‘I am hungry enough to eat anything, even you, Homard, so beware,' Henri said, beginning to enjoy his adventure very much. 'What is your ordinary?'
‘Today there is a choice of roast mutton, roast veal, or beef a la mode d'ici, m'sieur, but—'
‘And what comes with it?' Henri overrode him.
‘Lentils and bacon, sir, with a salad and cheese to follow, and bread, naturally, and a carafe of red wine - but if I may suggest—'
‘Suggest nothing, I beg you. Your ordinary, please, and at once. The beef, I think.’
‘But of course, sir,' Homard said unhappily, bowed, and went away. Henri looked around him, saw the eyes of other customers hastily withdrawn as his met theirs, heard the conversation gradually start up again as they became used to his presence. I like this place very much, he thought. Why have I wasted my time amongst people I care not a jot for? I doubt whether this ordinary will cost me more than ten sous, and that will make it the cheapest day's entertainment I have ever had. Grandmother would be so pleased! Soon a thin and terrified slavey came and brought his bread and wine, his napkin and knife, and a moment later another woman, whom he took to be Madame Lobster, scuttled shyly out from the kitchen with a flower in a small blue vase for his table. Then came Homard himself with the tray, from which issued wonderful smells. The beef a la mode turned out to be a stew redolent of onions and herbs with delectable little dumplings swimming in it. Henry ate with more appetite than he had felt for months, mopped up the gravy with his bread, savoured the crisp contrast of the salad and the sharp tang of the cheese -goat's cheese, but what else could one expect in such a place - and washed it all down with the harsh and vigorous wine. Delicious, he concluded, clean, uncomplicated tastes, plain surroundings, the cheerful hum of good fellowship all around! In the back of his mind he was perfectly well aware that it was only a passing mood, that tomorrow he would see the shabby place and unsophisticated food in quite another light - but what of that? Tomorrow was another day.
And as he sat back and enjoyed the feeling of fullness and warmth, he noticed the young woman. She sat upon a high stool behind the caisse near the door, a pen in her hand, working away at some ledger or other in the intervals between receiving payment from the customers for their meals. The afternoon sunlight came in through the narrow windows in thin bars, one of which just brushed the top of her head, making her brown hair gleam red-gold like an autumn leaf. She would be a tall girl, he thought, buxom and strongly made, from what he could see of her, but not without some refinement. Her hair was neatly, almost elegantly dressed, and on the nape of her long neck, as she bent her head over her books, the sunlight kissed a fringe of tiny curls into dazzle.
Suddenly she looked up, and straight at Henri, as if she had felt his eyes upon her. She had a broad, highcheekboned face, wide blue eyes, a small straight nose and the most beautiful mouth Henri had ever seen. For a moment she returned his look, and then a faint blush coloured her cheeks and she dropped her eyes to her book again. Yet it was done entirely without coquetry, that was what fascinated Henri. Her first impulse had been to look at him with the frank curiosity of a child, simply wondering what he was like; only the second impulse had reminded her of conventional manners, and her blush as she looked away, Henri felt, was more evidence of annoyance with herself for having been caught out than of maiden modesty. He kept on looking at her, but she did not look up again. He found Homard hovering nearby, and said, 'Thank you, my friend, I have dined excellently. Now, must I pay the young lady there—?'
‘My daughter, sir, Madeleine,' Homard said with simple pride, and at the sound of her name the girl looked up again, and the faintest shadow of a smile touched the lovely mouth. 'She keeps the books, sir, better than I can myself.'
‘You are a fortunate man, M'sieur Homard,' Henri said gravely. Homard beamed.
‘Thank you, M'sieur Ecosse. I hope that you will come again, and honour us with your custom. And that you will bring your friends, too. Thank you, m'sieur. Thank you, m'sieu,' he added warmly, when Henri waved the change away. The old man bowed Henri out with every courtesy, but the daughter would not look up again, and Henri went on his way with the memory of the long white neck bent over the books, the golden curls at the nape of it, and the one, faint smile he had won. Yes, he thought, I will go back some time, but no, Mr Lobster, I will not, assuredly not, be bringing my friends.
