Zipporah's Daughter

by Philippa Carr

  The sound of a bee buzzing at the window caught my attention. I thought how wonderful it was to see living creatures, to look at the blue sky, to hear the gentle lap of the water of the moat against the green earth. All that I had taken for granted until I was confronted by the thought that I should never see or hear them again.

  Tante Berthe said she thought we should all be together. She would bring the men to my bedroom if we would help her. They could both lie on my bed while we waited.

  I nodded and with the help of Sophie and Jeanne we brought the men in.

  They looked very ill.

  I told Armand what was happening. He nodded and said: ‘You should get away. You shouldn’t stay here. Leave us.’

  ‘There is nowhere we can go, Armand,’ I told him. ‘And in any case we wouldn’t leave you.’

  ‘No,’ said Sophie firmly, ‘we should not leave you.’

  Armand became animated then. ‘You must,’ he cried. ‘I have seen the mob. That day in Paris. You have no idea what they are like. They cease to be men and women. They are wild animals … ’

  I said: ‘Armand, we are not going to leave you.’

  ‘You … ’ he insisted. ‘You should go. The servants could stay. They might be safe.’

  ‘Lie back,’ I commanded. ‘Rest while you can. The servants have already gone and we are staying.’

  It was a long afternoon.

  Sophie sat at my feet on a footstool. Jeanne was close to her. I knew that Jeanne would never leave her as long as they both lived.

  I said: ‘Sophie, you have a wonderful friend in Jeanne. Have you ever thought how lucky you are to have her?’

  She nodded.

  ‘She loves you,’ I went on.

  ‘Yes, she loves me. The others … ’

  ‘It is over. They would never have been faithful. Charles wasn’t to me, and Léon Blanchard is only faithful to a cause.’

  ‘They will take us, Lottie … you, Armand and me because of our father.’

  Lisette was listening and she said: ‘And they will take me, but I shall be safe because Léon will not let them hurt me.’

  Sophie flinched and Jeanne whispered: ‘I should never let you be hurt, Mademoiselle Sophie.’

  There was a long silence. We were all listening intently. We must all have been thinking that they might not wait until evening.

  ‘I wish I could go back,’ said Sophie. ‘I’d be different. I would say, I lost so much—’ she touched her face beneath her hood ‘—but it showed me how truly fortunate I was in Jeanne.’

  Jeanne said: ‘Don’t, my precious one. Don’t upset yourself. It’s bad for your face when you cry.’

  We were silent again and I thought: If I could have foreseen … if I could go back … how differently I should act. I could see Sabrina’s face. ‘Don’t go,’ she had said. ‘Wait till Dickon comes back.’ I should have waited for Dickon. He had not really been out of my thoughts although I had tried to prevent his intruding on them. Of what use was it to think of him now? It only meant bitter recriminations against myself for my folly.

  I should have married him. Heaven knew, I had wanted to. I should have taken what I could get. I should have forgotten my doubts … my determination to accept nothing but perfection.

  If I could only turn to him now … if I could shut out my thoughts of the perfidy of Lisette, the unfaithfulness of Charles, of death, if I could forget the wasted years, I would be content. But it was now too late.

  ‘Too late,’ Sophie whispered it. I laid my hand on her shoulder and she leaned against my knee.

  I said: ‘But we know now. I am glad we came to an understanding while there was still time.’

  It would be dark soon. The danger hour was near.

  Lisette left and did not return until the darkness deepened. I gasped when I saw her. She was wearing one of my gowns—one which I had had made some time ago for a ball. It was one of the most elaborate gowns I had ever possessed. The skirt was of plum-coloured velvet and chiffon of a lighter shade; the tightly fitted bodice was studded with pearls. About her neck was the diamond necklace which the Comte had given my mother on their wedding-day and which was now mine.

  ‘Lisette!’ I cried as she entered.

  ‘Are you mad?’ said Tante Berthe.

