Zipporah's Daughter

The Rejected

ON THE DAY WHEN the Comte d’Aubigné arrived at Eversleigh I had been out riding and when I came into the hall he was there in close conversation with my mother. I was aware at once that we had a very distinguished visitor. He was not young—about my mother’s age, perhaps a few years older—and he was most elegantly dressed in a manner not quite English; his frogged coat of dark green velvet was a little more fancy than I was accustomed to seeing, the fringed waistcoat more delicate, the striped breeches fuller, and the buckled shoes more shining. He wore a white wig which called attention to his flashing dark eyes. He was one of the most handsome gentlemen I had ever seen.

‘Oh, there you are, Lottie,’ said my mother. ‘I want you to meet the Comte d’Aubigné. He is going to stay with us for a few days.’ She put her arm through mine and thus presented me to him. ‘This,’ she went on, ‘is Lottie.’

He took my hand and kissed it. I was aware that this was no ordinary meeting and that something very important was taking place. Knowing my mother well, I guessed that she was very anxious for us to like each other. I did like him immediately, mainly because of the way in which he kissed my hand and made me feel grown-up, which was just how I wanted to feel at this time, for the fact that I was not quite twelve years old was a great irritation to me. If I had been older I should have eloped by now with Dickon Frenshaw, who occupied my thoughts almost exclusively. There was a family connection between Dickon and myself. He was the son of my grandmother’s cousin and I had known him all my life. It was true he was about eleven years older than I but that had not prevented my falling in love with him, and I was sure he felt the same about me.

Now there was a lilt in my mother’s voice. She was looking at me earnestly as though to discover what I thought of our guest. He was watching me intently.

The first words I heard him say, and he spoke in English with a strong foreign accent, were: ‘Why, she is beautiful.’

I smiled at him. I was not given to false modesty and I knew that I had inherited the good looks of some long-dead ancestress whose beauty was notorious in the family. I had seen a portrait of her and the likeness was uncanny. We had the same raven black hair, and deep-set dark blue eyes which were almost violet; my nose might have been a fraction shorter than hers, my mouth a little wider, but the resemblance was striking. She had been the beauty of the family. Her name had been Carlotta, and it added to the mystique that before this likeness was apparent, I should have been christened Charlotte, which was so similar.

‘Let us go into the winter parlour,’ said my mother. ‘I have sent for some refreshment for our guest.’

So we did and the wine was brought, over which he talked in a way which I found both exciting and amusing. He seemed determined to charm us and it was clear that he knew how to do that very well. He told us a great deal about himself in a short space of time and I felt he was presenting himself to me, even more than my mother, and wished to make a good impression. He need not have had any doubt about that. He was a spellbinding talker and seemed to have led a varied and most vivid life.

The time sped by and we parted to change for dinner. I had certainly not been so amused and interested since I had last seen Dickon.

During the next few days I spent a great deal of time in his company. Often I rode with him, for he said he was eager for me to show him the countryside.

He talked to me about life in France where he was attached to the Court as some sort of diplomat, I gathered. He had a château in the country and a house in Paris, but he was often at Versailles where the Court was mostly, for, he told me, the King scarcely ever went to Paris … only when it was impossible for him to avoid going.

‘He is very unpopular because of the life he leads,’ said the Comte; and told me about King Louis XV and his mistresses, and how heartbroken he had been on the death of Madame de Pompadour, who had not only been his mistress but virtually ruler of France.

The glimpses of life in France fascinated me and I was delighted that the Comte talked openly to me as though he were unaware of my youth, which my mother was constantly stressing ever since she had known of my feeling for Dickon.

The Comte described the fantastic entertainments which were given at Versailles and which he was expected to attend. He talked so vividly that he made me see the exquisite gentlemen and beautiful ladies as clearly as I could the life in the country to which he escaped now and then.

‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that one day you will do me the honour of visiting me.’

‘I should like that,’ I replied enthusiastically, and that pleased him very much.

It must have been about three days after his arrival. I was in my bedroom getting dressed for dinner when there was a gentle tap on the door.

‘Come in,’ I called, and to my surprise my mother entered.