*
The afternoon was now pink and gold, like the dress Queen Marie Antoinette had worn to the Opera the night before last. The imagery turned his mind and feet naturally towards his other life. He could go and see Madame de Murphy, and tell her of his little adventure; maybe also, as if it were an amusing anecdote, of his grandmother's censure. Ismène would make him feel all right about it. She was intelligent, sensitive, his good friend. His brief passion for the simple life was over, and he trotted eagerly northward, across the river, and towards the Rue St Anne. Ismène might also have the samples of fabric by now, from which he was to help her choose new furnishings. He had a great talent for that sort of thing, and many of his friends asked his advice when they decorated their rooms.
There were no coaches outside the house, so he went in by the front door, walking through a carpet of dead yellow lime leaves. The liveried footman who opened to him gave a start at the sight of him, and when he inquired for Madame, said, 'Oh, Monsieur le Comte - Madame – that is - I am instructed to bring you to Monsieur immediately you arrive. Would you please come this way?’
Now, what the Devil? Henri thought as he followed the liveried back up the stairs. Diverted from Madame to Monsieur - surely Meurice was not going to become another Brouillard and demand satisfaction for the seduction of Ismène? Thinking rapidly, Henri played over the possible scene, working out what he might say. But it was ridiculous for Meurice to object after all this time. Besides, Henri liked Meurice better than any other man he knew, and Henri was not a man for men on the whole. He would refuse to fight, he decided, and rely on his wit to make Meurice see it all as a joke.
He was shown into the master's drawing room, and Meurice came forward at once to meet him, tall, good-natured, elegant as always, but now wearing a worried frown. Henri was suddenly nervous, reconsidered his approach, thought of reminding Meurice that he himself kept a plump little mistress in lodgings in the Rue Boudreau, behind the Opera.
‘Henri, my friend, they have been looking for you everywhere. Your servant was here twice, and left a message. My dear, prepare yourself. Your grandmother—'
‘What!' Henri cried, startled. Meurice took both his hands and pressed them.
‘A seizure,' he said gravely. 'You must go to her at once. In view of her great age - my friend, will you take a horse of mine? My servant can go with you and fetch it back. Henri, dear friend, I am so sorry.’
The horse was saddled and ready, and Henri took it, and hurried homewards. All he could think was that he had left her in anger, went to bed without kissing her, left that day without saying goodbye to her. For the first time in many, many months he prayed - -give me another chance. Let her recover this time. Duncan let him in when he reached the house, Meurice's servant took the reins of the horse, and Henri ran up the stairs to the bare little room, like a nun's cell, where Aliena slept. A surgeon was there, and the priest from the convent.
‘Thank God you have come,' the priest said, but Henri did not even hear him, thrust past him to the bed. ‘Grandmama !'
‘She sleeps. She does not hear you,' the surgeon said. Henri knelt beside the narrow bed. Aliena lay composed, her hands folded upon her breast. Her face was like white marble, her hair in two long white plaits upon the white pillow, so that she might have been a statue upon a tomb, and though he wanted to take her hand, or kiss her, he found suddenly that he could not touch her, or disturb that quiet integrity. The fine structure of her features showed how beautiful she once had been; in the relaxation of human care, she was beautiful again.
‘Grandmama,' he said again, but quietly. Will she r
ecover?' he asked, and it was the priest who answered.
‘She has had the last rites. She had a second seizure a little while afterwards. She is very old, my son, and very tired. One should not wish her to remain for one's own selfish reasons.'
‘I need her,' he cried out in agony. 'I love her.'
‘Many people loved her,' said the surgeon. 'She was a very great lady.’
Henri looked up, and then started with surprise.
‘I know you,' he said. 'I have seen you at Versailles.'
‘I am one of the royal surgeons. I attended the late Queen and the princesses. I was at the Palais Royale when your servant came looking for you, and came at once to see if there was anything I could do.’
