So there were many times when I felt weak and ready to respond to his invitation. It was only because of who I was that he did not hustle me into a physical relationship. He could not treat his new stepmother’s daughter as he would some friend in London or any of the servants in our or other households. Even he would not dare to do that. My mother would have been furious and she would have made sure that Dickon was too; and Jonathan, bold as he was, would not wish to incur his father’s wrath.
Right up to the time of my seventeenth birthday we played our tantalising game. I used to dream about Jonathan—that he came to my room and into my bed. I even locked my door when the dream became too vivid. I always took great care never to meet his eyes when he practised little familiarities, the meaning of which I was fully aware. When he went to London I used to imagine his visits to his mistress, and I would feel angry and frustrated and jealous, until David soothed me with his interesting discoveries of the past. Then I could forget Jonathan in just the same way as I forgot David when I was with his intriguing brother.
It is all very well to play these games when one is growing up to sixteen, but when one has reached the mature age of seventeen—which is a time when many girls are considered to be ready for marriage—it is a different matter.
I became aware that my mother—and I suppose Dickon, too—would like me to marry either David or Jonathan. I was sure that my mother would prefer David because he was quiet and serious and his fidelity could be relied on. Dickon regarded David as a “dull dog,” and I imagine he thought that a lively girl such as I was, would have a more exciting time with Jonathan. However, he would certainly give his blessing to either match—and so would my mother.
It would keep me with them, and my mother—to whom the only fly in her marriage ointment was that fertility was lacking—would have grandchildren under her roof.
“In a few weeks you will be seventeen,” said my mother, eyeing me with a sort of wonder, as though for a girl to reach that age was a feat of extreme cleverness. “I can’t believe it. Seventeen years ago…” Her eyes clouded as they always did when she thought of those years in France. She did often, I knew. It was impossible not to. We were always hearing of the terrible things which were happening over there, how the King and Queen were now the prisoners of the new regime, and of the terrible humiliations to which they were submitted. Then there was the bloodshed—the guillotine with its horrible basket into which the severed heads of aristocrats dropped with appalling regularity.
She, too, often thought of poor Aunt Sophie and Armand, and wondered what had become of them. The subject would now and then be raised at the table, and Dickon would wax fierce about it, and there were often arguments between him and Charlot in which Louis Charles joined. Charlot was a problem. He was becoming a man and had to decide what he was to do with his life. Dickon was for sending him to the other estate at Clavering—and Louis Charles with him. That, Dickon thought, would get them both out of the way. But Charlot declared that he did not intend to manage an English country estate. He had been brought up in the belief that he was to have charge of Aubigné.
“The principle of management is the same,” Dickon reminded him.
“Mon cher Monsieur.” Charlot often introduced French phrases into his conversation, particularly when he was talking to Dickon. “There is much difference between a great French castle and a little English country estate.”
“Indeed yes,” said Dickon. “One is a ruin… overrun by rabble; the other is in perfect working order.”
My mother, as she always did, interposed between her husband and her son. It was only because he knew that these altercations distressed her that Dickon did not carry on the battle.
“Seventeen,” she went on now. “We must have a real celebration. Shall we have a dance and invite the neighbours, or would you like just a dinner party with a few selected friends? Then we might arrange for a trip to London. We could go to the theatre and do some shopping…”
I said certainly that appealed to me more than the dance and the neighbours.
Then she was serious. “Claudine, have you ever thought about… marriage?”
“I suppose most people give it a thought now and then.”
“I mean seriously.”
“How can one unless one is asked?”
She frowned. “There are two, I believe, who would be ready to ask you,” she went on. “In fact I think they are waiting for the all-important birthday. You know who I mean, and I know you are fond of both of them. Dickon and I have talked of it. It is something we should be very happy about. There is something unusual about twins. We had twins in the family some years ago—Bersaba and Angelet—and do you know, eventually they each married the same man… Angelet first, and after her death, Bersaba married him. That was before the family were at Eversleigh. It was Bersaba’s daughter Arabella who married into the Eversleigh family—that was at the time of the Civil War and the Restoration. So you see it goes back a long way. But why am I telling you this? Oh… twins. Although they are so different—as Bersaba and Angelet were by all accounts—they both fell in love with the same man. I think it is rather like David and Jonathan.”
“You mean they are both in love… with me?”
“I’m sure of it, and so is Dickon. You are attractive, you know, Claudine.”
“Oh, I am not beautiful like you, Maman.”
“You are very attractive, and it is obvious that you will soon be called on to make a choice. Claudine, tell me, which is it to be?”
“Isn’t it rather unseemly to choose between two men when one has not had a proposal from either?”
“It is only for my ears, Claudine.”
“Dear Maman, I hadn’t thought…”
“But you have thought of them.”
“Well—in a way…”
“David loves you steadily… wholeheartedly. He would be a very good husband, Claudine.”