There was a glow about her which I had noticed lately. I guessed she was pleased to have a visitor and I was glad, because we had had enough tragedy lately and she had been so unhappy since my father’s death. Following that she had lost a very dear friend in the doctor who had attended my father. He had suffered a horrible death in a fire at his hospital. That had been a terrible time, for my governess was burned to death in the fire also. Such events had had a sobering effect on us all, but most of all on my mother. Then of course there was the matter of Dickon, about which she was very upset and this worried me a great deal, for as much as I should like to comfort her, I could not, because doing so meant promising to give up Dickon. So I was very relieved that she was lifted out of her depression, if only temporarily.

‘Lottie,’ she said, ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ I replied, smiling at her.

‘What do you think of the Comte?’ she asked.

‘Very grand,’ I answered. ‘Very elegant. Very amusing. In fact a very fine gentleman. I wonder why he called on us? I think he must have been here some time. I get the impression that the place is not quite strange to him.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘Was he a friend of Uncle Carl?’

‘A friend of mine,’ she said.

She was really behaving rather oddly, fumbling for words. She was usually so direct.

‘So,’ she went on, ‘you do … like him?’

‘Of course. Who could help it? He is most interesting. All that talk about the French Court and the château. All those grand people. He must be very important.’

‘He is a diplomat and works in Court circles. Lottie, you do … er … like him?’

‘Mother,’ I said, ‘are you trying to tell me something?’

She was silent for a few seconds. Then she said quickly: ‘It was long ago … before you were born. … It had to be before you were born. I was very fond of Jean-Louis.’

I was astonished. It seemed strange that she should call my father Jean-Louis. Why did she not say ‘your father’, and in any case she did not have to tell me how fond she had been of him. I had seen her nurse him through his illnesses and witnessed her grief at his death. I knew more than anyone what a loving and devoted wife she had been.

So I said: ‘Of course!’ a little impatiently.

‘And he loved you. You were so important to him. He often said what joy you had brought into his life. He said that when you came into it you made up for his affliction.’

She was staring ahead of her; her eyes were bright and I thought that at any moment she would start to cry.

I took her hand and kissed it. ‘Tell me what you want to, Mother,’ I said.

‘It was thirteen years ago when I came back to Eversleigh after all those years. My … I call him uncle but the relationship was more involved than that. Uncle Carl was very old and he knew he had not long to live. He wanted to leave Eversleigh in the family. It seemed that I was the next of kin.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Your father was unable to come. He had had that accident which ruined his health … so I came alone. The Comte was staying at Enderby and we met. I don’t know how to tell you this, Lottie. We met … and became … lovers.’

I looked at her in amazement. My mother …with a lover in Eversleigh while my father was lying sick at Clavering Hall! I was overwhelmed by the realization of how little we knew about other people. I had always thought of her as strictly moral, unswerving in her adherence to convention … and she had taken a lover!

She was gripping my hands. ‘Please try to understand.’

I did understand, in spite of my youth, far better than she realized. I loved Dickon and I could understand how easy it was to be carried away by one’s emotions.

‘The fact is, Lottie, there was a child. You were that child.’

Now the confession had taken on a fantastic aspect. I was not the daughter of the man whom I had always believed to be my father but of the fantastic Comte. I was incredulous.

‘I know what you are thinking of me, Lottie,’ my mother rushed on. ‘You are despising me. You are too young to understand. The … temptation overwhelmed me. And afterwards your father … I mean Jean-Louis … was so happy. I could not have told him. I couldn’t have confessed my guilt. It would have wounded him mortally. He had suffered so much. He was so happy when you were born and you know how it was between you. You were also so good to him … so sweet, so gentle, so considerate … and that meant a great deal to him. He had always wanted children … but apparently he could not have them. I could, as I proved and so, Lottie, now you know. The Comte is your father.’

‘Does he know this?’

‘Yes, he knows. That is why he has come here … to see you. Why don’t you say something?’

‘I … can’t think what to say.’

‘You are shocked?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘My darling Lottie, I have broken the news too abruptly. He wants you to know. He has become so fond of you in a short time. Lottie, why don’t you say something?’