Henri could only nod a thanks. He had grown so used to thinking of Aliena as his property; he had forgotten she had lived at Court, had been the mistress of a King, and had danced many a time with King Louis XV.
‘I knew her many years ago,' the surgeon went on, ‘when she was at St Germain.' He looked around the room. ‘It seems strange to find her here, in these surroundings.’
Then there was silence, until a while later the surgeon went to the bedside and quietly placed his fingers against her throat, and said, 'She is at peace now.’
The priest knelt and began to pray. Henri thought, I should not wish her back, when she must have been so glad to go. But he could not help it. He understood now, for the first time, what it was to be alone.
*
Jemima was as much surprised as pleased when they were asked to join a large party to spend Christmas at Castle Howard, at the invitation of Frederick Howard, fifth Earl of Carlisle.
‘I did not even know you knew him,' she said to Allen, who was trying not to show how pleased he was with the honour, but betrayed it by a quirk of the lips. 'It proves how highly thought of you are.'
‘Oh, one cannot help knowing people when one is involved with Court matters,' he said. 'His father the fourth Earl lived a great deal in Rome, and I met him there when I was at the Court of King James. The present Earl has held a number of minor posts in the Government, and he's something of a protege of Chelmsford's, so of course I've met him in London.'
‘I thought he lived in great retirement,' Jemima said. 'I had heard that the Earl of Carlisle lived at Castle Howard because he could not afford to live anywhere else.'
‘Yes, that was the case,' Allen said. 'He was a great friend of Fox's, and lost a deal of money gambling, and by backing Fox's bills, but I believe he has straightened out his finances now. At any rate, he has become very interested in politics in the past few years, and is aching for some real Government post. I would not be surprised if that was behind this invitation. Having seen me arrive for' private consultations with the King, he may have overestimated my influence.'
‘Well, never mind if he has. I am so excited at the thought of seeing the house. I have heard it talked of for ever. Have you ever seen it?' Jemima asked.
‘Never. But you know that Vanbrugh built Castle Howard at the same time as Shawes, and I remember the Countess saying that there were many features similar, though of course Shawes is tiny in comparison. So you think we should accept the invitation?' he asked innocently. Jemima squeezed his arm.
‘Fool!' she laughed. 'And how very kind to invite Flora too.'
‘Why not?' Allen said easily. 'In a place of that size, one more or less cannot signify. Besides, she is sure to be wanted. The Earl writes plays, you know, so we shall certainly have some theatricals, and Flora, being such a handsome young woman, will be wanted for the heroine, who is duped, abducted, and all but murdered, before being rescued at the last moment by the hero.'
‘Oh, I see. That sort of play,' Jemima said, smiling. 'But what am I about, standing talking to you? I shall need a new gown, two new gowns, and Flora will too. And we will have to powder, and what shall I do about a lady's maid? Allen, talk to me, reassure me! I am so nervous, I cannot think. We shan't know anyone - I shall feel so out of place.'
‘My darling, how can you be made nervous by an invitation from an Earl?' Allen said, amused. 'You were a Countess yourself, don't you remember?’
She stepped up close to him, and put her arms round his neck. 'I remember that I am Lady Morland. That is pride enough for me.' And he put his arms round her, and they wasted some pleasant minutes in blissful silence, before she sped away to tell Flora the news.
*
Jemima, while underestimating her husband's fame in the world of London society, had been in complete ignorance of her own. Ever since Queen Anne had made horse racing popular, it had been the passion and province of the nobility, and from the moment she arrived at Castle Howard, she found people flatteringly eager to be introduced to her, and almost as well-informed as to the names and condition of her horses as she was. She found also that she was not entirely without acquaintance in the company, for besides a number of people to whom she had sold horses, there was her brother-in-law Chelmsford and his wife, and their son Lord Meldon.
‘Now I need only to know that my dress is right,' she said to Allen as they dressed for the first night's dinner, ‘to feel quite at home.'
‘You look beautiful whatever you wear,' Allen said soothingly.
