The Drop of the Dice

DISCOVERY IN A SHOP WINDOW

IT WAS ONLY DURING the next weeks that I realized how very much Jeanne had meant to me. She had been the mother-figure in my early impressionable days and I could not forget her. In spite of all the evidence something within me refused to accept the fact that she had run away in order to steal my jewellery and buy a flower-shop. She had looked after me since I was more or less a baby with my parents in Paris and when ill-fortune had overtaken me she had cared for me. Then she had come to England to find me. Oh no, I would not believe that Jeanne was a common thief.

There was some explanation. There must be.

‘What?’ asked Aimée.

As for Lance, he shrugged his shoulders. He did not want to dwell on the matter. It was a blow losing the jewellery, he agreed, but when his winnings warranted it, he would buy more for me. It was no use crying over what was done, was his motto.

Jeanne had gone and there was no way we could find her without a great deal of trouble and expense. Besides, what if we did? Should we take the flower-shop away from her?

‘No, let her keep it,’ said Lance. He had a grudging admiration for one who could devise such a plan and carry it out. If his luck held he would buy me bigger and better emeralds.

He was ready to forget Jeanne. He almost wished her well of her ill-gotten gains. He did not understand that her action had wounded me far more deeply than the loss of the jewels. His indifference about the important things in life exasperated me—especially when I compared it with his intense passion for gambling.

It was three or four weeks after Jeanne’s disappearance and we were back in London. The season had begun and although we did not go often to Court it was necessary to do so now and then. The new King was reckoned to be a boor and it was always the King and Queen who set the mode of the Court. This King had no Queen—or rather, he had, but he had put her away years ago on account of her suspected intrigue with Count Königsmarck. His German mistresses reigned in her place and on account of their lack of charm, as well as their rapaciousness, they were not very popular. So there was no great desire to go to a Court which was not in fact the centre of polite society. Queen Anne had called George ‘the German Boor’, and apparently the description fitted him.

Lance said he selected his friends and companions from people who were considered inferior—lacking wit, dignity and good breeding. ‘He feels more at home with them than he does with English gentlefolk. He lacks dignity in mind and manners.’

But Lance admitted that in some respects he served the country well, for although he was a good soldier, he believed that prosperity rested in peace; and he would therefore do his best to preserve it.

‘George is better for the country than the Stuart would have been,’ was Lance’s verdict. ‘Though with a Stuart we might have had someone who looked more like a king. Still, it is actions that count, and we’ll get by with George and at least his mistresses provide some amusement.’

He was right there. They did. They were both elderly and ugly, which perhaps said something for his fidelity. The fact that they did not speak English did not add to their popularity. They might have had the grace to try to learn the language of the country which was giving them so much, commented Lance.

He came in one day to tell us he had seen Mademoiselle Kielmansegge riding near the palace in her carriage. The people were shouting abuse at her as she rumbled past until she put her head out of the window and said in her own brand of English: ‘Why you people, why you hate us? We only come for your goods.’ That amused the crowd, especially when someone shouted: ‘Yes, and for our chattels too!’ and they followed the coach to the palace, shouting after it.

I went on brooding about Jeanne’s disappearance and trying to reconcile it with what I knew of her. I just could not. In spite of all the evidence against her I was sure that one day I must learn the explanation.

Aimée and I were going to Gracechurch Street to buy some material for the children’s clothes. It was rarely that Aimée accompanied me on these expeditions; she was usually content for me to choose for Jean-Louis. The two nannies loved to seize on materials and make them into clothes, for they were both considerable seamstresses. I was thinking sadly as we jolted along of how often Jeanne had accompanied me on these missions.

As we came into the heart of the city, Aimée said to me: ‘Clarissa, I want to tell you something.’

I turned to her, surprised by her downcast look. ‘Yes?’ I said.

She hesitated. ‘It’s my mother,’ she began. ‘She… she’s here… in England.’

‘Aimée! That must be wonderful for you.’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘She is a widow now. Her husband died. I thought she was settled for the rest of her life. Hers is a similar story to mine. Alas, her husband died with debts. My mother is very strict about such things. She always said that a debt was an affaire d’honneur which must be settled at all costs.’

