Zipporah's Daughter

by Philippa Carr

  It was the beginning of July when we had a visitor. Lisette and I were in the garden with the children when one of the maids announced that a gentleman was asking for me.

  ‘He has come a long way, Madame, and particularly asks for you.’

  I rose and followed her.

  And there he was, smiling at me and looking certain of a welcome, making my heart leap about in an uncomfortable fashion and filling me with emotions which were hard to analyse.

  ‘Dickon,’ I cried.

  ‘Well, you look pleased to see me, Lottie. I knew you would be. I had business in Paris and being in France I knew you would never forgive me if I did not come to see you.’

  ‘You should have warned me.’

  ‘No time. It was decided that I should visit Paris so I came without delay. And here I am.’

  ‘Well, come in. They’ll take your horse. You must be hungry.’

  ‘For a sight of you.’

  ‘Please, Dickon,’ I said, ‘while you are here in my husband’s house … ’

  ‘Point understood,’ he said. ‘I’ll promise. My behaviour shall be impeccable.’

  The maid summoned a groom while I took him into the house.

  ‘H’m,’ he said. ‘A fine place. I fancied a glimpse of Aubigné but did not call. I had an idea that your mother would make me less welcome. She has never really been a friend of mine. In any case I want to spend as much time as I can with my delectable Lottie.’

  ‘You promised … ’

  ‘A delicate compliment to a delightful hostess, nothing more.’

  Even as he looked round the hall I saw the speculative look in his eyes. He was assessing the value of everything. He could not help that. That was Dickon.

  I sent one of the maids to see if she could find Charles and meanwhile told them to bring some food and prepare a room.

  ‘You will stay for a few days, I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘I shall certainly do so if invited.’

  ‘As a relation, of course you are.’

  ‘Lottie, you are so beautiful. Do you know, when I am away from you, I forget how beautiful you are. Then it bursts upon me suddenly when I see you and yet I tell myself that I carry an image of you in my heart for ever.’

  ‘Just another example of self-deceit,’ I said lightly.

  Food was brought and I took him into one of the small rooms which led from the hall, and sat with him while he ate. I heard Charles come in and went into the hall.

  ‘Charles,’ I said, ‘we have a visitor. You have heard of Dickon. He had to come to Paris so he has called to see us.’

  The two men seemed to fill the small room. I watched them intently while they took stock of each other.

  Dickon was an inch or so taller and he seemed more blond than ever beside Charles’s darkness. Charles’s manner was faintly hostile. I thought: He is seeing Dickon as the persecutor of colonists … but it was more than that. Dickon was smiling, summing up Charles and being rather pleased by what he saw, which I guessed meant that he was discovering defects.

  In any case they were making up their minds to dislike each other.

  ‘Welcome to Tourville,’ said Charles, but his tone belied his words.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Dickon, speaking French with an exaggerated English accent. ‘It is a great pleasure to be here and meet you. I have heard so much about you from Lottie.’

  ‘I have heard of you too,’ said Charles.

  ‘Sit down, Charles,’ I said, ‘and let Dickon get on with his food. He was very hungry when he came and he has had a long ride.’

  Charles sat down and Dickon went on eating. Charles asked him which way he had come and how he had found Paris.

  ‘In a state of some excitement,’ said Dickon. ‘But then it often is, is it not? They seem to fancy themselves on the brink of war. I had some black looks when certain people discovered my nationality, I was surprised and wondered how I had betrayed myself.’

  ‘It would be fairly obvious,’ said Charles drily.

  ‘Well, to tell the truth, I was hoping so. There is all this chatter. So many of them seem eager to leap into combat. I can’t think why.’

  ‘The French pride themselves on a love of justice.’

  ‘Do they?’ said Dickon, showing surprise and cutting himself a piece of capon. ‘This is delicious, Lottie. I congratulate you on your cook.’