‘That,' remarked Jemima, 'is the most annoying thing a man ever says to his wife, and entirely beside the point.' The servant problem had been overcome by promoting one of the maids, Esther, to lady's maid for Jemima, and bringing Rachel to attend Flora and help Esther with the hair. Allen had the butler, Oxhey, to attend him, and guided him so carefully and subtly through the problems of his new position as valet that Oxhey eventually returned to Morland Place believing he had managed everything through his own natural talent.
When eventually they went down together, Jemima had her nervousness well under control. Flora, behind them, was still young enough, despite her matronly status, to be dressed all in white, which was always finery enough in itself. Jemima had lent her the pearl half-hoop, and Rachel had used it to great effect in the piled-up and powdered hair, along with some white feathers and silk roses. Jemima's gown was of a very dark green, almost sea-green, silk, with silver rosettes and lace, and she wore around her throat the diamond collar, which was enough to give any woman courage. Allen saw as much in her eyes when she turned her head to smile at him, and he pressed her hand against his ribs and murmured, 'What a pity it is that this is the last time we shall be together this evening. I am sure there cannot be another woman present to rival you.’
Wow you may call me beautiful,' she answered the thought rather than the words. 'And you look wonderful too. Most distinguished.'
‘My head feels like an uncooked pudding, and these breeches are so tight I shall lose all feeling below the knee in half an hour,' he said with a comical grimace, 'but if you approve me, it is enough.'
‘I hope they give you someone amusing at dinner,' she said as they passed into the state room, to be absorbed into the glittering crowd and separated.
Jemima was given into the charge of a very handsome young man, who was introduced to her as Lord Calder but who at once claimed a right of acquaintance with an eager and endearing smile.
‘I am James Chetwyn, madam. I knew your son Edward at Eton.'
‘But of course,' Jemima said, returning his handshake heartily. 'Edward has spoken so often of you, and in such glowing terms, that I feel I know you already.'
‘And how is my young friend?' he asked.
‘Very well, progressing with his studies.'
‘Ah yes, he always was a scholar - unlike me, I'm afraid. If I ever had the misfortune to learn anything, I was careful to forget it again by the next day.' Jemima shook her head in mock reproval, but she could see why Edward had been so devoted to this young man. He was charming.
‘You are at Oxford now, I believe, at Baliol?' she asked him as they walked in to dinner. 'The young men of my family go to Christ Church. Are you doing well?'
‘I am doing what one does at Oxford, madam,' h
e said. ‘I am making friends with the right people. Amongst them a young kinsman of yours - Lord Meldon?' He nodded his head to where, on the other side of the immensely long table, Meldon was helping Flora into her seat. Jemima frowned slightly at his attentiveness; she rather wished Flora had not been partnered with young Meldon, though she was not sure why it made her uneasy. She shivered slightly, and Chetwyn was instantly aware of it.
‘You feel the cold, madam? May I send for a shawl for you?'
‘Certainly not,' she said, rousing herself to smile at him. ‘I am not yet so old that I need a shawl.'
‘Certainly not, I protest! And I must say that Castle Howard is the warmest large house I ever was in.' He helped her into her seat, and when the company was all assembled sat down himself and surveyed the innumerable dishes with interest. 'Now you must tell me at once what you like, and I will see you have it. These ducks are nearest - may I carve you a little? The really intolerable thing about parties in large houses is that the food is always cold. My father - the Earl of Aylesbury, madam, as I believe you know - was a great man for society in his youth, and he swears that it is by eating cold food he has kept his health. He never had a hot dish during the Season for fifteen years, he said, and never had a moment's indigestion either. But my father is a great talker. My own belief is that he talked so much he never had time to eat anything, and that is what saved his constitution. What do you think of that, madam?'
‘I think that you talk a great deal yourself,' Jemima said, amused by his chatter. 'And my understanding has always been that those who talk a lot do it to prevent people from finding out something about them. Now what could it be about you?'
‘Your penetration, madam, is devastating. I can see where young Edward got his wit. I owe him a great deal -and you too, Lady Morland. What do you think of my suit?’
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