  Lisette laughed at us. ‘I should have had these things,’ she said. ‘I have as much right to them as Lottie has—more, because I am older. My father treated me badly but now he is dead.’

  ‘Lisette,’ I said, ‘when the mob see you like that what do you think they will do?’

  ‘I will tell them, “Yes, I am an aristocrat but I have always been for the people I have worked with Léon Blanchard. Ask him. He will tell you I speak the truth.” I shall come to no harm then.’

  ‘You foolish girl!’ cried Tante Berthe.

  Lisette shook her head and laughed. She came and stood close to me, her hands on her hips, taunting, and I thought: Her obsession has driven her mad.

  ‘I always wanted this dress,’ she said, ‘and the necklace goes with it so well. It belongs to me now. Everything here belongs to me. It is my right and Léon will see that it is given to me.’

  I turned away from her. I could not bear the look in her eyes. I thought: Truly she is mad.

  They were coming. I could hear the shouts in the distance. I went to the window. There was a strange light out there. It came from the torches they were carrying.

  I heard their chanting voices. ‘Au château! À bas les aristocrats! À la lanterne!’

  I thought of the lifeless body of the merchant hanging from the lamp-post and I felt sick with fear.

  They were coming nearer and nearer.

  Tante Berthe said: ‘The drawbridge will stop them.’

  ‘Not for long,’ I answered.

  We looked at each other fearfully and Lisette glided from the room.

  ‘Where has she gone?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘To take off that finery if she has any sense,’ retorted Tante Berthe.

  I said: ‘I am going to find her. I am going to talk to her.’

  I found her mounting the spiral staircase to the tower. I saw her standing on the battlements. The light from the torches had thrown a fierce glow over the scene for the mob was very close … right at the castle gates.

  She stood there on the battlements. She looked magnificent with the diamonds sparkling at her throat.

  The mob shouted when they saw her.

  ‘Lisette,’ I called. ‘Come down. Come down.’

  She held up her hand and there was silence. She called out to the mob: ‘I am the daughter of the Comte d’Aubigné … an aristocrat by birth.’

  The mob started to shout. ‘À bas les aristocrats. À la lanterne!’

  She shouted above the noise and eventually they were quiet, listening.

  ‘But I have worked for your cause. My friend is Léon Blanchard and he will confirm this. I have worked for you, my friends, against the overlords, against those who caused the price of bread to be so high, against those whose extravagances have impoverished France. I will prove to you that I am your friend. I will let down the drawbridge so that you may enter the castle.’

  There was a roar of applause.

  She dashed past me. I thought of trying to stop her. She would let them in but did it matter? They would not allow the drawbridge to stop them for very long.

  She would save herself at the cost of Sophie’s life and mine. It was the final act of hatred.

  I went back to the room. They were all waiting expectantly. It would not be long now. The mob would soon be storming the castle.

  Jeanne did a strange thing. She untied Sophie’s hood and took it off so that the hideous disfigurement was displayed. ‘Trust me,’ she whispered to Sophie, who had gasped with dismay. ‘I know these people. I think it best. Trust me.’

  I could hear sounds of ribald laughter, the noise of falling furniture. The mob was in the château.

  Lisette had joined us. Her eyes we
re shining with triumph. ‘They have come,’ she said.

  The door burst open. It was a horrific moment—the one for which we had all been waiting. They were here.

  In those terrifying moments I was surprised to recognize among the people who burst into the room three shopkeepers whom I knew slightly—respectable men—not the kind I should have expected to be involved in such an outrage; but mob madness could spring up everywhere.

  Lisette faced them. ‘I am the daughter of the Comte,’ she repeated. ‘I am of aristocratic birth, but I have always worked for you and the revolution.’

  A man was staring at the diamonds at her throat. I thought he was going to snatch them. Then one of the shopkeepers pushed him roughly aside.