  ‘I am glad you are enjoying it.’ I felt I had to change the subject from that of the war as quickly as possible, so I went on: ‘Tell me, how are my grandmother and Sabrina?’

  They were uneasy days which followed. Dickon had some purpose and I guessed it was that he had no intention of letting me slip out of his life. He had chosen the first opportunity of coming to Tourville. I wondered if it were true that he had business in Paris and thought it might possibly be so as there had been hints of his being concerned in all sorts of affairs. He was in Court circles, Sabrina had proudly told us, and I wondered whether he was concerned in politics. He did not sit in Parliament but there were other posts … perhaps secret ones. I could imagine Dickon enjoying being involved in such adventures.

  Lisette’s comment was that he was an outstandingly attractive man. ‘He has come here to see you, Lottie,’ she said. ‘How lucky you are!’

  ‘I don’t think it is lucky. I don’t want trouble.’

  ‘With Charles? Well, naturally husbands can’t be expected to like overpowering admirers turning up and throwing themselves on their hospitality.’

  ‘Dickon is really a relation of mine.’

  ‘He behaves more like a suitor.’

  ‘You are imagining things.’

  Charles was suspicious of him and of me.

  When we were alone in our bedroom on the first night after Dickon’s arrival, he said: ‘You saw him in England?’

  ‘Of course I saw him. Eversleigh belongs to him and that was where we went. It is where my grandmother lives. Remember I went there because she was ill.’

  ‘Was he there all the time?’

  ‘Most of the time.’

  ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘Oh Charles, I am tired of this catechism. I know no more than you do. He has business in France and came to see me and the children.’

  ‘He hasn’t expressed any great interest in them.’

  ‘He will. He has two fine sons of his own. Parents always want to compare.’

  ‘I don’t like him very much.’

  ‘You don’t know him.’

  ‘He’s arrogant.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you are too.’

  ‘I wouldn’t trust him. What’s he doing here in France?’

  ‘You said that a moment ago. I can only reply, Ask him.’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘All right then.’ I put my arms about his neck. ‘Shall we forget about him now?’

  He kissed me then; he was very possessive that night and I felt his mood had something to do with Dickon.

  There was danger in the air. I supposed that was inevitable with Dickon there. He seemed to generate trouble and had done so all his life. It might have been because he pursued his own way without caring very much what happened to those whom he encountered in achieving it.

  I longed for him to go and yet I wanted him to stay. Every hour that he was in the house seemed fraught with danger and yet at the same time I felt I was living at twice the rate I normally did.

  He went round the estate with Charles and me and made comments which I was sure were very much to the point. If he saw anything to praise—which was rare—he did so; mostly he gave veiled criticism and made comparisons between estate management in France and in England, implying the excellence of the latter. He was knowledgeable and more interested than Charles had ever been; and I realized that all the time he was showing his superiority in every possible way.

  Charles was inclined to lose his temper whereas Dickon remained serenely good-natured, enjoying the situation enormously. He was maddening.

 
He went to the nurseries and admired the children. Both Chariot and Louis-Charles were delighted with him, and he hovered between ignoring them and treating them as grownup individuals, which often seemed to earn the admiration of the young. His size and his overwhelming personality won their respect and even Claudine regarded him soberly when he picked her up, and she tried to pull the buttons from his coat, which indicated that she liked them very much.

  He charmed my parents-in-law and when Amélie and her husband called to spend the day he did the same with them. He was determined to please everyone in the house except Charles.

  Lisette said: ‘I should beware of such a man. He is far too attractive in a wicked way … and they are always the worst.’

  ‘Never fear,’ I replied, ‘I am on my guard.’

  She knew something of him because in the past I used to confide in her. She said: ‘I understand why your mother wanted to keep you away from him. I can also see why you did not want her to succeed.’

  ‘I never knew anyone quite like Dickon,’ I admitted. ‘And I doubt I ever shall’.

  ‘Life with him,’ suggested Lisette dreamily, ‘would be one long adventure. Is he very rich?’