‘That’s right, of course.’

‘When her husband died, she had enough to cover his debts… and little more.’

‘So she is very poor.’

Aimée lifted her shoulders in a typical French gesture. ‘She has… a little… a very little. I feel sad that I cannot look after her as I would wish. I did not have your luck at the time of the Bubble. If I had…’

‘Where is your mother staying? Is she in London?’

‘She is staying at the King’s Head close by St Paul’s, but she will not be able to remain there. I do not know what she plans. But she wanted so much to see me.’

I felt uneasy. I was very much aware that this was my father’s mistress. It had been a little shock for me to discover I had a half-sister, but to meet the woman who had shared my father with my mother was somehow distasteful to me.

I turned to Aimée. I had never seen her look so anxious. I pressed her hand. ‘But of course she must come,’ I said. ‘She must stay with us until she decides what she is going to do.’

‘I thought I would speak to you… before Lance.’

‘But of course. Lance will raise no objections, I assure you.’

‘He is the kindest man in the world,’ said Aimée emphatically, ‘and sometimes, Clarissa, I think you are the luckiest woman.’

‘I know I am fortunate. Lance is good to me.’

‘He is so easygoing… always wanting to make people happy. There are not many husbands like Lance, Clarissa.’

‘I am sure you are right. When will you see your mother?’

Aimée gulped. ‘Well… knowing that we should be shopping this morning, I told her. She wants to meet you. She will be at the mercer’s shop. She said that if you did not want to meet her for any reason, I could give her a sign and she would slip away.’

‘I hope you told her that was an absurd suggestion.’

‘I did, knowing how kind you have always been to me.’

‘I shall look forward to meeting her. Oh Aimée, you must be very happy that she is here.’

‘It is hard to be separated from one’s family.’

I could scarcely wait to get to the shop in Gracechurch Street and as we stepped from the carriage and the mercer came out to hand us in, he said: ‘There is a lady… Madame Legrand… who is waiting to see you.’

As we stepped down into the shop a woman rose from the stool on which she had been sitting. She was of medium height with quantities of red hair; she was quietly but very elegantly dressed in light navy with a touch of delicate pink in the frilly fichu which was all that lightened the severity of her gown. But she wore a large blue hat with an ostrich feather tinged with pink at the edges. Her appearance was distinguished because of its contrast, between something bordering on austerity and the extreme femininity in the fichu and the feather in the hat. She looked at me with an expression of wonder and awe. ‘So,’ she said, ‘you are Clarissa.’

Aimée said: ‘This is my mother, Clarissa. She has been longing to see you.’

Madame Legrand cast her eyes down. She murmured: ‘Forgive me. It is a moment of emotion.’ She spoke very little English. I discovered, and what she did was peppered with French words. ‘You are… a little… like him… I can see him in Aimée. He was the one never forgotten.’

‘Clarissa has said that you must come and stay with us,’ said Aimée.

Tears filled the Frenchwoman’s eyes. ‘Oh it is so… gentil… so good… so kind. I do not know if I may

‘Oh, you must,’ I insisted. ‘You must stay with us while you are in England. I am sure you will want to be near Aimée.’

‘Ah… my little one. It has been hard, this parting.’ Again that lifting of the shoulders. ‘But what can be done? You see, there was my ’usband.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘the parting with Aimée must have been very sad.’

She broke into French then: ‘It was right for her. You understand… a mother’s heart. A mother must not shut her eyes to the blessings that can come to her children. She must not say, “Ah, but I want them with me.” No, not if it is better for them to leave her. She must do what is best for them.’

She was inclined to be garrulous in her own language and although I was very interested in what she had to say, I did not think the mercer’s shop was the place in which to say it.

I suggested that we make our purchases and then go to a coffee house where we could talk in comfort, and this we did.

Madame Legrand, whose name was Giselle, explained to me in French, for she realized I could understand that language.

Her husband had died. Oh, that had been a dire tragedy. She had thought herself well provided for. She had planned that she would send for Aimée and the little boy, her grandson. It was hard to think of herself as La Grand’mère but she was proud that she was one. They were to have lived together in comfort.

