by May Burnett
But indulging in guilt was not going to bring his child back.
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Under different circumstances, James would not have minded strolling through the Paris streets in the late summer evening. He had only been to the French capital twice before, in far less clement weather. During his youth, of course, Paris had been enemy ground and inaccessible; it was not until after Napoleon’s defeat and banishment that all of fashionable Europe flocked to Paris, to see what it had missed. James had done likewise at the time, about half a year before he had met Charlotte.
“The paper reports that Napoleon is very sick, and may not survive much longer,” he remarked, when Alphonse returned from his visit to the Comte. They were in the library of the Maison Ville-Deuxtours, beautiful in its proportions and freshly gilded panelling, but with many bare shelves. James estimated that it would take three generations to fill it up again, though it could never equal what it had been before the revolution. How many priceless and rare works had been stolen and burnt? “Your mother will be ecstatic, if he should die. And not only she.”
“Oh, I don’t know. She hates him so fervently that she would most likely desire him to suffer decades of miserable exile on St. Helena, remembering every day all the glories that he has lost. It will feel strange to our whole generation if he should no longer be there, after the way he dominated Europe throughout our youth.” Alphonse poured white wine into a glass, drank deeply. ”It is still hot out outside.”
“Not dark yet, but too late to set out tonight – I suppose we had better turn in early, and leave at first light tomorrow,” James said. “But first I want to hear all about your interview with the Comte. Could you tell if he had murderous designs on your daughter?”
“Designs – I am not sure, but he had toyed with the idea, at least. I suspect that Mme Fourrier foiled him by never leaving the child alone for a moment. He denied all knowledge of the note she left, and I am quite certain that he was lying then.”
“So, there.”
“But other things he said did not fit the picture of the conniving villain. He claimed that the child is not as sickly as the quacks and my mother made her out to be, that the very small stature is normal in females on his side of the family.”
“Is it? You must have met some of Louise-Henriette’s relations at your wedding.”
“Not all that many. Like us, they were decimated in the revolution, and it was a small private ceremony, since my father was about to die. It is true that most of the females attending the wedding were small and scrawny, and Louise-Henriette herself was well below the average female height.”
“Even if de Montalban is a villain, he could still be correct in his information on this point.” James hesitated a moment before going on. “Life being uncertain, as you know, we too could easily perish on this journey, at the speeds we have been travelling. I assume you have you made proper provisions for Monique’s care and safety, in case you predecease her?”
Alphonse stopped dead, staring at his friend in consternation. “Good heavens!”
“You mean you haven’t?” James asked, incredulous. “I made a will regarding the guardianship of my children before they were born. Beecham would have insisted, had I not thought of the matter myself.”
“Well, we already had ample evidence that I am a fool and failure, did we not?” Alphonse said bitterly. He violently tugged the bell cord.
The major-domo entered fast enough. “Please send to my legal adviser, Maître Gallicourt, with a request to wait upon me as soon as possible, today,” Alphonse ordered. “The cook should provide a light dinner in about two hours, here at home.” He looked at James. “Anything else you can think of?”
“Nothing, except that we should be informed immediately if the groom returns from Calais – what is his name, by the way?”
“Jaques Denard, Monsieur.”
“And like the good Mme Fourrier, we too should take a hamper of provisions when we continue our journey north, so we do not lose time over lunch on the way.”
“Right,” Alphonse said. “Tell my cook to see to it. The Maître is the most urgent, though.”
As the man bowed himself out of the library, the two friends looked at each other. Alphonse asked, “Would you agree to be Monique’s guardian, in case it became necessary?”
“Most willingly, but you should name another as well, if I were not capable for some reason. I have designated my brother George together with Charlotte, as guardian if I should perish; he surely would not mind if you named him in addition to me. Charlotte could bring your child up with ours, no matter who is nominal guardian; but she does not have enough influence to counter the child’s French relations, if it became necessary.”
“I will accept your advice, and ask George’s permission when he returns from Greece. Given the situation with de Montalban, it might be safest for Monique to be brought up in England, anyway.”
“I still cannot believe that you had not written a will before this.”
“Oh, I have one, but that was before Monique’s birth. From her very first breath everyone was telling me that her life would be cut short, so consistently that I had accepted the sad prospect as inevitable.”
“Even so –“
“I can understand your astonishment,” Alphonse said in a low voice. “But you do not know what this last year, after Louise-Henriette’s death, was like. I moved around like a wind-up toy for entire weeks, going through the motions of existence, playing at the role of Marquis with little conviction and less pleasure. Constructive thought and planning ahead were wholly beyond me. Even food and drink, no matter how delicious, could not arouse any particular enthusiasm. I supervised the repair work because it was there, but I am sure when I look back, that I signed off on inflated numbers and was roundly overcharged. Anyone could see that I did not care, and had too little business sense into the bargain. Forgetting about a new will, and never noticing the simmering tensions among the castle’s staff, are just two of the ways I failed in my duty. At the time, even had you been there to point this out to me, I would not have cared. A black cloud was hanging over me, fogging my brain.”