  ‘Very … now, I should imagine. He owns Clavering and Eversleigh and his wife brought him a lot of money.’

  ‘And you think he is satisfied now … financially?’

  ‘I should hope so.’

  ‘He isn’t, I’d be ready to gamble. His sort never are. When he marries again it will be a rich woman.’

  ‘Is that a prophecy?’

  ‘As good as,’ said Lisette.

  ‘Do you realize, I said, ‘that since Dickon has come we talk of little else?’

  ‘What else could be so interesting?’

  ‘I shall be glad when he goes. He is causing trouble here. He does, wherever he goes, my mother used to say.’

  ‘But it is trouble which you can’t help wanting. Come, be honest. You know it will be somewhat dull when he has gone.’

  ‘He irritates Charles so. Sometimes I don’t know how to get through the evening.’

  ‘Dickon is enjoying himself, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘I am sure Charles isn’t.’

  In the evenings they would sit up late playing a card game. They both enjoyed gambling, Charles recklessly, his face flushed, his eyes blazing; Dickon calmly, raising the stakes ridiculously high, never showing the least bit of emotion whether he lost or won; but then he always seemed to win.

  I would go to bed and leave them and when Charles came up pretend to be asleep.

  Charles would be angry. I would hear him banging things about before he came to bed. Sometimes he lay sleepless beside me; at others he would wake me and indulge in a kind of stormy passion which meant that he was thinking of Dickon. He knew of course of Dickon’s feelings for me and that there had been some arrangement between us in my extreme youth. It didn’t help.

  Dickon must go soon.

  There was a good deal of talk about the war.

  I remember that evening well. We were at table with my parents-in-law, Charles, Dickon and I, and Dickon, as he often did, turned the conversation to the war. The attitude of the two of them towards the war was typical of their entire relationship. It was almost a personal war. Charles delighted in the Colonists’ successes, which Dickon dismissed as mere skirmishes. But mostly Dickon would attack the intervention of the French and would become very eloquent in his denunciation of the folly of those who did so.

  That night he sat there, his eyes a brilliant blue as they were when he was excited, his cravat a dazzling white against the blue velvet of his jacket, his strong hands with the gold signet ring on the table before him—calm and still as though to call attention to Charles’s gesticulations.

  He continued on the theme of the war and the folly of French intervention.

  ‘It is beyond understanding. Here is this country … think of it. No one could say it is in robust health. Turgot … Necker … they have made brave attempts to grapple with finances and without very happy results. King Louis inherited disaster. Why, I have heard that his grandfather prophesied that it would come after him. It could come … soon. Your house is crumbling to ruin and instead of setting yourself to rebuild it, you turn your backs on it and rush off to harry your neighbours.’

  ‘The French have always been interested in just causes,’ said Charles. ‘These people overseas—mostly your own Englishmen—are being unfairly taxed. Quite rightly, they revolt and every Frenchman is in sympathy with them, as he must be with those who suffer from such harsh treatment.’

  ‘As I have noticed in France,’ cut in Dickon, smiling blandly. ‘How long is it since we had the Guerre des Farines when one class of people were in revolt against the injustice meted out to them by another? Would it not be better for the French to look first to their own before they worry so nobly about the wrongs of foreigners? Your country is verging on revolt. Can’t you see it coming? Did you know that it takes very little provocation for riots to break out in your towns? It is happening all the time. We don’t hear much about it because it is on a small scale … as yet. But it is there. It is a warning but you don’t see it because your eyes are staring overseas. I would say, “Frenchmen, put your own house in order first!”’

  ‘I can see,’ said Charles maliciously, ‘that you are very uneasy because of the strong feeling here in favour of the oppressed Colonists.’

  ‘Naturally we would rather not have those such as the Marquis de Lafayette raising men and shouting about bringing freedom to the world. At the moment the Comte de Brouillard is raising forces in Angouleme. He speaks in the square most eloquently and the crowd obediently shouts, “Down with the English! To America!”’