“You mean that if I were asked by both of them you would prefer me to take David?”
“I would accept your choice. It is your decision, dearest child. They are so different. It is a situation fraught with difficulties, for whichever one you choose, the other will still be there. It worries me quite a lot, Claudine. Dickon laughs at me. He has his own ideas of these matters and I don’t always agree with him.” She smiled reminiscently. “In fact,” she went on, “I hardly ever agree with him.” She made disagreement sound like the ideal state. “I am concerned though. I wish it could have been different. But, Claudine… I am so selfish. I don’t want you to go away.”
I put my arms round her and held her close to me.
“There was always something rather special between us, wasn’t there?” she said. “You came when I was a little disillusioned with marriage. Oh, I loved your father and we had some wonderful times together, but he was never faithful to me. To him that was the natural way of life. I suppose I had been brought up differently. My mother was so English. You were such a comfort to me, my little Claudine. I want you to make the right choice. You are so young. Talk to me. Tell me. Let me share your thoughts.”
I was bewildered. Certainly I hadn’t thought of having to make a choice. But I could see what she meant: the growing seriousness of David and his obvious delight in my company against the impatient gestures of Jonathan. Yes, I could see that the time of indecision was coming to an end.
I was glad my mother had prepared me for this.
I said to her: “I don’t want to choose. I want everything to go on as it is. I like it this way. I love being with David. It is exciting to listen to him. I have never heard anyone talk as he does. Oh, I know he is rather silent in company, but when we are alone…”
She smiled at me lovingly and said: “He is a good young man. He is the best of young men…”
And that seemed significant. But I could not bring myself to talk to her of the emotions which Jonathan aroused in me.
I was to have a new dress for the party, and Molly Blackett, the
sewing woman, who lived in one of the cottages on the estate, came to make it for me.
She cooed over the yards of white satin and blue silk which were to make up the dress. I was to have paniers of blue which would part to show a white satin petticoat; and the bodice was to be decorated with tiny white and blue flowers embroidered in silks; the sleeves stopped short at the elbow, from which flowed cascades of fine white lace. It was a style which had been introduced by Marie Antoinette, and when I saw it I could not help thinking of her in her prison waiting—and no doubt longing—for death; and this dampened my pleasure in the dress.
Molly Blackett made me stand for what seemed a very long period while she knelt at my feet with a black pincushion beside her into which she would jab the pins with a ferocious joy when she discarded them.
She chattered all the while about how beautiful I was going to look in my dress. “The white is so suitable for a young girl and the blue will match your eyes.”
“They aren’t that shade at all. They’re dark blue.”
“Ah, that’s the point, Miss Claudine. The colours will make your eyes look a darker blue… in contrast, you see. Oh, these colours are just right for you. My word, time passes. I remember when you first came. It seems like yesterday.”
“It is three years ago.”
“Three years! And your dear mother now with us. My mother remembers her well. She sewed for her mother. That was before she went away to France… and after that she sewed for the first Mrs. Frenshaw. Things have changed now.”
I was standing there only half listening. She had taken off the bodice, having rearranged the set of the sleeves, which had not pleased her, so I was left with the skirt about my waist and nothing but the shift at the top.
She laid the bodice on the table and was saying: “I’ll have this right in a jiffy. Sleeves is so important, Miss Claudine. I’ve known a badly set sleeve ruin a dress, however handsome the rest of it…” when the door opened. I gave a little gasp because Jonathan was standing there.
He did not look at me but said: “Oh, Molly, the mistress wants to see you at once. It’s urgent. She’s in the library.”
“Oh, Mr. Jonathan,” she turned flustered to me; she looked back at the table. “I’ll just—er—see to Miss Claudine…”
“The mistress said immediately, Molly. I think it is important.”
She nodded nervously and with a little giggle ran from the room. Jonathan turned to me and the blue flames were in his eyes as they swept over me.
“Charming,” he said. “Very charming. All glory below and sweet simplicity above.”
“You’ve delivered your message,” I said. “Now you’d better go.”
“What?” he cried indignantly. “You’d ask me to go now?”
He put his hands on my shoulders and bending his head swiftly kissed my neck.
“No,” I said firmly.
He just laughed and pulling my shift down over my shoulder put his lips against my skin. I gasped and he lifted his head to look at me mockingly.
“You see,” he said, “the top does not suit the skirt, does it?”
I felt exposed, unprotected; my heart was beating so fiercely that in my state of undress he must be aware of it.
“Go away,” I cried. “How dare you… come in here… when… when…”
“Claudine,” he said. “Little Claudine… I was passing. I peeped in and saw dear old Molly with her pins, and you there in a certain degree of nudity… and I had to come and tell you how charming you looked.”
I tried to pull my shift back into place but he would not release it, and I could not escape from his hands or his lips.