I just looked at her. Then she took me into her arms and held me tightly.

‘Lottie … you don’t despise me …’

I kissed her. ‘No … no …. Dear Mother, I just don’t know what to say … what to think. I want to be by myself. I want to think about it all.’

‘Tell me this first,’ she said. ‘It makes no difference to your love for me?’

I shook my head. ‘Of course not. How could it?’

I kissed her fondly and she seemed like a different person from the one I had known all my life.

My feelings were so mixed that I could not sort them out. It was a startling revelation. I suppose everyone receives some sort of shock some time, but to discover that a man you have believed all your life to be your father is not and to have another introduced into that role was to say the least bewildering.

The Comte was such a dazzling figure that I felt proud as surely anyone would have to be to acknowledge him as a father. That emotion was immediately followed by shame when I thought of poor Jean-Louis, so kind, gentle and self-sacrificing. He had cared so deeply for me and it was not in my nature to be indifferent to such devotion. His eyes used to light up when I appeared and when I sat beside him his eyes would glow with a tenderness which warmed me. I had made a great show of looking after him just to see his pleasure in my presence. One cannot lightly dismiss such a father and rejoice in his replacement. When he had died I had been desolate—so had my mother for that matter. She had loved him too. People’s emotions were too deeply involved for me at my age to understand then, but try as I might I could not suppress the excitement my mother’s revelation had aroused in me.

Strangely enough I did not connect the Comte’s fortuitous reappearance with my involvement with Dickon. If I had thought about it, I would have accepted the fact that he had not come to England by chance after all those years.

When I went down to dinner I was composed. My mother watched me anxiously and there was a constrained atmosphere throughout the meal which the Comte did his best to disperse by telling us accounts of amusing happenings at the Court of France.

When we rose from the table my mother pressed my hand and looked appealingly at me. I smiled at her, kissed her hand and nodded. She understood. I accepted my new father.

We went into the punch room to drink some after-dinner wine and my mother said: ‘I have told her, Gerard.’

He swept aside all embarrassment and, coming to me, took me into his arms; then he held me away from him.

‘My daughter,’ he said. ‘I am so proud. This is one of the happiest moments of my life.’

And after that all the embarrassments were gone.

I spent a great deal of time in his company. My mother arranged it, I believe. Very often she left us alone together. She seemed very anxious that we should get to know each other. He talked constantly about my visiting France and said he would not be content until he had shown me his château and I said I should not be content until I had seen it.

I was fascinated by him—everything about him pleased me: his easy manners, his gallantry, even what we in England might call his dandyism. It enchanted me. But most of all I was delighted by the fact that he treated me as a grown-up, and because of this it was not long before I was telling him about Dickon.

I loved Dickon. I was going to marry Dickon. Dickon was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

‘I think,’ I said, ‘that you must have been rather like him … once.’

‘Ah,’ he replied, laughing, ‘you see what the years do. I am no longer handsome like Dickon. My only consolation is that Dickon will come to this pass one day.’

‘What nonsense!’ I cried. ‘You are as fascinating in your way. Dickon is just younger … although he is a lot older than I. About eleven years older ….’

My father put his head on one side and said: ‘Poor old man.’

I knew that I could talk to him about Dickon as I never could to my mother.

‘You see,’ I explained, ‘she hates him. It has something to do with tricks he played when he was a boy. He was very mischievous, as most boys are. I am sure you were just as bad.’

‘I dare say,’ he agreed.

‘So it is rather silly to have prejudices about people …’

‘Tell me about Dickon,’ he said.

So I tried to describe Dickon, which wasn’t easy. ‘He has beautiful blond hair which curls about his head. I think it is what is called hyacinthine. I have always liked hyacinths for that reason. His eyes are blue … not dark blue like mine, but lighter. His features look as though they have been sculpted by a great artist.’

‘Apollo has returned to Earth,’ said the Comte lightly.

‘He is very charming.’

‘So I gathered.’

‘In an unusual way,’ I said. ‘He never seems to take things seriously … except us. I think he takes that seriously. He has a quick wit which can be cruel sometimes … though never to me. Somehow that makes me love him more. He would be too perfect without it.’