‘A woman clings to her family, Clarissa. I may call you so? You and my daughter are sisters… but perhaps I should not say this. Your father… the father of you both… was such a man to adore. Having met him it had to be whatever he wished.’ She spread her hands. ‘And this is what he wished.’

As we sipped our chocolate in the cosy atmosphere of the coffee house, Madame Legrand talked. She was certainly never at a loss for words.

She talked about the past and her relationship with my father. ‘So tall, so handsome, so all that a man should be. Oh, it was wrong. It was sin, they would say. I have had to do a million penances for my lord. But I would do it all again… oh yes, I would. There was never one like him.’ So vividly did she talk of him that she made me see him again. She recalled little habits of his which I had forgotten till that moment: his manner of raising one eyebrow when he listened to something he did not believe; his way of taking off his hat suddenly and tossing it in the air; the way he touched his right ear when he was concentrating on something. Recalling these gestures she brought his memory back clearer than it had been for many years.

‘What a man!’ she said. ‘Never one like him. But he was never a man for one woman. Ah… if he had been… I did not see him so much after your mother came to France. I remember it well. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in Paris. It was no wonder that milord wanted her.

‘He talked to me about you. “That adorable daughter of mine,” he used to say. Oh, he was fond of you. He was fond of Aimée too. He would have been a good father if he could have settled down to one…’

I grew quite emotional, listening. I was back in that big hôtel which had been our home in Paris. I was lying in my little bed there, longing for a visit from my mother in one of her exquisite gowns. I was completely bemused by her dazzling, beautiful looks, and when he was with her, those had been the great occasions.

Madame Legrand touched me gently on the arm. ‘Oh, I see I have carried you back through the years…’

When we were ready to go I said she must come back with us. She demurred. No, no, it would be too difficile, she being as she was… but with no regrets. Anyone who had known my lord would have understood that he had to have his needs gratified, and there were few women who could resist him. No, she would not come. She would content herself with having seen her daughter. Ah, but she would like a glimpse of her little grandson. Just once to see him, to say ‘Ah, that is my little one who has made my Aimée so happy.’ Just that and then… adieux.

’What will you do then?’ I asked.

Again she lifted her shoulders. ‘I shall go back. There is work I can do. Perhaps be a housekeeper, eh? Am I not skilled in the work of the household, Aimée? It is best to forget the past and make the future.’

‘Dear Maman, you have only just come,’ said Aimée.

‘At least come and stay with us for a while,’ I said.

‘I could not. But you are so kind. I understand you have your husband. He will not wish me to impose. You have been good to Aimée and for that I thank you with all my heart. But for me… I shall go back to France. I will find some way of keeping myself. I am clever with my hands. I am a seamstress of some quality, am I not, Aimée? Oh, how I should love to make up that beautiful silk you have bought for my little one. But no matter.’

‘I am going to insist that you come and stay with us for a while,’ I said. ‘You must get to know your grandson. Besides, Aimée will be most upset if you go away just as soon as you have come.’

She cast down her eyes and shook her head.

Aimée took her hand. ‘Please, Maman,’ she said.

Madame Legrand hesitated and then said: ‘Very well. For a little stay. A little rest before I go away. A little time with my daughter and my grandson.’

‘You are very welcome,’ I told her.

Aimée said eagerly: ‘Let us go back to your inn. You can settle there and come right away.’

‘Oh… no… no… Give me today. Tomorrow I will come.’

‘Then let it be so,’ said Aimée. ‘Clarissa, may I have the carriage tomorrow and come and collect my mother?’

‘But of course. And I will come too. We’ll bring the children. Jean-Louis and Sabrina will love that.’

Madame Legrand covered her face with her hands.

‘You are too good,’ she murmured. ‘And I am too, too happy.’

So it was arranged.

So Aimée’s mother came to stay with us in Albemarle Street. Lance welcomed her with his usual charm. ‘Strange,’ he said, ‘we lost one member of the household and have acquired a new one.’

