‘Antoinette!’ I challenged her. ‘What has been going on here?’
‘Nothing.’ But her eyes were avoiding mine.
‘Who was that boy?’ I demanded. She was silent, and I asked again: ‘Come now, who was it? And what was he doing here?’
She tossed her head, guilty but defiant.
‘It was only John.’
‘And who is John?’
‘The gamekeeper’s lad. He’s my friend. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.’
‘Indeed! And does your father know of this friendship?’ I asked sharply.
She shrugged. ‘My father isn’t interested in what I do, or hadn’t you noticed?’
‘I am sure he would be very interested indeed to know you are entertaining this boy in your room!’ I flashed. ‘How could you think of such a thing, Antoinette?’
She bristled. ‘I have to have friends! In the summer we meet outside, but when it’s cold and wet… Sometimes we meet in the stables, but it’s much more comfortable here.’
‘So this is not the first time he has been to your room?’
‘No.’ She was defiant now, pleased with herself almost, as if my shock and outrage provided an additional thrill. ‘He comes and goes by the creeper that grows up to the window.’
‘Well I don’t think he’ll be doing it again,’ I said.
She frowned. ‘John does as he pleases. There’s no one to tell him what he can and cannot do.’
‘I think you will find you are wrong there, Antoinette. And in any case, much of the creeper was pulled away when he fell. It’s going to be a long while before it’s strong enough to take his weight again. Unless, of course, he is foolish enough to risk life and limb.’
She was silent, and I went on: ‘How could you even think of entertaining a boy in your room? You must know it’s wrong – and dreadfully foolish. Why, anything could happen…’
I broke off, colour creeping into my cheeks as I looked at her rumpled appearance, and remembered the protective way she had drawn the neck of her gown together as I entered the room. Antoinette might only be thirteen years old, but already she had the body of a woman, and there was a knowingness about her that far exceeded her tender years.
‘You do know what I am referring to, don’t you, Antoinette?’
‘My reputation, I suppose,’ she said airily. ‘Well, that’s of no interest to me whatsoever.’
‘It will be,’ I said, ‘when you come to look for a husband and find no respectable man will give you a second glance.’
‘Oh, I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying, ever,’ Antoinette declared. ‘Why would I want to be someone’s wife, and no better than his property? I’d much rather be just me, living here as Mistress of Belvedere.’
This was not the time, I thought, to point out to her that such a state of affairs could not be, that she was a girl, and when the time came the estate would pass into the hands of the closest male relative, whoever that might be, just as Tucker’s Grave had passed to Louis. It was not for me to disillusion her, and in any case it had no bearing on what was concerning me – her present dangerous behaviour.
‘It is not just your reputation that is at stake here, Antoinette,’ I said. ‘A boy in your bedroom may well lead to certain liberties, and those liberties to a most unwelcome outcome. I know you don’t have a mother, and perhaps no one has explained this to you. But…’
‘Oh, don’t lecture me!’ Antoinette snapped. ‘Of course I know all about that. I’ve been brought up on a country estate, remember, surrounded by animals – and having no mother meant there was no one to make me turn away when they were breeding. In any case…’ Those foxy eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you think that I would find the result of my fun unwelcome? At least if I had a baby of my own I wouldn’t be so lonely. At least I’d have someone to love!’
‘Antoinette!’ I was aghast. ‘That is a dreadful thing to say! I’m lost for words!’
She smiled triumphantly. ‘I’ve shocked you. Well, I don’t care. It’s no more than the truth. John is the only friend I have in the whole wide world.’
‘I could be your friend!’ I ventured, desperately sorry, suddenly, for the lonely little girl isolated here in her fairy-tale mansion.
‘You?’ she returned scornfully. ‘What fun would you be? No more than the governesses I used to have, or the stupid stuffy daughters of Papa’s friends, whom he invites to stay sometimes as company for me. John and I have fun together!’
‘Antoinette,’ I said despairingly. ‘You cannot have fun, as you call it, romping in your bedroom with the gamekeeper’s boy!’
‘Oh, I don’t just mean that! John knows everything – all the best places to go and the best things to do! He taught me to tickle a trout when I was just seven years old, and spin pebbles across the river, and make a swing in the trees. Every year he takes me to see the pheasant chicks when they are hatched, and…’
Her eyes were bright now, she might have been a child again, enthused with all the wonders of the natural world which might, without the friendship of this boy, have been denied her. But she was no longer a child and the scene I had surprised in her room had been, I feared, far from innocent.
I could see, however, that I was getting nowhere with my arguments, and really it was not my place to deal with this. Little as I liked the idea of it, Louis would have to be told. Really I could not imagine how he had allowed such an unsuitable friendship to develop in the first place!
‘You realize I shall have to speak to your father about this,’ I said.
She pursed her lips, tears shone suddenly in those foxy green eyes. For a moment I thought she would beg me to keep my silence, then she tossed her head as if she knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears. ‘Oh, do what you like.’
I turned to go; as I reached the doorway, her voice stopped me. ‘Why did you come to my room anyway?’