‘A little imperfection makes the charm irresistible,’ said the Comte. ‘I understand.’

‘If I tell you something, you won’t tell my mother, will you?’

‘I promise.’

‘I think she is a little jealous of him.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, you see, it is due to her mother … my dear grandmother, Clarissa. She is a darling. Long before she married my mother’s father, she had a romance—very brief but very memorable—with a young boy. It was very—’

‘Innocent?’

‘Yes. He was transported because of the ’15 Rebellion. Then she married my grandfather and my mother was born. The young man returned years later after my grandfather was dead, but instead of marrying my mother he married her cousin Sabrina, then he was killed at Culloden. Sabrina had his child and that was Dickon. He was brought up by my grandmother and by Sabrina and they both doted on him. They still do. I have always thought that my mother believed her mother loved Dickon more than she did her … her own child. It’s a bit complicated, but do you see?’

‘I do.’

‘Therefore she hated Dickon.’

‘Isn’t there a stronger reason than that?’

‘Oh, reasons build up, don’t they? You only have to start by disliking people and then you can find all sorts of reasons why you should.’

‘I see you are something of a philosopher.’

‘You are laughing at me.’

‘On the contrary, I am overcome with admiration. If I smile it is because I am so happy that you should confide in me.’

‘I thought perhaps you might influence my mother.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘Dickon and I are in love.’

‘He is many years older than you.’

‘Only eleven. And people grow up.’

‘An indisputable fact.’

‘And when I am forty he will be fifty-one. We shall both be old then … so what does it matter?’

‘True, the gap lessens with the passing of the years, but alas, it is the present that we must consider. I think he has been a little premature with his proposal of marriage.’

‘Well, I don’t. Queens are betrothed in their cradles.’

‘True again, but often those betrothals come to nothing. In life one often has to wait and see. What do you want to do? Marry Dickon now … at your age!’

‘I suppose everyone would say I’m not old enough. But I would wait until I am fourteen, say.’

‘Still very young, and what is it … two or more years away?’

I sighed. ‘We shall have to wait till then, and when I am fourteen nothing—just nothing—is going to stop me.’

‘Perhaps then no one will want to.’

‘Oh yes, my mother will. I tell you she hates Dickon. She says he wants Eversleigh, not me. Oh, you don’t know. But Eversleigh belongs to my mother. It was left to her, you see, and I am her only child therefore presumably it would come to me in time. That’s why, she says, Dickon wants to marry me.’

‘And you, what do you think?’

‘I know he wants Eversleigh. He is managing Clavering at the moment, but it is not nearly as big as this place. He says that when we are married he will come to Eversleigh. It is all very natural, isn’t it? He’s ambitious. I shouldn’t want him to be otherwise.’

‘And your mother thinks that, but for Eversleigh, he would not wish to marry you.’

‘That’s what she says.’

‘And,’ he added, looking at me quizzically, ‘there is no way of finding out.’

‘I don’t want to find out. Why shouldn’t he want Eversleigh? I know it has a part to play in his wanting me. How could it be otherwise? To like someone because they own a house is no different from liking someone because they have pretty hair or eyes.’

‘I think it might be considered rather different. The eyes and hair are part of a person … a house is not.’

‘Well, never mind about that. I am going to marry Dickon.’

‘And I can see that you are a young lady of great determination.’

‘I wish you could persuade my mother. After all … you are a member of the family now, aren’t you? As my father, you should have a say in the matter, though I warn you nobody’s say is going to have any effect on me.’

‘I can well believe that, and as an only recently recognized member of the family circle and one whose right to his daughter’s regard is as yet fragile, I would not venture to attempt to persuade her. I could only offer advice, and advice, as we know, even if we listen to it, is something we only take when it agrees with what we intend to do. So I will only say to you what I would to anyone with a problem and that is: wait and see what happens.’

‘How long?’

‘Until you are of an age to marry.’

‘And if it is really Eversleigh he wants?’

‘You have said that you know he does.’

‘But more than me, I mean.’

‘The only way to find out is for your mother to leave Eversleigh to someone else and then see if he wants you.’

‘She would have to leave it in the family.’