‘Lance,’ I said earnestly, ‘you don’t mind her being here?’

‘Mind! Of course not.’

‘I could do nothing else but invite her. She is, after all, my sister’s mother.’

‘Such complicated relationships,’ he murmured. ‘It all comes of your having such a colourful personality for a father.’

‘I’m sorry it happened that way.’

‘It’s the way of the world,’ he said, putting a light kiss on my cheek.

Madame Legrand proved to be quite an asset to the household. She was voluble in her gratitude and at the same time determined to make herself useful. Like her daughter, she had a wonderful way with clothes. She could make them and wear them so that the simplest looked elegant. She could dress the hair and apply the right amount of cosmetics to the face; she could make a dress to show off the advantages of one’s figure. She was good with the children, who were both a little fascinated by her strange accent; and her gesticulating conversation was a source of wonder to them both. Even Sabrina was at first impressed by her.

She did a great deal for me. She asked if she could dress my hair. She was sure she could show it off to better advantage. She understood I had had a French maid. Aimée had told her that the woman had turned out to be a thief and had upset us all by running away with valuable jewellery.

‘I still can’t believe it,’ I said, ‘I thought I knew Jeanne.’

‘Aimée tells me that she came from the slums of Paris.’

‘Oh, it is a long story but I owed her a good deal. I will never really believe what everyone says is the only answer to her disappearance.’

‘Ah, people are strange,’ mused Madame Legrand. ‘They are good in one way… bad in another… but if the bad is there, or the good, it will break out some time… and then… some part of the nature is revealed.’

She altered my clothes. ‘A little taken in here… you see… and we show off that pretty little waist. A little lower here to show the white throat and just a little beginning of the bosom, eh? And a full skirt… sweeping out from the waist. I will make a dress for you and you will be so beautiful… Yes, let me make it for you, dear Clarissa, to show you how happy I am to be here.’

Sometimes she talked of going away. We persuaded her to wait a while. A whole month passed and she was still with us.

I knew she wanted to stay and would be desolate if she had to leave us. She was devoted to her grandson, and he would sit on her lap and listen to stories about France; how the children collected snails after a rainy day and put them in a basket to take to the kitchens to be cooked and served with garlic; how they picked the grapes and danced on great tubs of them; how they put slippers by the fire on Christmas Eve when presents were put into them and opened on Christmas morning.

Sabrina listened too; she was clearly a little fascinated by Madame Legrand.

Then came the day when I knew for sure that I was pregnant. I was delighted. For the first time I ceased to think of Jeanne. The incident was now fading into the past but I was still not convinced that what appeared so obvious was true.

I did think, however, how excited she would have been at the prospect of my becoming a mother. It was something she had always wanted.

Lance was delighted. I had rarely seen him so enthusiastic about anything except gambling. A child at last! It was wonderful news. I could see that he was planning for a boy. I wondered whether he would take a gamble on it, and it would not surprise me in the least if he did. As for myself, I would be content with either sex. All I wanted was my own child.

Aimée said: ‘My mother is so delighted. She loves babies. The only thing that saddens her is that she will not be here to see the child born.’

‘Perhaps we can persuade her to stay till then.’

‘Clarissa, would you really! You would have a hard task persuading her because she feels she is imposing.’

‘Oh, what nonsense! This is a big household. Besides, look what she does for me. She is never idle and now that Jeanne has gone…’

‘You still think about her, don’t you, Clarissa?’

‘She was a true friend… I always thought.’

‘Alas, that you can be so mistaken in people.’

It was at length agreed that Aimée’s mother should stay until the baby was born.

‘I am sure you will be useful,’ I told her, to make her feel she was not imposing on our hospitality.

‘Well, if there is anything I can do to help, so gladly will I do it.’

My great pleasure was planning for the baby and talking of it with Lance. I think he even lost a little of his desire to gamble, in contemplating the arrival of the baby.

‘Perhaps we shall have a big family after all, Clarissa, eh?’ he said.

‘I should like ten children,’ I replied.

Lance laughed. ‘Let’s get one to begin with.’