  ‘Be careful,’ he growled. There was about him a hint of leadership and I felt a faint touch of relief. I sensed that this man was uneasy … wary, and it occurred to me that he could command a certain respect and perhaps hold the more bloodthirsty of the raiders in check.

  His words certainly had an effect, for the men who had entered the room ignored us for a few seconds and went round the room examining everything. They looked at the men lying on the bed. Both Armand and his companion regarded them with indifference.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked one of the men.

  ‘They are half dead,’ said another.

  Jeanne and Tante Berthe faced them squarely. ‘We are servants here. We are not aristocrats,’ said Tante Berthe. ‘You don’t want us.’

  Jeanne had her arm about Sophie and I saw the men staring at her scarred face.

  One of them took Lisette by the shoulders.

  ‘Take your hands from me,’ said Lisette haughtily.

  ‘Ah, be careful of Madame la Comtesse,’ said one of the men ironically.

  ‘I am the Comte’s daughter,’ said Lisette, ‘but I am with you. I worked with Monsieur Léon Blanchard.’

  ‘They are on our side now it is good to be so,’ said another of the men. ‘It used to be a different story.’

  They started to hustle Lisette out of the room. She turned and pointed to me: ‘That is the acknowledged daughter of the Comte,’ she cried.

  ‘Yes,’ said one of the men. ‘I know her. I’ve seen her with the Comte. Don’t take any notice of her dress. That is put on to deceive us.’

  I realized then that I was still wearing the servant’s dress which I had put on that morning and what a contrast I must make to Lisette in her finery.

  The men were looking at the others in the room. They shrugged their shoulders. Then, dragging Lisette and me with them, they went out of the room.

  What happened afterwards still bewilders me.

  I can remember being dragged through the crowds; I remember the abuse, most of it directed towards Lisette. How foolish she had been to dress up as she had!

  The flare of the torches, the sight of dark menacing eyes, the dirty clenched fists which were brandished close to my face, the painful grip on my arms, the moment when someone spat in my face … they are scenes from a nightmare which would spring up suddenly and carry me back all through my life to that fearful night.

  We were forced into a wagonette which was drawn by a mangy-looking horse.

  And thus we drove through the mob into the town.

  There followed the strangest night I have ever spent. We were driven to the mairie and there hustled out of the cart and taken to a small room on the first floor which looked down on the street.

  We were fortunate in as much as these people were unaware of their power at this time. The revolution which had been rumbling for so long had only just broken out and among those men who carried us to the mairie were some who, a short time before, had been known as respectable citizens of the town … shopkeepers and the like. They were unsure of what reprisals might be taken. They knew that there were risings all over Paris but they must have wondered what would happen to them if the risings were suppressed and the aristocrats were in power again.

  The mob would have taken us to the lamp-post and hanged us right away, but there were several who advised a certain restraint. The Mayor himself was uncertain. For centuries the Aubigné family had been the power in the neighbourhood. It was early days and they could not be sure that that power was broken; they were not yet accustomed to the new order. And the more sober men of the town were very much afraid of retaliation.

  The mob had surrounded the mairie and were demanding that we be brought out. They wanted to see our bodies swinging on the lanternes.

  I wondered what was happening back at the château.

  Were they safe there? Armand and his friend were not recognizable; poor Sophie’s face had probably saved her. This was a revolt against those who had what the mob wanted. Nobody wanted what those sickly men or poor scarred Sophie had. There was nothing to envy in them. It was different with Lisette and me. They did not believe Lisette. She had miscalculated badly, and if she had not been so anxious to prove herself an aristocrat she would have realized what a very dangerous position she was placing herself in.

  There were no chairs in the room, so we lay on the floor.

  ‘I wish that scum would stop shouting,’ said Lisette.

  ‘You have been so stupid,’ I told her. ‘There was no need for it. You could be back at the château now.’

  ‘I am who I am and will bear the consequences for that.’

  ‘Poor Lisette, why do you care so much?’