‘No doubt some long-lost relative will appear.’

‘Dickon is a member of the family. My Uncle Carl wouldn’t leave it to him because his father was what he called “a damned Jacobite”. Uncle was a trifle illogical because my mother’s grandfather was one too. But perhaps he felt that wasn’t so bad, being a generation earlier.’

‘It brings us all back to the golden rule. Wait and see. And after all, my dearest Lottie, when you consider the facts there is little else you can do.’

‘You don’t think I’m too young to know my own mind … which is what my mother says.’

‘I think you are mature enough to know exactly what you want from life. I’ll tell you another golden rule. Take it, if you must, but when the reckoning comes, pay up cheerfully. It’s the only way to live.’

I looked at him steadily and said: ‘I’m glad you came back. I’m glad to know the truth. I’m glad you’re my father.’

A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. There was nothing sentimental about my new father. Jean-Louis’s eyes would have filled with tears if I had said anything like that to him.

My father said: ‘This is the time to offer my invitation. I shall have to leave shortly. Will you come back with me … for a little visit? I should love to show you something of my country.’

I was proud to travel with him and revel in that special treatment he received wherever he went. He was rich and powerful in his own country, of course, but he had a natural air of distinction which was not lost on those whom we encountered. He commanded the best service naturally as though it were his right, and people presumed it was and gave it to him unquestioningly.

A new world was opening to me and I realized how quietly we had lived in the country. True, there had been the occasional visits to London, but they had been few and I had never been to Court, though I believed our Court, presided over by good but homely King George and his plain consort Queen Charlotte, was very different from that of the profligate Louis XV of France. It was a cynical commentary on life that the virtuous—and none could deny our King and Queen were that—should be jeered at while the immoral—and Louis XV’s Court was undoubtedly that—should be admired. Well, perhaps not exactly admired, but considered interesting and a good place to be in.

My new father was determined to enchant me, to lure me, as I see now, to an appreciation of his country and his way of life. And I was willing enough to be charmed.

We took the journey to Aubigné fairly slowly, breaking our journey at night in delightful inns. The Comte proudly called me his daughter and I shone in reflected glory.

‘We shall visit Paris and perhaps Versailles later,’ he said. ‘I shall not let you go until you have seen a great deal of my country.’

I smiled happily. None could have been more eager to see than I.

He was delighted with my prowess on horseback, for he said it was a more interesting way of travelling than by coach. They were golden days, riding side by side with him, still marvelling at the fact that he was my father, still feeling twinges of remorse that I should be so pleased about it, chattering away blithely with less restraint than I showed towards my own mother or ever had to Jean-Louis. The reason was, I suppose, that the Comte was a man of the world and his attitude towards me was that I was aware of the basic facts of life. He implied that he saw no reason for attempting to protect me from what a person of my intelligence must already know. It made it easy for me to talk to him about Dickon. He seemed to understand my feelings and never insulted me by suggesting that I could not feel as deeply as I said I did because I was too young. I felt no longer a child in his company and that was one of the reasons why I enjoyed being with him so much.

It was not until we were in France that he told me of his family and whom I should meet. Strangely enough, until that time I had not thought of his having a family. He had talked so much about his life at Court, and I could not imagine him in the heart of domesticity.

He began: ‘My daughter Sophie would be a year or so older than you. I hope you will be friends.’

‘Your daughter!’ I cried as the realization dawned upon me. ‘Why … she is my sister!’

‘Half-sister,’ he corrected. ‘Her mother died five years ago. She is a good girl. She will become your friend, I am sure. In fact, I shall insist that she does.’

‘A sister …’ I murmured. ‘I do hope she likes me. All your insistence won’t be able to make her if she doesn’t.’

‘She has been brought up to obey … a little more strictly, I imagine, than you have been.’

‘Sophie,’ I murmured. ‘How interesting. Oh, I do look forward to seeing her.’

‘I want you to be prepared for our household. I also have a son, Armand, Vicomte de Graffont. Graffont is a small estate we have in the Dordogne district. Armand will, of course, have my title when I die. He is five years older than Sophie.’

‘So … I have a brother, too. How exciting! I wonder how many people have families they don’t know about.’