It was wildly exciting. It was like one of those fantasies during which I had pictured his coming into my bedroom. It was over very quickly, for I heard Molly Blackett coming back. She burst into the room just as Jonathan had slipped my shift back onto my shoulders.
Her face was flushed. “The mistress was not in the library,” she said.
“Was she not?” Jonathan turned to her, smiling easily. “I expect she had to go away. I’ll find her, and if she still wants you, I’ll let you know.”
With that he bowed to us both ironically and went out.
“Well, I never,” said Molly Blackett. “The impudence. He had no right to come in here. I don’t believe the mistress wanted me urgently.”
“No,” I said. “He had no right.”
Her head shook and her lips twitched. “Mr. Jonathan and his tricks…” she murmured.
But I noticed later that she glanced at me speculatively and I wondered whether she thought I had encouraged him.
That scene in the sewing room affected me deeply. I could not get it out of my mind. I avoided him for all the rest of that day, and an hour or so before dinner I went into the library to talk to David. He was excited about some Roman remains which had been uncovered along the coast and he wanted to go down to see them at the end of the week.
“Would you like to come with me?” he asked. “I know you’d be interested.”
I said enthusiastically that I would.
“They could be important. You know we are not far from the spot where Julius Caesar landed and the Romans seem to have left quite a lot of evidence of their residence. They used this area for fuelling their ships. The remains of a villa have been unearthed and there are some very well-preserved tiles. I must say I am greatly looking forward to seeing it.”
He had blue eyes and when they sparkled they looked remarkably like Jonathan’s.
I questioned him about the discovery and he brought down books to show me what had been found in the past.
“It must be a most satisfying profession,” he said a little wistfully. “Imagine the satisfaction when great discoveries are made.”
“Imagine the frustration when after months and perhaps years of work, they find nothing and learn that they have been searching for something which is not there!”
He laughed. “You’re a realist, Claudine. I always knew that. Is it the French in you?”
“Perhaps. But I seem to be getting more and more English every day.”
“I’d agree with that… and when you marry you will be English.”
“If I marry an Englishman. But my origins will be unaffected. I have never understood why a woman should take her husband’s nationality. Why shouldn’t a husband take his wife’s?”
He pondered that seriously. That was one of David’s characteristics which I found so comforting; he always gave consideration to my ideas. I suppose that living in a household dominated by men, I had become aware of a certain patronage—certainly from my brother, Charlot, and Louis Charles followed him in all things. While Jonathan, although showing a great interest in me, made me feel that I was entirely female and therefore to be subdued by the male.
That was why being with David was so refreshing.
He went on: “I suppose there has to be some ruling about this. For instance, there would be some confusion if a wife did not take her husband’s name. What name should the children be given if she did not? When you look at it that way there is some reason in it.”
“And to preserve the myth that women are the weaker sex.”
He smiled at me. “I never thought that.”
“Well, David, you are different. You don’t accept every argument that is put before you. It has to be logical. That is why it is so reassuring to be with you in this community of men.”
“I’m so glad you feel like that, Claudine,” he said earnestly. “It’s been so interesting since you came. I remember your arriving with your mother and I have to say that I did not realize in the beginning what a difference it would make—but I soon did. I began to see that you were different… different from all the other girls whom I had ever met.”
He hesitated and seemed as though he were making up his mind. After a while he continued: “I am afraid it is very wrong of me, but sometimes I am glad of everything that has happened simply because… it has made Eversle
igh your home.”
“You mean the revolution—?”
He nodded. “Sometimes I think of it at night when I’m alone. The terrible things that are happening over there to people you have lived amongst… and the thought is always there… Yes, but it brought Claudine here.”
“I daresay I should have come at some time. My mother would certainly have married Dickon sooner or later. I think she only hesitated while my grandfather lived, and when she married Dickon I would naturally have come here with her.”
“Who knows? But here you are and sometimes I think that is all that matters.”
“You flatter me, David.”
“I never flatter… at least not consciously. I mean it, Claudine.” He was silent for a few seconds; then he went on: “Your birthday will soon be here. You’ll be seventeen.”
“It seems a sort of milestone.”
“Isn’t every birthday?”
“But seventeen! Stepping from childhood into maturity. A very special milestone, that one.”
“I always thought you were wiser than your years.”
“What a nice thing to say! Sometimes I feel quite foolish.”
“Everybody does.”
“Everybody? Dickon? Jonathan? I don’t think they ever felt foolish in all their lives. It must be gratifying to know that you are always right.”
“Not unless it is universally agreed that you are.”
“What do they care for universal opinions? It is only their own that count with them. Always to be right in one’s own eyes does give one a tremendous panache, don’t you think?”
“I’d rather face the truth, wouldn’t you?”
I considered. “Yes… on the whole, I think I would.”
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