Those were happy days. Often I found myself thinking how much Jeanne would have enjoyed this. Then I would remember, and disbelief would sweep over me.

I was constantly shopping during those first two months after my baby’s conception. I bought laces and ribbons and soft white materials. I would take the carriage and go into the heart of the city. There I would leave the carriage and do my shopping, telling the coachman where to pick me up. Sometimes I was accompanied by Aimée or her mother; on occasions I took Sabrina. She enjoyed it but I was always on tenterhooks that something might catch her fancy and she would slip away. I was terrified thinking of what might become of Sabrina. So I only took her when there was someone else with me.

I found that I enjoyed being alone; then I could wander where I wished as long as I remembered where to meet the carriage.

I loved to wend my way among the street vendors—past stalls full of apples and tarts, past the men selling hot gingerbread, or watercress, or doormats, past the chair-menders repairing chairs on the cobbles.

Usually different traders kept to certain streets. There were fishmongers in Fish Street Hill, booksellers in Little Britain, and barbers everywhere, for wigs were constantly worn by all and sundry and they needed frequent curling and powdering. I loved to see the man they called the Flying Barber who hurried through the streets calling to those who wanted a shave. He carried his hot water and razors with him and did his work there in the street under the eyes of the passers-by.

Nowhere in the world could there have been scenes of greater interest and vitality. At least, so it seemed to me, who had been bred in the country.

I felt stimulated by moving among these people, and the fact that I must cling tightly to my purse only added to the excitement of the adventure.

I was passing the jeweller’s shop, which always had a fascination for me, because I loved to see those sparkling gems displayed on dark velvet. There were bars across the window and I always wondered how soundly the jeweller slept in the gabled rooms above his shop.

I paused, and it immediately caught my eye. I stopped and stared. Lying there in the centre of the shop window was my bezoar ring.

It could not be mine. But could it be? Mine had had an unusual setting. After all, it had been a royal ring—according to legend. I could have sworn that that was my ring.

On impulse I went into the shop. As I stepped down a bell tinkled to warn the shopkeeper that someone had come in,

He rose from behind the counter.

‘Good day to you, my lady,’ he said.

I returned his greeting. ‘You have a bezoar, ring in the window,’ I said.

‘Oh yes. You recognized it for a bezoar, did you? They are not very common.’

‘I know. May I see it?’

‘With pleasure. Allow me.’ He brought it out of the window and I took it in my hand. I saw the initial inside. It was identical with the one Lord Hessenfield had given me.

‘I had one… exactly like this,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘I would say this is unique. I have seen other bezoar rings. At one time kings and queens all had them—but those of lesser rank too. This is a special one. It belonged to Queen Elizabeth, who bestowed it on a courtier. You see the initial E inside.’

I was sure now. I turned it over and asked the price. I was surprised at its value.

I said: ‘May I ask how this came into your possession?’

‘Why yes, indeed. I bought it as I do so many of my pieces. Most of them are not new, as you know. When something goes back into time it increases its value. So it is with this. I bought it from a French lady.’

My heart sank. It seemed as though Jeanne’s guilt was being proved.

I said: ‘I have reason to believe that this ring was once mine. It was stolen.’

‘Oh, my dear lady, I do not deal in stolen goods.’

‘I am sure you would not knowingly… but if someone comes into your shop and tries to sell you something, how are you to know how it was come by?’

He looked apprehensive.

‘She was a very respectable lady. She had some fine emeralds, too, which I bought.’

‘May I see the emeralds?’

‘A necklace and a brooch,’ he murmured, frowning.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That is right. Please let me see them.’

‘They were sold some weeks ago. A lady and a gentleman came in and he bought them for her.’

‘Tell me about the woman who sold them to you.’

‘She was French. She said she had to leave England in a hurry. She was going to catch the Dover coach. She had to return to France unexpectedly, and being short of money temporarily until she could settle her French estates, she was disposing of some of her jewellery.’

Oh, Jeanne, I thought, how could you?

I didn’t want to hear any more. I asked if he would deliver the bezoar ring to Albemarle Street, where he would be paid for it.

He promised to do so.