‘Thousands. Life is not always lived to a regular pattern, you know. I suppose almost everyone has a secret tucked away somewhere.’

‘It is fascinating. Oh, I do so long to meet them. Will they be at the château or in Paris?’

‘Sophie will be at the château with her governess. I cannot speak for Armand. He leads his own life.’

‘It sounds so interesting.’

‘I trust you will find it so.’

‘I am so excited. It grows more fascinating every minute. First a new father … and now a sister and brother. Are there any more relations?’

‘Distant ones who won’t concern you. That is all my immediate family circle.’

I was so excited I scarcely noticed the countryside. We had come to France by way of Le Havre and travelled to Elboeuf and then spent a night at Evreux, the capital of Eure, in which province the Château d’Aubigné was situated.

When we reached Evreux, the Comte sent two of the grooms on to the château to warn them of our coming, and very soon we were making our way southwards, for, said the Comte, now that he was so near home he had an irresistible urge to be there.

As we approached, I had my first glimpse of the castle, which was set on a slight incline; built of grey stone it was overpoweringly intimidating with its buttresses and corbelled watch-towers. I gazed in wonder at the imposing edifice with its pepperpot-like roofs on either side of the gatehouse.

The Comte saw how impressed I was and said: ‘I am gratified. I think you like my château. Of course it is no longer as it was originally. Once it was just a fortress. What you see now is as it became in the sixteenth century, which was when French architecture was at its best.’

Dusk was falling and in the half light the château looked mysterious, almost forbidding, and excited as I was when I rode into the courtyard, I felt a sudden shiver of apprehension as though I was being warned of a certain menace.

‘In the morning I will show you the inside of the chateau myself,’ said the Comte. ‘I am afraid you will find me rather boastful and over-proud.’

‘Anyone would be,’ I told him.

‘Well, it is your family now, Lottie,’ he replied.

I stood in the hall with the Comte beside me, his hand on my shoulder while he watched me closely to see the effect his home was having on me. Needless to say, I was overcome with mixed emotions. It was so grand, so redolent of the past; I could believe that I had stepped into another century; there was a pride in my knowledge that I belonged to the people who had lived here for centuries, and after what had happened to me I was prepared for anything. But there was that. faint feeling of unease which persisted and which I could not understand.

I looked at the ancient walls hung with tapestries depicting what appeared to be scenes of battle, and where there was not tapestry there were gleaming weapons; several suits of armour stood in darkened corners like watching sentinels and I could easily have convinced myself that they moved and that there was something here in this hall which was assessing me in the same way as I was this house. On the long oak table were two candelabra—one at each end—and the candles threw flickering light on the vaulted ceiling.

A man came hurrying into the hall; he looked very important in his blue and green livery with heavy brass buttons. He greeted the Comte obsequiously.

‘Everything is prepared, Monsieur le Comte,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said my father. ‘Does the Vicomte know I have returned?’

‘Monsieur le Vicomte was out hunting when your messengers arrived. He had not yet returned.’

The Comte nodded. ‘Mademoiselle Sophie …’

‘I will send someone to her apartment, Monsieur le Comte.’

‘Do so, with all speed.’

The man disappeared and the Comte turned to me.

‘It is best for you to meet Sophie first. She can make sure that everything is all right.’

‘What will they say when they know?’

He looked at me questioningly and I went on: ‘When they know who I am … our relationship.’

He smiled blandly. ‘My dear child, it is not for anyone to question my actions.’

At that moment I had my first glimpse of Sophie.

She was coming down the beautiful staircase which was at one end of the hall. I studied her eagerly. There was no physical resemblance between us whatsoever. She was short in stature with dark brown hair and olive skin. She was certainly not very pretty—in fact she was what kindly people call homely and those less kind call plain. She was overweight and too dumpy to be attractive, and her blue gown with its tightly laced bodice and large hooped skirt, which stood out round her like a bell, did nothing for her.

‘Sophie, my dear,’ said the Comte, ‘I want you to come here and meet Lottie …’

She came forward hesitantly. I guessed she was greatly in awe of her father.’