“What you are describing is melancholia,” James said. “That you of all people could be susceptible to that malady of the spirit is most astonishing. But your description puts me forcibly in mind of the last time I spoke with poor Matthew Hurst at Oxford, before he had that ‘hunting accident’.
“He must have had a worse case than I, because even at the lowest point I never thought of ending my existence. No matter how unpleasant, I always knew it was a temporary state, and by the time I came to you in Sussex, had already put it behind me. It made a great difference that England is the scene of my happier memories.”
“Do you mean that you now dislike that huge castle of yours?”
“Not exactly, but it is associated with so much tragedy – even before my birth, when the revolution wrested it out of my parents’ control – that I find myself wondering if I can ever be at ease there.”
“You will simply have to replace the unhappy memories with better ones. The choice of your future marquise will make all the difference.”
“She will have to be a saint and miracle-worker, to make up for all my deficiencies.”
“Enough of that,” James said sternly. “Pull yourself together, right now. Monique needs you to be strong, and any woman capable of taking the reins in your three households will expect you to trust yourself as much as you trust her. With clear lines of command firmly established, and complete support of your wife’s orders – even against your mother – you can soon set everything to rights. Once we have found your child, all other problems you face are mere details, and easily overcome with a little resolution. Even now, nine out of ten men would gladly be in your shoes, had they the chance.”
Chapter 20
“What I cannot understand,” James said, as their coach was speeding along towards Calais, “is how Mme Fourrier expects to get to London, or
Sussex, on the amount you had sent her. It was a generous douceur as you intended it, more than enough to purchase any additional comfort, had somebody else paid for the journey itself. But even supposing she struck a very shrewd bargain with the livery stable and stayed in the cheapest accommodations, she could not possibly get any further than Dover – most likely only Calais. And from your description of the woman, she must have known it. What was she about, that she continued the journey under these circumstances? Can she be using money of her own to make up the shortfall?”
Alphonse shrugged. “Her salary is not particularly generous. I was planning to increase it, but had not yet got around to doing so.”
“Maybe she went with the groom to his relatives near Calais, and stayed with them. De Montalban would hardly have found her there.”
“But she justified the whole trip with my letter, indicating that the child should be brought to me in England. To stay with a groom’s relatives in northern France would completely contravene these orders.”
“She must have realised that the money was insufficient, that you never meant your child to travel under such precarious circumstances.”
“Servants sometimes use the letter of an order to do what they themselves want to do, knowing perfectly well that it goes against its spirit, and would not be approved. When challenged they innocently claim to have misunderstood your intentions.”
“Yes,” James admitted, “I have seen such cases myself, though only the most entrenched and trusted servants can get away with this more than once. Such reasoning is also frequently tried by children, who can rival the most sophisticated barracks lawyer.”
“I hope Monique will do so, once she learns to speak,” Alphonse said. “In a strange way the talk with de Montalban has done me good; I can now envisage a future with a growing, talking, even adult Monique. Until now I always shied away from any thoughts of her future. And if she has a future, then it becomes possible to think about my own.”
“Good. And remember that whatever happens is in God’s hand. We should not attempt to anticipate His plans, though it’s a very natural thing to do.”
“That will Maître Gallicourt drew up last night also eases my mind.”
“Naturally. Any positive action we take increases our sense of control over events.”
“Talking of action, how much time should we devote to searching for Mme Fourrier in Calais? Obviously the first point of enquiry will be the boat services, and if they remember her taking passage with the child, we can follow her to England on the very next boat. But what if they do not?”
“In that case, it might make sense to split up,” James said, reluctantly. “One of us could continue to search on the French side of the Channel, while the other does the same in Dover.”
“I cannot like the idea, but it makes sense. Let us hope we quickly find her trace.”
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They were in luck; within three hours of arriving in Calais, they ascertained that a woman in her thirties, neatly dressed in dark brown, had booked a passage to Dover for herself and her small daughter. “The child wriggled and fussed,” the clerk who had sold her the passage said disapprovingly, “she claimed it was over a year old, but it looked younger and smaller than that.”
“Were there any other single passengers with children of that age?” James asked.
“Not that I can remember, but I am not the only one who arranges passages across to Dover.”
“Did this woman give a name?”
“No, and we do not require it if the price be paid in cash.”
“She paid it then?”
“Yes, of course, or she would still be here in Calais. We do not run our boats for charity.”
“Fair enough. When does the next one leave?”
