Amélie was happily married; her husband was a gentle, rather meek man, colourless but extremely kind … rather like Amélie herself. My father-in-law, I imagine, got on better with his son-in-law than he had with his less predictable son. Charles was of a fiery temper; he might be more significant as a person but not always so easy to live with and my parents-in-law, who liked to live in peace, were very happy with present arrangements.
We talked often of Charles. We had heard nothing of him. It was not possible to get news. He was so far away for one thing and how letters could be sent from a country engaged in war I could not imagine.
From time to time we had visitors at Tourville and some of them had returned from America so they were able to give us a little news of what was happening there. One or two of them had been with Charles, so we knew he had arrived safely.
They were earnest young men, those returning warriors. They talked enthusiastically about the struggle for independence.
‘Men should be free to choose who governs them,’ one young man said. He was very young, idealistic, and his pleasant features glowed with enthusiasm.
My father was with us at the time this young man came and years later I was to remember the manner in which he answered him.
‘I believe,’ said my father, ‘that you young men, when you return from America, preach freedom for the oppressed.’
‘That is so, Comte,’ said the young man. ‘There is a wonderful spirit abroad and this war has made it clear. Monarchs and governors have no right to oppress those whom they rule. The oppressed must stand up and fight for their freedom.’
‘And these are doctrines you are preaching here? Is that so?’
‘Assuredly, sir. They are the doctrines of truth and honour.’
‘And the doctrines which are inciting the mobs to riot?’
The blood flamed into my father’s face. I knew he was seeing my mother coming out of the milliner’s shop to face the mob whose fury killed her. It seemed that everything we discussed led to that dangerous subject.
‘We are only telling people that they have rights,’ said the young man.
‘Rights to kill their betters!’ cried my father.
‘No, sir, no, of course not. Rights which should be given them and if they are not … to fight for them as the Colonists are doing.’
I changed the subject hastily. It was what I had to do continually. I liked best to be with my father on our own and if then he talked of the war I could make sure that he was not reminded of the troubles in France.
He thought Charles was a fool to have gone to fight. First he said the quarrel had nothing to do with France; secondly it meant that Frenchmen were coming back with revolutionary ideas; thirdly France was paying heavily for her support of the Colonists … and in more than money, which it could ill afford in any case.
‘He has left his family … all this time. How long is it? It must be over a year now. I wish we had found a better match for you, Lottie.’
‘I am fond of Charles and I think he is of me.’
‘To leave you all this time! To go and fight for a cause which has nothing to do with this country!’
‘He was challenged rather … I think he saw it like that.’
‘Yes,’ mused my father, ‘I would have liked someone higher for you.’
‘He was going to marry Sophie. You approved of that.’
‘Sophie was not the sort to attract important men … as you would. I was glad to make a match for her and the Tourvilles were ready. If only … but then you see you were not born in wedlock, and foolish as these conventions are they have to be considered. It seemed that the Tourville marriage was a very good one for you at the time.’
‘It was, and then I have Charlot and Claudine.’
‘Those dear ones, yes. Lottie, how I should love to have them at Aubigné … always.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘I see you are thinking it is hardly the place for children. But they would change it, Lottie. We should forget Sophie in her tower with dragon Jeanne, and Armand who cares for nothing but his pleasure, and his psalm-singing wife who spends most of her days in prayer instead of bringing babies into the world. And then there is that old misanthrope—myself—who would be a changed man if only he could have his loved ones about him.’
‘One day Charles will come home,’ I said. ‘I must be here when he does.’
So once again we parted and my father went back to his life of mourning and I continued to wait for news of Charles’s return. Occasionally I heard news of the war. It was not yet over. There seemed to be a series of victories and defeats and I gathered the English were not doing well.
Then one day we had a visitor.
I had met the Comte de Saramand when Charles had been making his arrangements to go to America. He had been one of those who had answered the call and he had stayed at the château several times with us.
As soon as I saw him standing in the hall I knew that he had brought news of Charles and a feeling of dread swept over me.
Why was Charles not with him? They had gone together. Surely they would return together. And why had the Comte de Saramand called on me?
There was something about his demeanour which disturbed me. He looked very grave.
‘Welcome, Comte,’ I said. ‘You have news of my husband … ’
The Comte looked at me steadily and said: ‘I have bad news for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Charles … ’ I murmured.
‘He fell at the Battle of Eutaw Springs. I was with him at the end. His last thoughts were of you. He regretted leaving you and said he never should have done so. He wanted me to tell you that he loved you … that you were the only one.’
‘Dead?’ I murmured. ‘Charles … dead.’
‘He gave me this ring which I was to return to you.’
I took the ring. It was the gold ring with the lapis seal which he had always worn. There could be no doubt. Charles was dead.
Although I had come face to face with this possibility, the realization that it had actually come to pass was a great blow and shocked me deeply.
