Zipporah's Daughter

by Philippa Carr

  ‘The trouble will not be so much in the country as in Paris or Versailles,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it is going to last long. Turgot and Maurepas will know how to deal with these agitators.’

  I pictured the young King and Queen so newly come to the throne confronted by a mob of screaming people. Mobs were terrifying, mindless usually, beyond reasoning, bent on destruction and spurred on by an all-consuming envy … surely the most deadly of the seven deadly sins, for from it were born most of the others.

  My father thought he should go to Versailles; my mother begged him not to; and when I heard that the people were marching on the palace waving pieces of mouldy bread, ferociously demanding that the price of food be drastically cut and threatening to burn down the palace if it were not, I was glad that he had listened to her.

  There was nothing we could do. My father was in a state of gloom. He had seen this coming. He said: ‘What we must do is better the condition of the poor, that is true, but this is not the way. We have to seek out these people who are inciting honest workmen to revolt against their King and Parliament, against law and order. We have to stop them. We are late. We should have done it earlier. The King understands this, I believe, and is genuinely concerned with the plight of his people. But he has to reap the harvest sown by his grandfather. He is the one to blame. My God grant our young King the wit and strength and the courage to carry us through.’

  I was not very well versed in politics. It had never occurred to me that we were so close to disaster, but that became clear enough during those days of the little war.

  The King was courageous; he faced the mob. Some said that his action at Versailles, when the infuriated mob was at his gate, in sending out the Prince de Beauvais into the courtyard to promise to lower the price of bread saved the palace and ended the war. Had they burned the palace, as they had threatened to do, that would have been the signal for the peasants all over the country to rise against those of their countrymen who were better off than they were—starting with the nobility.

  It was a miracle, and discoveries were made which proved my father’s theory. Many in the mob were not peasants; they were far from starving; and the bread which they carried with them when examined proved to have been treated with ashes and other substances to make it appear mouldy. One so-called starving peasant was wounded and taken to a hospital and found to be a servant in the royal household. Some of the people masquerading as women turned out to be men. As more and more evidence came to light it became obvious that there was organization behind the riots.

  When this became startlingly clear the leaders, not wishing to be exposed, slipped away into obscurity and the rioters, with no one to urge them on, grew tired; and afraid that they might be caught and brought to trial, they dispersed. And quiet reigned throughout the land.

  But it was a somewhat uneasy quiet.

  The country settled down so quickly that it was decided that the King’s coronation should go ahead as planned. This was to take place on the eleventh of June and as both my father and mother were travelling to Rheims for the ceremony, I decided that I would return to Tourville and this I did.

  It was about a month after I returned to Tourville when I suspected I might be pregnant. I was delighted and so was Charles when this proved to be the case, and although I resented the early discomforts of my state I was happy at the prospect of another child.

  It took my mind off recent events. Charles was inclined to ignore them; he certainly did not take the same serious view that my father had done.

  ‘They should have brought out the military and dispersed them,’ was his comment. ‘If they did that it would soon put a stop to their nonsense.’

  I thought of the man whom I had seen preaching in the market square and I did not believe that the military would deter him and his kind. I should have liked to hear more about the people who were trying to bring revolution into France but of course none knew who they were, for the success of their plans depended on their remaining anonymous. My father had said that he suspected people in high places. He even mentioned the name of the Prince de Conti. Why should they want to overthrow a regime into which they were so comfortably settled? My father believed that certain men had grievances against others and the prime factor in this discontent would be envy; and in a country like France where there were so many injustices and which had groaned for years under heavy taxation while hearing of the excesses of its rulers—that was enough to set the spark to light the fire.

  However, as the weeks passed and everything seemed to have returned to normal, I forgot about La Guerre des Farines although now and then the memory of that man in the square would come back to me.

  I was in my apartment one day. I remember it well—a hot August day when I was feeling listless and wishing the next few months would pass quickly, when there was a tap on my door.

  I called for whoever was there to enter and a maid came in to say that there was a lady downstairs who was asking for me.

  ‘She has come a long way,’ said the girl. ‘And she has a child with her. She says she knows that you will see her.’

  I went down at once and when I saw who was standing in the hall I gave a cry of joy and ran to her.

  ‘Lisette! You have come at last. I have tired so hard to find you. It is wonderful to see you.’

  ‘I knew you would say that,’ she answered, her lovely blue eyes glowing with affection. I had forgotten how pretty she was. Now she was rather soberly dressed, with her fair hair escaping from the pins which held it, so that it made little curling tendrils on her forehead and neck, and smiling half whimsically, half tenderly, and I could think of only one thing: my friend Lisette had come back to me.

  ‘I had to come,’ she said. ‘I had nowhere to go. I thought you would help me. I couldn’t face Tante Berthe.’

  ‘I’m glad you came. This is your little boy? I heard you had one.’

  She laid her hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looked older than Charlot. ‘Louis Charles,’ she said, ‘take Madame’s hand as you know how.’

  The boy took my hand and kissed it. I thought he was charming.

  ‘There is so much to tell you,’ said Lisette.