  ‘Of course I cared. I was one of you. The fact that I wasn’t recognized doesn’t change that. Léon will save me, you see, and there will be those who will have to answer for the way they have treated me.’

  I did not reply. There was nothing to say. Lisette cared more for her birth than she did for her life since she was ready to risk it to convince herself that she was of noble birth.

  I saw clearly then how it had obsessed her, how she had believed it—perhaps forced herself to believe it—all those years. She had let the resentment build up to such an extent that it was beyond everything else. She could not face the fact now that she must know it was not to be true. She had to go on believing … even if it cost her her life.

  The noise outside seemed to have abated a little. I stood up and looked out. I turned away quickly. They were still there, waiting for us to be brought out.

  ‘Lisette,’ I said, ‘tell them the truth. They may believe you. It is madness to go on proclaiming that you are an aristocrat and are proud of it. You are saying you are their enemy. They hate us. Don’t you see? They hate us because we have what they have always wanted. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I see it, but it doesn’t alter anything.’

  ‘I shall never forget the way they looked at Sophie and Armand. True aristocrats … legitimately born aristocrats … not like us, Lisette … the bastards. But they took both of us. Why? Because we are young and healthy, because they envy us. The foundation of this revolution is built on envy. Is its purpose, do you think, to make France a better, happier country? No. It is not that at all. I saw it clearly tonight. It is an attempt by people who have not, to take from those who have those luxuries which they want for themselves. When they have them they will be as selfish and careless of others as the rich have been in the past. It is not a better country that these people are destroying for. It is to turn it round so that those who did not have, now have, and those who had, now have not.’

  Lisette was silent and I went on: ‘Is that not so with you, Lisette? You are a true daughter of the revolution. You were envious. Admit it. You have let envy colour your whole life. You have built up a picture that was based on falsehood from the beginning. I can see how it came about. It was a natural inference. Then you were Charles’s mistress and that was gratifying because he was going to marry Sophie. Did you deliberately leave the flower in his apartment so that she could suspect me? You always liked to create a drama, didn’t you? You must have been very pleased to have been his mistress while he was engaged to Sophie. But when there was a c
hild … ’

  Lisette burst out: ‘He should have married me. I thought he would. I thought he would make the Comte admit that I was his daughter. Why shouldn’t he have done so? You married Charles.’

  ‘I was the Comte’s daughter, Lisette.’

  ‘I was too. I was … I was … ’

  I sighed. It was no use talking to her. She would not let go of her obsession, although she knew in her heart that what I and Tante Berthe had told her was true. She must go on believing; and I could see that belief had been her lifeline. She clung to it. She was not going to let it go. Even in the face of the bloodthirsty mob she stood up and said: ‘I am an aristocrat.’

  Oh, what a foolish woman she was!

  But was I any wiser? I had prevaricated. I had been afraid. I had yearned for Dickon—how far away dear Eversleigh seemed now!—and I had refused to go to him. I had allowed my fears and my suspicions to grow. I had always known that there was none of the saint about Dickon. Far from it. But it was the Dickon he was whom I had wanted; and something perverse within me had refused to let me go to him, to take him for what he was … which is what one must always do with others. One cannot mould them; one loves for what a person is … faults and all, and that was how I had loved Dickon.

  I tried to think of him now. Would he have returned to Eversleigh? What would he have said when he found that I had gone?

  I thanked God that my father had died before this happened. I thanked God, too, that the children were in England, saved from this holocaust.

  The noise had stopped. I went to the window and looked out. I saw him clearly riding through the crowd. Léon Blanchard! I wondered if he was coming to the mairie. Perhaps he would say what was to be done and order them to release Lisette.

  ‘Lisette,’ I cried. ‘Look! It is Léon Blanchard.’

  She was beside me. ‘He has come for me,’ she cried. ‘Léon! Léon!’ she shouted; but he could not hear, nor did he look towards the windows of the mairie.