The clerk issued tickets for a boat leaving about three hours later; they had time for a leisurely meal before boarding. There was no shortage of establishments catering to hungry travellers.
“We are still over a week behind her,” James said after they had been served. “If she had enough money, and managed not to get lost, she should have arrived at her destination by now. We might simply have stayed in England, waiting for her to turn up.”
“I’m glad I did not,” Alphonse said, cutting his steak. “This journey, while tiring, has opened my eyes. But you must miss Charlotte, and your children.”
James acknowledged that this was so, but added “I’ll see them again soon enough. At least we did not dawdle anywhere.”
“She and the children will be most happy to see you return. Having that family eagerly waiting for you makes you a very lucky man, James.”
“Yes, my life is idyllic, almost too much so. I sometimes feel that my energy and wits are only half expended, that I should do more with my time, than what I have so far accomplished. If I were to accept that seat in Parliament, I could make a greater mark, and with our family connections, it might lead to higher office before too long. I was going to think about the decision, but we have been so much in motion, that I have not yet devoted much consideration to the issue.”
“Don’t do it,” Alphonse advised.
James looked surprised at this definitive vote. “Why do you say that?”
“You would find it boring and exasperating after the first few months. I know you better than almost anyone, and I have some idea of what parliamentary and party work is like. Constant intrigue, deception, and trying to make the best of bad bargains. You would exhaust yourself tilting against windmills, and take the inevitable disappointments too much to heart.”
“Charlotte is also opposed to the notion,” James confessed. “She fears for my character and integrity. I found that a little insulting.”
“You should not. She is a wise woman. The best men are worst suited to the political life. If you are happy now, why risk spoiling your life needlessly? Ask yourself – is there nobody else, who can accomplish the task in a trustworthy manner? Your country is full of eager candidates, surely.”
“Hmm.”
“If you need an outlet for your intelligence and energy, as well as some of your money, there are countless causes crying out for reform. Preferably outside parliament, where your party’s interest would constrain your efforts far too much. Why don’t you discuss with Charlotte what might be the most useful contribution you could make to society? Politics are not the only, or even the best way to do so, for a man of your temperament.”
“George does not seem to mind his work in the Lords.”
“I am sure it has a cost for him too, part of the price he pays for being the head of the family. Of course, controlling several seats in the Commons besides his own in the House of Lords, he is in a relatively strong position. But I would not be surprised if those tiny boroughs were reformed before the century is out. That system is riddled with corruption.”
“Are you saying that George –“
“No, he is just playing the role he has inherited, as well as anybody could. I am not casting any aspersion on your brother’s honour. Only, an objective observer would not consider the way he controls three seats in the House of Commons, additionally to his own in the Lords, altogether fair towards other men less advantageously born.”
“You could say the same about aristocracy itself, and the Monarchy.”
“Precisely.” Alphonse drank the last of his wine. “We enjoy and defend the privileges of our position, but had we been born as penniless paupers, we would even now be fighting against the system that distributes its advantages so capriciously.”
James regarded him with astonishment. “You never even thought about such things when you lived in England, Alphonse. I never expected to hear this from you of all people, with your ultra-royalist parents.”
“I suppose it comes from living here in France. The monarchy is restored, and my estate with it, but like all things broken and mended, it can never be what it was before. People cannot simply go back to an earlier time, try as they might. Ideas once thought and expresse
d cannot be unthought. I don’t suppose any king or noble in France will ever sleep as easily again, as they did a hundred years ago. You did not have a revolution in England recently, so you still continue in that sublime certainty that the world is ordered as it should be. But is it? Is it right that you can simply take one of your brothers’ seats in parliament, when other men do not have such a brother? Perhaps one day they will no longer be willing to tolerate it.”
While James was still wrestling with this unpalatable notion Alphonse waved to the waiter, to pay for their meal. “Come on, James, it is time we were off.”
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They spent the sea journey on the deck, each trying to master his impatience at the boat’s slow pace, even though the sails were billowing above them, and the salty spray dampened their clothes.
At Dover, James took the lead in instituting enquiries. His air of command allied to an open, cheerful countenance inspired confidence in the witnesses they questioned, but to no avail. Though it seemed incredible, a Frenchwoman in brown, who did not speak English, and carrying a small girl child, had passed through Dover without attracting any attention. Or was she still there, in one of the houses they passed, increasingly weary of their fruitless search? No, if she had enough money to pay for a week’s lodging, she would surely have continued onward instead.
They recruited a couple of enterprising local lads to continue the search while they paused and regrouped over dinner.
“My feeling is that we are wasting our time,” James said. “We have established that Mme Fourrier was not taken up for vagrancy or any other crime here in Dover, nor has she been remanded to the local workhouse. She would not have stayed here if she could help it. We have to assume that her resourcefulness did not suddenly desert her, just because she is now in a foreign country.”