Charles … dead. Buried somewhere in a foreign land. Gone forever.
I mourned for Charles. I shut myself away to consider what his death would mean.
It was so long since I had seen him that I could not pretend the blow was as great as it would have been if he had been snatched away from me when I saw him every day. Life would go on the same at Tourville. Charles had for a long time not been a part of it, but death is shocking however it comes. Death is irrevocable. How many times had I thought during his absence, when he comes back we must discuss this … or plan that. And now … no more.
Chariot scarcely remembered him. Claudine had never really known him. His parents had lost their only son but they had a substitute in their son-in-law and this meant that Amélie and her husband would live permanently at Tourville.
When I broke the news to Chariot, I said: ‘Charlot, your father will never be coming back.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlot, looking up from his painting, ‘does he live in America now?’
‘He was killed in battle,’ I told him.
His eyes were round. ‘Did they shoot him with a gun?’
‘I … I think so,’ I faltered.
‘I wish I had a gun,’ said Chariot, and began to sketch one on the paper before him.
And that was what Charles’s death meant to Chariot.
I cried to myself indignantly: It is your fault, Charles, if you son does not care. You should never have left us.
I felt sad and lonely at night. He would never lie there beside me again. I should never feel his arms about me. But I had been lonely so long that I had grown accustomed to sleeping alone.
‘You should never have left us, Charles,’ I said again and again.
So I did not feel much change at Tourville.
When my father heard the news he came over at once. His first words were: ‘There is nothing to keep you here now.’
> I had to admit it was true.
‘Aubigné should be your home. Do you agree, Lottie?’
I said I should need time to think.’
‘Please, Lottie, come home.’
He, who had once been so proud, who had rarely thought to ask for what he wanted, but merely to take it as his right, was pleading with me.
I knew what it would mean to him if I went. Was it the best thing for the children? Would it be right for me?
He had taken my hand. ‘Lottie,’ he said. ‘Please.’
And I knew that I was going to say yes.
A Tutor Comes
IT WAS SEVERAL MONTHS since we had arrived at Aubigné and it seemed more like home to me than Tourville ever had. The children loved it. I had been rather ashamed at the blithe manner in which Charlot and Claudine said goodbye to their Tourville grandparents, who had always been so kind to them. But the prospect of adventure and new places was irresistible to them and they were guileless enough not to hide this. I am sure the Tourvilles understood and were completely sincere in wishing us all every possible happiness in our new home. Louis-Charles also was excited at the prospect, and as the eldest of the children he had great influence on the others though Charlot certainly had a will of his own.
I had to stifle my emotion when the castle came into view. I had seen it many times, of course, but somehow because of the circumstances it looked different. It seemed as it had on that first time when I had come with my father and did not know then that it was to be my home. It was like a mighty fortress with its corbelled watch-towers and its stone-walled parapets and buttresses proclaimed its strength. I glanced up at what I called in my mind ‘Sophie’s Tower’ and I wondered what life was going to be like at Aubigné.
Lisette was delighted to be going back. She had found life at Tourville excessively dull and she had always had a special feeling for Aubigné.
My father was overjoyed to receive us and he could not take his eyes from the children. I thought, He is happy … at least as happy as he can be without my mother. Armand welcomed us with that brand of nonchalance which could be construed as indifference, but at least he had no objection to our coming. Marie Louise was even more indifferent. My father said derisively: ‘She has her eyes so firmly set on her place in Heaven that she has become unaware that she is still on Earth.’
Sophie kept to her tower and for a long time the children did not know of her existence.
So we settled in and the weeks stretched to months. Strangely enough, bereaved widow that I was—and I still thought nostalgically of Charles and the old days although it was so long since I had known them—I felt more alive at Aubigné than I had at Tourville. Aubigné seemed closer to affairs. My father rarely went to Paris now but he said that when he did I must go with him; and I did believe that since our coming he had begun to take a more lively interest in what was happening in the country.
I had been about two months at Aubigné when Dickon arrived.
My grandmother had died. Dickon said that the death of Zipporah had been the end of her. She had gradually lost what grip she had had on life.
He talked to me more seriously than he ever had before and as he was continually striving to be alone with me these talks were frequent. Once when we were riding he suggested that we tether our horses and sit by the stream, for it was not easy to talk on horseback.
He sat there occasionally picking up a stone and throwing it into the stream.
‘Poor Zipporah,’ he said. ‘That she should meet such an end! She was always such a quiet person. I was very fond of her, you know. Oh, you can look at me sceptically. I know she didn’t like me, but I don’t have to like people just because they like me, do I?’
‘I really believe you think you would have to like almost the whole of the world if you did that.’