  ‘I long to hear it,’ I replied. ‘How have you travelled? Have you come far? Are you hungry?’

  ‘We came on horseback … Louis Charles riding with me. One of the men from my neighbour’s stables brought me here. I have left him in the stables. Perhaps they could give him a bed for the night. He will want to leave in the morning.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ I said.

  ‘I have so much to tell you … but … could I wash first?’

  ‘Certainly, and eat too. I will tell them to prepare a room for you and your son.’

  I called to the servants. Food must be prepared … a room and everything for her comfort; and the groom who had come with her must be lodged and fed.

  I was delighted to have her back with me and could not wait to hear all her news as soon as she had washed and eaten and the boy was sleeping. I took her into one of the smaller rooms of the château where we could be quite alone while she told me her story.

  Hers had not been a happy marriage. She had made a great mistake. When she and Tante Berthe had visited their relative she had been introduced to Farmer Dubois; he had fallen in love with her so completely that she had been quite flattered and in a mad moment had agreed to marry him.

  ‘It was a mistake,’ she said. ‘I could not be a farmer’s wife. It didn’t suit me at all. He adored me …but one gets a little tired of such devotion. I even played with the idea of running away. I thought I’d come to you and throw myself on your mercy.’

  ‘I wish you had,’ I said. ‘Oh, I have missed you so much, Lisette.’

  ‘But you are Madame de Tourville now. You have your beautiful château and your devoted husband.’

  I lifted my shoulders and she studied me intently.

  ‘You are happy?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yes …
yes … quite happy.’

  ‘I am glad. I think the most awful thing a woman can suffer is an unhappy marriage.’

  ‘But at least your Monsieur Dubois adored you. Have you left him, Lisette?’

  ‘I am coming to that. He is dead. That is why I got away.’

  ‘Dead! Oh, Lisette.’

  ‘I know. He was a good man, but I was bored. I wanted to get away … though I didn’t want it to happen this way.’

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Well, I was resigned. I had made my bed as they say, and I must lie on it. I tried to become a farmer’s wife. Lottie. I tried hard but I didn’t do it very well. Still, Jacques did not seem to mind and I had my little boy.’

  ‘He must have been a great consolation.’

  ‘He is indeed. I don’t think I should have had the courage to come here if it had not been for him.’

  ‘My dear Lisette, why? You know I should always be glad to see you.’

  ‘We had so many good times together, didn’t we? Remember the fortune-teller? That was where you first met your husband. I think he fell in love with you on sight. Poor Sophie, what a tragedy! But it made the way clear for you, didn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see it like that. I often think of Sophie.’

  ‘She could have married him.’

  ‘I don’t think she would have been very happy if she had done so. I can only tell myself that it was her choice.’

  ‘At least you are happy.’

  ‘Yes, with the dearest little boy … And Lisette, I am to have another.’

  ‘Lottie! How wonderful. Is your husband pleased?’

  ‘Delighted—and so are my father and mother.’

  ‘That is good news. But I have to talk to you, Lottie. I have to talk very seriously … because I have nowhere to go.’

  ‘Nowhere to go! But you are here. You have come back. How can you say you have nowhere to go?’

  ‘Oh, you are good to me. I knew you would be. All the way here I’ve been telling myself that. But we are destitute … we have lost everything. It was those dreadful people. I don’t suppose here … in this peaceful place … you knew much about that dreadful war.’

  ‘The Guerre des Farines,’ I said. ‘Oh yes, I know very well how frightening that could be. I heard a man preaching … inciting the people to revolt. It was horrible.’

  ‘Horrible to be their victims … to be in the heart of it, Lottie.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I try to shut it out but you can’t shut out memories by shutting your eyes. You see, he was a farmer and he had grain and corn stored in his outhouses. They came …. They pillaged the storehouses … they dragged out the grain. I shall never forget that terrible night, Lottie. The darkness lighted by torches they carried. The shouting … the threats. Jacques ran out to see what they were doing. He tried to stop them. One of them knocked him down. I was at a window with Louis-Charles. I saw him go down and they all fell on him with sticks and rakes and all the implements they had brought with them as weapons. His own workers were doing that … and he had always been good to them. He was a good man, Jacques was. I know he bored me and I longed to escape from him … but he was a good man. They burned down the barns and all that good corn.’

  ‘They are criminals!’ I cried. ‘They are not interested in giving bread to the poor. They have destroyed the corn wherever they could. How can that help a bad harvest? My poor Lisette, what you have suffered!’

  ‘I ran away with Louis-Charles to a neighbour’s house, about half a mile away. I stood at one of their windows throughout that night and when dawn came I could still see the smoke rising from what had been my home. So you see, Lottie, I lost my husband and my home and now I have nothing … nothing at all. I was with my neighbour for a few weeks but I could not stay there. Then I thought of you. I thought, I will go to Lottie. I will throw myself on her mercy. I will ask her if she will give me a roof over my head. I could make myself useful with you. I could be a lady’s maid. I could do something … if only you will let me stay here with my little boy.’

  There were tears in my eyes as I put my arms round her and held her against me.