‘I want to explain to you about Lottie … She is going to stay with us for a visit and you are to make sure she is comfortable while she is with us. I have something very important to tell you about her. She is your sister.’

Sophie’s jaw dropped a little. She was astonished and that did not surprise me.

‘We have just discovered each other. Now, Sophie, what have you got to say?’

Poor Sophie! She stammered and looked as though she were going to burst into tears.

I said: ‘I am very pleased to have a sister. I always wanted one. It’s like a miracle to me.’

‘There, Sophie, listen to your sister,’ said the Comte. ‘I am sure you feel the same. You will get to know each other in the next few days. In the meantime, Lottie is tired. She wants to get out of her riding habit and wash, I dare say. Sophie, you know where she is sleeping. Take her there and make sure she has everything she wants.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Sophie.

‘A room has been prepared for her?’

‘Yes, Papa, the grooms said you were bringing a young lady.’

‘All is well, then. Lottie, go up with Sophie. She will show you the way.’

I felt sorry for Sophie. I said: ‘I shall have to learn to find my way about the château. It’s vast, isn’t it?’

‘It is large,’ she agreed.

‘Take her up then,’ said the Comte, ‘and when she is ready bring her down, and we will eat then. Journeys make one hungry.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Sophie quietly.

He laid his hand on my arm. ‘You and Sophie must be friends,’ he said. I glanced at Sophie and guessed that for her that was a command. I did not take such commands. But I did want to make the acquaintance of my sister. I wanted to be friends, but we should only be so if friendship came naturally; and at the moment I could not tell what she was thinking of me.

‘Please come with me,’ said Sophie.

‘Thank you,’ I replied and was glad that Jean-Louis had taught me French. His mother had been French and although he was very young when she left him, he had a natural aptitude and had kept it by reading in that language; and he taught me to speak and write it. My mother had been eager for this. I saw now that it was because my real father was French. This now enabled me to converse easily with Sophie.

I followed her up the staircase and finally we came to my room. It was very grand, with a four-poster bed, the curtains of which were moss green with a tracery of gold thread; they matched those at the windows and the colours were brought out in the Aubusson carpets which added such luxury to the room.

‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ said Sophie formally. ‘Here is the ruelle where you will make your toilette.’

This was a curtained-off alcove in which was all that was needed for my comfort.

‘The saddle horses had already come with your baggage. It has been put here.’

I had an idea that she was trying to act as normally as possible to hide her astonishment at the revelation of our relationship.

I wanted to know how she felt and I couldn’t resist asking: ‘What did you think when your father told you who I was?’

She lowered her eyes and fumbled for words, and I was suddenly sorry for her because she seemed afraid of life—something I promised myself I would never be—and she was also afraid of her father with whom I had quickly become on easy terms.

I tried to help her. ‘It must have been a great shock to you.’

‘That you should exist?’ she said. ‘Well … no … These things happen. That he should bring you to the castle and introduce you like that’ she lifted her shoulders ‘well, yes. I was a little surprised because …’

‘Because I have only come on a short visit?’

‘That’s what I mean. If you had been going to live here with us …’

She paused. She had an irritating habit of not finishing her sentences; but perhaps that was due to the shock she had received. She was right. As I was merely a visitor I could have been introduced as such at first and then if the Comte wanted to break the news of our relationship he might have done so less abruptly.

‘I find it all wonderfully exciting,’ I said. ‘To find I have a sister is so thrilling.’

She looked at me rather bashfully and said: ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

At that moment the door opened and a face appeared.

‘Oh, it’s you, Lisette,’ said Sophie. ‘I might have guessed.

A girl came into the room. She could not have been much older than I—a year or two at the most. She was very pretty with fair curling hair and sparkling blue eyes.

‘So she is here …’ Lisette tiptoed into the room and surveyed me.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I am delighted to be able to return the compliment.’

‘You speak … prettily. Doesn’t she, Sophie? Not quite French but none the worse for that. Is that your first visit to France?’

‘Yes.’ I looked from her to Sophie. ‘Who are you?’

The girl answered: ‘Lisette. I live here. I am the niece of Madame la Gouvernante, the Femme de Charge. La Tante Berthe is a very important lady, is she not, Sophie?’