  ‘I know it,’ said Charles. ‘I have a mind to join him.’

  ‘Have you, indeed? Then why not, my friend? It is always well to follow one’s inclinations if one feels them strongly enough because if they are brushed aside they return to pester one all one’s days.’

  Charles’s eyes were shining. ‘It is a great cause and my heart is in it.’

  ‘Then you should go.’

  ‘So you would urge me to what you consider an act of folly?’

  ‘I do not urge, and you do not see it as folly. It would be your act, and to you it is the way of chivalry—the strong defending the weak. If I felt as you did I should certainly go.’

  ‘Then why do you not go and fight for your King?’

  ‘I do not feel strongly as you do. I do not speak, as you know, of the rights and wrongs of this stupid war. What I have always stressed is the folly of a country such as France—in dire difficulties financially and, even worse, creaking with social injustice, to meddle in a cause which really does not concern it.’

  ‘And I have said that oppression should be fought wherever it occurs.’

  ‘And I have said that is a noble sentiment, but it is best to begin in your own backyard.’

  ‘You seem to know a great deal about my country.’

  ‘The looker-on often sees that which is not so obvious to those who are involved. Regard me as a looker-on. I hear of the odd riot now and then in the little towns all over the country; I hear the murmurs of the people, class against class. The Queen’s brother, Emperor Joseph, is a wise man. Do you know what he said when he was asked for his opinion of this cause for which you speak so nobly? He said, “I am a royalist by profession.” He meant that it is unwise to question the authority of kings, for when there is a precedent it creates uncertainty for those who come after. You are an aristocrat by profession, yet you talk of liberty … you stress the Tightness of those who take up arms against the monarchy. That is my point.’

  ‘You take a cynical view.’

  ‘I take a realist’s view which until now I thought was something the French always prided themselves in doing.’

  I broke in: ‘I have had enough of this talk of war. You two seem to think of nothing else.’

  Dickon looked at me reproa
chfully. ‘It is a matter of some importance to my country. If we lost it would mean giving up our foothold in North America. But win or lose, it means a great deal more to France.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Charles. ‘I can see the English are beginning to get very worried.’

  ‘Not beginning to,’ retorted Dickon. ‘They have been so from the start. They believed victory would be easier than it is proving to be. They did not realize how difficult it is to carry on a war so far from home.’

  ‘Come. Admit defeat.’

  ‘It is not over yet. There are many Frenchmen who are straining to go to the rescue. As you are, for instance. I can see the appeal. Lafayette, Segur, and this man in Angouleme … they have a point. Adventure … knightly, chivalrous adventure … a journey overseas …You can understand it well. I wonder you don’t take the trip.’

  ‘I would not be averse to it.’

  ‘How amusing if you and I met on opposite sides of the battlefield. A little different, eh … from our fighting our battles across the table.’

  Determinedly I talked about the additions one of our neighbours was planning to make to his house. It was a subject which interested them both and I managed again to turn the conversation from the war. But they were in a strange mood and I noticed that Charles was drinking more heavily than usual.

  When we rose from the table Dickon suggested cards. My parents-in-law were already nodding as they did after a meal in the evening, but they accompanied us into the small salon where there was a card table.

  I sat with the old people while the two men played. At first they played quietly and there was silence in the room. I felt an intense uneasiness which I believed was due to the conversation at the dinner table, though why I should have felt more than usually disturbed I did not know. Dickon had baited Charles no more than usual, but somehow there had been a certain intensity behind his remarks, something which I construed as motive.

  Charles continued to drink a great deal; Dickon took very little, and from his occasional laugh of triumph, I guessed that he was winning. I was not unduly disturbed because I knew that Charles could pay his debts; but there was something about Dickon on that night. His eyes burned with that brilliant blue light which I had noticed in moments of excitement. It had been there in Enderby when he had thought I was on the point of surrender. It was there now. It meant triumph in battle.