In all that had happened I had quite forgotten what it was that had brought me here. A little nosey-poking around amongst my belongings was trivial by comparison with what had been going on this afternoon in Antoinette’s room! But since she had asked, I would tell her.
‘I came to say that I know you have been meddling with my things,’ I said. ‘And to ask that you do not do so again.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I haven’t touched your things!’
‘Please don’t lie, Antoinette, on top of everything else,’ I said tersely. ‘I could tell at once they had been disturbed, for they were not replaced at all the way I had left them. I don’t own a great deal, but what I do have is mine and I would appreciate you respecting my privacy.’
‘I didn’t touch your things!’ Antoinette reiterated fiercely. ‘It’s all in your imagination, I expect. But if it’s not – if someone really has been poking about amongst your possessions, I can assure you it was not me!’
She spoke with such forcefulness I was quite taken aback. But I did not want to have further argument with her now.
‘Whatever you say, Antoinette,’ I said wearily. ‘All I hope is that whoever it was was satisfied with what they saw and will refrain from doing it again.’
Then, weary suddenly, I turned and hurried from the room.
* * *
I heard Louis return at about five thirty. Nervous but determined, I went downstairs and tapped on the drawing-room door.
Louis was standing before the fire, redingote tails raised to warm his legs at the blaze, just as he had that first day at the inn. He looked tired but undeniably handsome. My heart contracted a little – with anxiety for what I had to do – or something else…?
‘Flora?’ He looked surprised to see me.
‘I must speak with you,’ I said.
His lips curved slightly upwards. ‘About something serious, it would appear from your demeanour. If it’s the argument you overheard this morning between Gavin and myself, I have to tell you that you were not the cause of it, whatever you may think. The differences between Gavin and myself far
predate your coming here. Though it is true I do not trust him within a mile of any beautiful young lady.’
The colour rushed to my cheeks. So he had thought… And he had called me beautiful!
Somehow I composed myself. ‘No, it’s about Antoinette. But it is serious, I’m afraid.’
Louis sighed. ‘I might have known it! Has she been rude to you again?’
‘Far more serious than that. Quite a delicate matter in fact.’ I hesitated. ‘Did you know of Antoinette’s friendship with a gamekeeper’s boy by the name of John?’
Louis’ face darkened. ‘Is that still continuing? I have forbidden her to have anything to do with that young scoundrel. From the time they were children she has sneaked off to spend time with him. He’s not suitable company for her, and leads her into all kinds of mischief.’
‘Worse than mischief this time, I’m afraid to say.’ I hesitated, steeling myself, then went on: ‘This afternoon I found them together in her room. From what she said I don’t think it’s the first time. He comes and goes, it seems, by way of the creeper that climbs up around her window. When they realized they were about to be discovered, he made a hasty exit and fell, but apart from a twisted ankle, I don’t think he did himself any serious injury. Certainly the last I saw of him he was running away.’
‘He’ll have a good deal worse than a twisted ankle by the time I’ve finished with him!’ Louis said furiously. ‘I’ve done my best for that family, giving John a job as soon as he was old enough to set a trap so that his mother would have some money coming in – she’s a widow who lives in a cottage in the woods, and he’s her only son. But enough is enough. If this is the way he abuses my patronage, I’ll dismiss him tomorrow. As for Antoinette… I shall deal with her right away.’
My heart was in my mouth. I had had no choice, I knew, but to tell Louis of what was going on. But the consequences did not bear thinking about. A poor widow woman losing her only source of income was a very serious matter. She and the boy could starve because of me…
No, not because of me! I reminded myself. Because of his own actions. And in any case, it might not come to that. When he cooled down, Louis might decide to give the lad another chance on the understanding that he kept away from Antoinette.
My heart went out to her. What she had done was wrong, but she was very lonely.
‘Don’t be too hard on her,’ I begged. ‘I think she is desperate for company.’
‘Of the wrong sort!’ Louis retorted. ‘I have done my best for her and she will have none of it. She treated her governesses with such disrespect they all left in no time, and the girls of her own age that I have brought here in the hope she may make friends, she has treated even more disgracefully. She put a toad in the bed of one of them, and frightened the poor girl out of her wits. She spilled ink all down the gown of another when they sat down together to write letters, and claimed it was an accident. She has made no attempt whatever to make friends of her own age and sex when the opportunity has been there for her – quite the opposite. She is determined to antagonize them.’
I bit my lip. Antoinette herself had admitted as much.
‘And yet she seeks the company of this boy.’ Louis was beside himself. ‘Bad enough when she escaped to run wild with him like some peasant, but if she is now sneaking him into her room…’ He broke off, looking at me with a hint of awkwardness. ‘He wasn’t…? They weren’t…?’ Clearly, consideration for my feelings was preventing him from putting into words the question that was most worrying him.
‘No,’ I said, deciding to give Antoinette the benefit of the doubt. ‘I saw nothing improper. But I do think you would be wise to make certain such a thing does not occur again. She may only be thirteen years old, but she seems, frankly, rather grownup for her age in some ways, though in others she’s still just a child. I do think that she might allow liberties, perhaps as some sort of rebellion, if the opportunity arose…’
For a moment Louis stood stock still, as if he had been turned to stone, and I wondered if I had gone too far in mentioning such a thing, though I had felt I had to. His face was like thunder, yet not simply anger but something like anguish. Then he turned away from me, bringing his fist down so hard on to the mantelshelf that all the china ornaments shook and the clock chimes reverberated with a shrill tinkling.
