "No Popery" was daubed on the walls with pitch. But these things die away, given time. Catholicism is frowned upon, but we are left alone, and no one suspects us of drinking the blood of murdered infants any more.’
Again the flashing white smile, and then de Courcey said, 'But my dear cousin, here I am boring you with a display of my meagre treasures and you are probably fatigued from your journey and longing for some refreshment. We shall dine in—' he drew a beautiful little gold watch from his pocket and studied it, 'in an hour, but perhaps you would like to take some wine in the meantime?’
Charles, though not in the least fatigued, consented, and was soon established in the drawing room with a passable claret in a fine Italian cup, his eye roving round the strange collection of worthless and valuable. De Courcey, having seen him comfortable, settled himself on the sofa opposite and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
‘I was wondering how you managed to acquire pieces from so many different parts of the world,' Charles said. ‘You must have very good trade here on the Chesapeake.'
‘We do, as good as anywhere in America, but in fact most of these pieces were brought here by my grandfather. I had better tell you the story. Our common ancestors, who came here from England, left behind them only one daughter, who inherited the original York Plantation. Before they died, they arranged her marriage to a neighbouring planter, Noel Chanter, and the addition of his land made York one of the best properties on the bay.
‘But the Chanters had no son, only three daughters, Maria, Louisa, and Philippa. Philippa was much younger than her sisters, and was only a child when her parents died, so it was left to the elder girls to bring her up. This they did, and between caring for her and running the plantation, they never had time to marry. Then one day my grandfather, Gaston de Courcey, arrived. He was the younger son of a rich sugar planter from Martinique, and, being the younger son and having no inheritance to look forward to, he had to make his own way in the world. He had become quite an adventurer. He had a ship of his own, and traded in this and that, and was known to be very rich - rich, moreover, in gold, which was then, and is still, a rare commodity in America. I'm afraid,' the white smile was apologetic, 'that many people said he was no better than a pirate.
‘At all events, he heard about the beautiful - and unguarded - Chanter sisters, and managed somehow to make their acquaintance, broke the hearts of the elder two, and ran away with the youngest. I believe he truly loved her. At all events, he would not be parted from her. For ten years she sailed with him, living on shipboard and sharing all hazards, until finally ill health drove him to seek reconciliation with the sisters. They returned to York with an infant son - my father - and a hoard of gold and furniture and other valuables, made their peace and settled down. My grandfather built this house for my grandmother, and died very soon after it was finished. I fear, you see, that it may have been pirate's gold that bought the bricks.’
It's a wonderful story,' said Charles, not at all minding that he had heard it already from his landlady, though in a spicier form. 'And the house is a wonderful monument to it.'
‘Thank you. I wish its future did not hang by so slender a thread, however. I have but one daughter to leave everything to, my wife being dead. That's her picture, over the fireplace. Beside her is my sister Eugenie. Both died of the swamp fever thirteen years ago.'
‘Your sister was very beautiful,' Charles said. De Courcey nodded.
‘She was only twenty-five, poor child. She was much younger than me, all the children born between us having died; York has not been a lucky house. I named my daughter after her.' He smiled, and added, 'She is my first greatest treasure, you see. Or rather, you will see. She is resting upstairs but she will be down for dinner very soon.’
Only moments later the door opened, and Eugenie-Francoise de Courcey came in. The two men stood, and Charles was introduced, bowed over her hand, looked into her eyes, and was lost. She was all in white - white lace over white silk, and white roses in her hair - a fit setting for her ephemeral beauty. She seemed to move as though drifting a little above the ground, her face as serene as an angel's, her gestures languid, as though she moved in an element apart from the common air. Her skin was transparently white, her glossy curls black, her features perfect, her eyes grey as rain, fringed with dark lashes.
Charles was no fool. He was twenty-two, he had travelled the world and known women in many different countries. He could guess how much artifice went into the creation of an appearance of such simplicity, how much practice was needed before a woman could move with that natural grace, but it made no difference. She looked up at him gravely as he took her hand, and her lips moved a little, as if she was not sure whether it would be proper to smile, and his senses were ravished, his heart taken as neatly as a snared bird.
*
At Morland Place, that October of 1773 was unexpectedly warm and sunny, and the family were enjoying it by taking a long, leisurely Sunday walk about the gardens. Jemima, her hand tucked through Allen's arm, was savouring the bliss of having him back again. He was talking about Paris and Versailles, mostly for the benefit of Charlotte, who hopped about at his side asking questions; for Jemima it was enough that he was there, and while she felt the sound of his voice on her skin, she cared little what he talked about. William had drooped in the sunshine, and had been sent to sit in the shade, where Mary, with unexpected kindness, had joined him in exile and was telling him a long, involved story that required a great deal of gesticulation. Behind her, Jemima could hear Edward telling little James about school; ahead Flora walked on Cousin Thomas's arm, her enchanting little face tilted up to his in rapt attention, like a bird drinking from a flower. Jemima strained her attention for a moment to hear what Thomas was telling her that was so enthralling.
‘They're doing away with the old beakhead now, and Ariadne's to have a hull all in one piece. You can't conceive how it's been argued about, but to my mind there's no question that the new design is better, and in a few years they won't build ships any other way.' Flora nodded agreement, as if she had come to the same conclusion herself. Encouraged, Thomas went on. 'She can carry more sails on her bowsprit this way, and with headsails and staysails, and with her bottom coppered, there won't be a ship of her class she can't outrun - and she'll hold the wind better, and come round
in half the time, which is most important.'
‘Most important,' Flora echoed, having only the vaguest idea of what he was talking about, but loving every word of it. ‘But can you be comfortable in your ship? Do you have your own room? And how does your cook dress your food? I suppose you must eat your meat cold when you are away from the shore?’
Faced with such enchanting ignorance, Thomas drew her closer and set to with a will to tackle it, and their steps soon took them out of earshot. Charlotte had just dashed off to tell William what Father had been saying, and Jemima took the chance to say to Allen, 'What do you think of a match between those two? I think Flora is determined upon it. She makes herself a little obvious. I do hope he will be kind to her.'
‘Yes, I saw that he was under fire,' Allen said. ‘But don't worry. He is an open-hearted young man, and just back from two years at sea with no female company. That will do his business for him, if her sweet face and pretty ways do not. I suspect he will propose to her before the Ariadne sails.'
‘You would approve, then?' Jemima asked.
‘I think it quite suitable. He is an energetic young officer, and doing well in his career. She will have a little money from her father's estate, and they are equal as far as rank is concerned. And though he is some years older than her - well,' with a smile, 'you and I have not minded the discrepancy.’
The young couple turned at the end of the walk and came back towards them.
‘From the expression of Flora's face, you would think he was proposing to her this very minute,' Jemima said. A moment later Thomas's voice became audible again.
‘And I' must tell you,' he was saying to his eager audience, 'what an interesting thing they are doing with the lateen on the mizzenmast.'
*
William seemed definitely ailing that evening, low and uncomfortable and admitting to a headache, and Alison, the nursery maid, called Jemima up to the nursery for a conference, shook her head and sucked her teeth and finally pronounced that she thought he was sickening for something.
The Flood-Tide Page 3