  ‘Don’t say any more, Lisette. Of course you will stay here. I have tried to find you. Tante Berthe wouldn’t help me. But now you are here, there is nothing else to fear. You have come home.’

  She was so grateful. She said: ‘I knew you would take me in … but there are others …. You have a new family here.’

  ‘They must welcome you as I do, Lisette.’

  ‘You say they must. Can you insist?’

  ‘I could. But it won’t be necessary. Charles is very easygoing. He asked about you once or twice. And my parents-in-law are very kind … kind and quiet. They never interfere. My father-in-law is an invalid and scarcely ever leaves his apartments now. I have a sister-in-law Amélie who will shortly be married. I think they will be ready to welcome you.’

  ‘And if they are not?’

  ‘Then they will see that they must. Don’t worry. It is wonderful that you have come back. We are going to be happy again. There is so much to talk about. It has been a little dull at times.’

  ‘What! With such a husband?’

  ‘He is away now and then. And I have missed you. It will be like the old days.’

  ‘Except that you have become a wife and I am a widow.’

  ‘And we have two dear little boys. I do hope they will be friends.’

  Lisette and I were in the small chamber which led from the hall when Charles returned to the château. We were talking as we had been doing since her return, almost breathlessly chattering, stopping each other with reminders of something that had happened in the past, questioning each other about our lives since our parting.

  Charles stood in the doorway. There were a few seconds of tense silence while he stared at Lisette. She looked at him a little defiantly. Poor Lisette, she is afraid of being turned away, I thought.

  I cried: ‘What do you think has happened? Lisette has come.’

  Lisette smiled hesitantly; ‘You don’t know me,’ she said.

  ‘But I do,’ he replied. ‘You were at the fortune-tellers.’

  ‘You remembered that. You rescued us both.’

  ‘Terrible things have happened to Lisette,’ I put in. ‘Her husband has been killed and her home burned down. It was the mob … the rioters who took his grain.’

  ‘How … shocking!’ said Charles.

  He seemed to have recovered from his surprise and coming into the room sat down and, looking at Lisette, he said: ‘How did you get here?’

  I answered for her. ‘On horseback. She came a long way with just one groom lent to her by her neighbours.’

  Charles nodded. ‘The mob,’ he murmured. ‘The mindless mob. Those who have aroused them have a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Thank Heaven they have quietened down now,’ I said. I added: ‘Lisette has a little boy. He is charming. Such beautiful manners. I am sure Charlot will be pleased when he meets him.’

  Charles repeated: ‘A little boy …’

  ‘He was worn out by the journey,’ I said. ‘He is fast asleep now.’

  Charles talked with us for a while, then he said: ‘I will leave you two to continue. You will have much to tell each other. I will see you later.’ He laid his hand on my arm and pressed it and bowed to Lisette.

  When we were alone Lisette burst out: ‘I don’t think he will want me to stay here.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘He was remembering that I was the housekeeper’s niece.’

  ‘Charles wouldn’t care about that.’

  She was earnest for a moment and looked angry; her mouth looked square as though she could not control it. ‘Oh yes,’ she said quietly. ‘They care very much.’

  ‘No, Lisette, you are mistaken. I never thought of it for a moment. Nor did Sophie … in the old days.’

  She was smiling now, all bitterness gone. ‘I always knew I had a good friend in you, Lottie,’ she said.r />
  We went on talking, but she was changed, wary. Charles’s coming had alarmed her. I thought she was exhausted and should retire early so I took her to her room just as I would an honoured guest. I wanted to make her happy, make her forget all she had gone through. I wanted to see her merry as she had been in the old days.

  I kissed her tenderly when I said goodnight.

  ‘Dear Lisette,’ I said. ‘I want you to understand that you have come home.’ Then I went to the small bed which had been put up temporarily in her room and in which her son was sleeping.

  I gazed at him and said: ‘I am longing to see Charlot’s face when he meets Louis-Charles. That is for tomorrow.’

  Then I went to the room I shared with Charles.

  He was already there and in a thoughtful mood. He was seated in an armchair and as I entered he said: ‘Lottie, come here.’

  I went to him and he seized me and pulled me down until I was sitting across his knees.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘your partner in crime has turned up, it seems.’

  ‘Crime?’ I cried. ‘What crime?’

  ‘The crime of naughty little girls who disobey orders and sneak out of their homes away from their guardians to visit evil procuresses.’

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten that?’

  ‘Forgotten the first moment I saw my love?’

  ‘Charles,’ I said, ‘I believe you are annoyed.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Lisette’s being here.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What will she do? Will you give her some post? I think she would make a good lady’s maid. She would know the latest fashions, and if not, where to discover them.’

  ‘I don’t want her to feel like a servant here, Charles.’

  ‘She is the niece of one.’

  ‘A very superior one. I don’t think Tante Berthe would relish being called a servant.’

  ‘Well, isn’t she the femme de charge at Aubigné?’

  ‘Yes, but she is in a very special position. She is Queen of the Nether Regions and there is strict protocol, I do assure you. People almost have to make appointments to see her. I think that Lisette was always conscious of being not one of us … like Sophie and myself, I mean … while at the same time she was educated with us.’