‘So soon!’ He was speaking softly, more to himself than to me. ‘I knew it would happen one day. She’s her mother’s daughter, all right, in every way. But she’s too young yet, too young! Oh, dear God, is it to begin all over again?’
His head bowed, his shoulders bent, Louis looked like a man reliving some private agony, and my heart went out to him. For although I did not know then what it was – did not know any of it beyond a few hints that were but a tiny part of the whole terrible story – I was sure of one thing.
If Louis sometimes appeared hard and unfeeling, if he sometimes looked as black as a thundercloud, it was because he had good cause.
And because he still lived in his own private hell.
Lisette
I
Louis had known, if truth be told, from the first moment he set eyes upon her, that Lisette du Bois could mean nothing but trouble and heartache for any man. At fifteen years old she was already too beautiful for her own good – and for that of any red-blooded male who came within the orbit of her bright star. She was tall, slender, with tumbling red-gold hair, slanting green eyes and the fine features of the noble family into which she had been born. But there was a knowingness in those eyes, a sensuality about her full lips, and a provocativeness, barely concealed behind an ostensibly demure manner, that was far beyond her years.
Louis saw it, and did not care. He was only eighteen years old himself, and so smitten by her that he could not think beyond the passion she aroused in him, the thundering of his blood in his veins, the ache of longing in his loins. He had never before seen anyone quite like her – the young women he had known paled into insignificance when compared with her – childish, prim, simpering, unexciting.
Sometimes, years later, when his ardour had cooled enough to allow him to think logically of that first meeting, he wondered if it had been engineered by his father with the express purpose of establishing an alliance with the French nobility, an entrée into the society which, for all his wealth and the success of his business enterprises, still eluded him. Peter Fletcher had always been an ambitious man – ambitious for himself and ambitious for his sons, so much so that he had cut himself off from the rest of his family, whom he considered bourgeois. He had married a French wife himself, but Jeanne, Louis’ mother, was from the same social stratum as Peter himself, the daughter of a self-made merchant.
Lisette, on the other hand, was pure-born aristocracy, with links stretching unbroken to the court of King Louis XVI. Her family had estates in Normandy and a mansion on the Rue des Archives in Paris; in those years before the downtrodden masses rose in revolution they had power and riches almost beyond imagination.
It was at the chateau in Normandy that he first set eyes on her. His father had taken him to France to acquaint him with some of his business contacts there and he had found himself invited to a masked ball. It was not Louis’ idea of entertainment; he preferred hunting or hawking by day and roistering by night in the little leisure time his father afforded him, and he had agreed to go with bad grace. He had felt ill-tempered as he changed into the finery he hated and was sullen on the drive to the chateau. As he entered the great hall, lit with chandeliers and decorated with banks of fresh flowers, he believed that all his worst fears had been realized, for all the revellers were a great deal older than him, the kind of fops and mincing ladies he most despised.
And then he saw her. She was coming down the great sweeping staircase on the arm of a slightly built man in a powdered wig, whom he took to be her father, but later discovered was, in fact, her uncle. She was a striking figure in a gown of buttermilk satin. The fichu dipped daringly low to expose the swell of small firm breast
s, the skirt flowed full and graceful from a tiny waist. Her arms beneath the frothy sleeve frills looked small enough to be circled by a man’s hand, her glorious hair tumbled about her bare shoulders and put every extravagantly adorned wig in the room to shame.
But it was her eyes that drew him most of all, those foxy green eyes that sparkled through the slits of her feathered mask. Louis stared, his heart beating a tattoo in his throat. At his side, Peter smiled with smug satisfaction; this was working out exactly as he had planned. But Louis was totally unaware of it, even when his father murmured: ‘Quite a beauty, my son, don’t you agree?’
‘Who is she?’ Louis did not look at his father as he spoke. He could not tear his eyes away from the girl.
And Peter replied: ‘Why, that is Lisette du Bois. I think, don’t you, that we should arrange an introduction?’
Louis could only nod in silent, stunned agreement.
* * *
He danced with no one else the entire evening, and followed her with his eyes when she was whisked away to meet other guests. He drank champagne with her, mesmerized by those green eyes above the rim of her glass, enchanted by her giggle as the bubbles tickled her nose.
‘This is the first time I have been allowed to attend a real grown-up ball,’ she confided, and he was charmed by the glimpse of an unsophisticated child beneath the alluring woman.
The evening passed in a whirl for him; he was drunk on champagne – and lust. He wanted this girl more than he had wanted anything in his life, but she was a butterfly beyond his reach.
His last glimpse of her was on the arm of the same man who had escorted her down the sweeping staircase as they bid goodnight to their guests; when his turn had come she had kissed him demurely on both cheeks, but those mesmerizing eyes had tantalized him with an unspoken promise before she dipped her head coyly, as befitted a young lady of gentle breeding.
Tucker's Inn Page 8