He laughed. ‘No … not quite. Zipporah was against me right from the start. It was understandable. I was an impossible child. I hope none of yours turn out as I did. I rather think one of mine—Jonathan—might. We shall have to watch him. Zipporah summed me up in her quiet way and put the black marks against me. Then she did the incredible herself. I don’t think she ever stopped being amazed. But look what it brought her! You … the incomparable Lottie … and then that wonderful romance. It was beautiful to see. A perfect love-story. The passion of youth … the separation, and then the final reunion when they were both older, wiser and capable of realizing what true love meant. It is an example of us all.’
I guessed what he was leading up to and did not want him to say it … yet. I felt very insecure and I doubted his intentions. I believed I would always do that. I told myself that I could never entirely trust him again.
‘They were so happy together,’ I said. ‘So ideally suited. He so worldly, she was innocent. But she was an idealist and I think she made him the man she believed him to be.’
‘It is possible. And to die like that! The victim of fools … for there are many fools in this country.’
‘Aren’t there in all countries?’
‘You are right. But France at this time cannot afford her fools. Can you feel it in the air? It is like the quiet before the storm.’
‘I can feel nothing.’
‘That is because you are not aware of what is going on.’
‘I do live here and you are a visitor.’
‘I travel a little in France and I watch … ’
‘Dickon, your mother said something about fingers in pies. Are you here on a mission?’
‘If I were it would be essentially secret, wouldn’t it, and therefore you would not expect an honourable man to divulge it.’
‘I always thought there was some motive … ’
‘The main motive in my life is to be with you.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
He sighed. ‘How can I make you believe it?’
‘You never could. There is too much behind us. You once talked of marrying me, but you took Eversleigh instead. You married soon afterwards … most suitably.’
‘I made one big mistake. I should have waited for you.’
‘But think what Eversleigh meant to you.’
‘I can only think what you mean to me. Lottie, we have the example of your parents. How wise they were! Think of their idyllic life together.’
‘It would never be like that for us.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we are different. You will tell me that you and my father have a lot in common. But it needs two to make a perfect union and I can assure you that I am not in the least like my mother.’
‘Lottie, come back to me. Marry me. Let’s start where we should have started all those years ago.’
‘I don’t think it would be wise.’
‘Why not?’
‘If I married again I should want something wonderful. I remember seeing my parents together. I have heard my father talk of his marriage to my mother … nothing less would satisfy me. If I cannot have that I prefer to stay as I am, free, independent.’
‘You shall have everything you want.’
‘It’s too late, Dickon.’
‘It’s never too late. You have some feeling for me.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘You feel better for having me around.’
I hesitated. ‘I … I am aware of you.’
‘Very much aware of me. There is a sparkle in your eyes when you see me.’ He turned to me and, putting his arms round me, kissed me. I could not hide the fact that I was moved, that I responded, that I wanted him to go on kissing me; but I kept seeing my mother, hearing her voice, and she was warning me against him. She seemed closer to me now that she was dead.
I pushed him away vehemently. ‘No, Dickon,’ I said. ‘No.’
‘We are both free now,’ he reminded me. ‘Why not? Let’s take it up where we should have done all those years ago.’
I could not deceive myself. I wanted to say Yes. I knew life with Dickon would be a hazardous adventure, bu
t I wanted to embark on it. Yet I could still see my mother warning me as it were from the grave; and so vivid was that image that I could not ignore it.
‘You could find someone very suitable in the circles in which you move,’ I said. ‘London society, is it? Some rich woman?’
‘I have a fair share of worldly goods now, you know.’
‘But you would still like more.’
‘Who can honestly say No to possessions?’
‘Certainly not Dickon.’
‘Well, you would hardly be a penniless parti,’ he said lightly. ‘I am sure your father, who is immensely rich, would not allow that. Then you must have dues to you from Tourville.’
‘I see that in the midst of your devotion you have had time to calculate my worth.’
‘Your worth is above diamonds, which I always considered to be more worthy than rubies. The fact is, Lottie, I love you. I always have. I always knew you were the one for me, ever since I set eyes on the beautiful child with the wilful ways and the passion which matched my own. Do you imagine that your romantic birth did anything to stem my love for you?’
‘No, I don’t think that. The dam was Eversleigh.’
‘Cruel! Cruel and cutting. A man makes one mistake. Is he never to be forgiven for it?’
‘Forgiven, yes. But the mistake—if mistake it was—is not easily forgotten.’
My mood towards him had changed. When he talked about my father’s wealth I remembered how interested he was in the estate, his speculation, his pleasure in it which he had shown when we were riding about it.
If I married again it would not be for my possessions, and although I was sure Dickon’s feeling for me went deep, I knew that he could not help considering every advantage.
He desired me. I was well aware of that. But I had seen with Charles that such desire does not last and when it begins to be less urgent there must be some firm foundation on which to build a love such as that which I had seen between my mother and father.
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