Sophie nodded.

‘I have been here since I was six years old,’ went on Lisette. ‘I am now fourteen. The Comte is very fond of me. I take lessons with Sophie and although I am merely the niece of La Gouvernante I am an honoured member of the household.’

‘I am delighted to meet you.’

‘You are very young to be a friend of the Comte. But they say the King sets the fashion and we all know how it is at Versailles.’

‘Hush, Lisette,’ said Sophie, flushing hotly. ‘I must tell you what Papa has just told me. Lottie is … his daughter. She is my sister …’

Lisette stared at me; the colour flooded her cheeks and her eyes shone like sapphires.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Whether you do or not, it makes no difference. He has told me and that is why she is here.’

‘And … your mother?’ Lisette was looking at me questioningly.

‘My mother is in England,’ I told her. ‘I have just come for a visit.’

Lisette continued to look at me as though she saw me in a new light.

‘Did the Comte visit her often?’

I shook my head. ‘They hadn’t seen each other for years. I only knew he was my father when he visited us a short time ago.’

‘It is all so odd,’ said Lisette. ‘I don’t mean your being a bastard. Heaven knows there are plenty of them about. But not to see you all those years and then to bring you here and make no secret about it.’

‘My father feels he does not have to keep secrets,’ said Sophie.

‘No,’ said Lisette quietly. ‘He acts as he wishes and everyone must accept that.’

‘Lottie wants to wash and change. I think we should leave her now.’

With that she took Lisette’s arm and led her out of the room and Lisette seemed to have been so overcome by the news of my identity that she went docilely.

‘Thank you, Sophie,’ I said.

I found a dress in my baggage—hardly suitable to the grandeur of the château but it was of a deep blue shade which matched my eyes and I knew was becoming. In due course Sophie arrived to take me down. She had changed, but her dress did no more for her than the one in which I had first seen her.

She said: ‘I don’t know what you thought of Lisette. She had no right to come in as she did.’

‘I thought her interesting, and she is very pretty.’

‘Yes.’ Sophie looked rueful as though regretting her lack of claim to that asset. ‘But she does give herself airs. She is only the housekeeper’s niece.’

‘I gather the housekeeper is a very important person in the château.’

‘Oh yes. She looks after the domestic side … the kitchens and the maids and the running of the whole place. There is a good deal of rivalry between her and Jacques, who is the major-domo. But my father has been very good to Lisette, having her educated here. I think it is part of the bargain he made when Tante Berthe came. I always call her Tante Berthe because Lisette does. Actually she is Madame Clavel. I don’t think she is really Madame but she calls herself that because it is better for a position of authority than Mademoiselle. She is very stern and prim and no one could imagine her ever having a husband. Even Lisette is in awe of her.’

‘Lisette is not the least bit reserved.’

‘Indeed no. She pushes herself forward on every occasion. She would love to join us at table but Armand would never have that. He has strong ideas about the servants and that is all Lisette is … in a way. I think she has to do quite a lot of things for Tante Berthe. But it was just like her … pushing in as she did. She was astounded to hear you were …’

‘Yes, I gathered that. But I suppose a great many people would be.’

She was thoughtful. ‘My father does exactly what he wants, and quite clearly he is proud of you and wants everyone to know he is your father. You are very good-looking.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t need thanks for saying it. I always notice people’s looks. I suppose it is because I am so plain myself.’

‘But indeed you are not,’ I lied.

But she just smiled at me. ‘We should go down,’ she said.

The first meal in the château was rather a ceremonious occasion. I don’t remember what we ate. I was too excited to notice. The candles on the table gave a touch of mystery to the room—tapestried like the hall—and I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched by ghosts who would appear at any moment. Everything was so elegant: cutlery, silver goblets, and silent-footed servants in their blue and green livery gliding back and forth, whisking away dishes and replacing them with a speed which was like magic. What a contrast to Eversleigh, with the servants trudging in and out with their tureens of soup and platters of beef and mutton and pies!

But it was, naturally, the company which demanded my attention. I was presented to my brother, Armand, a very worldly young man about eighteen years old, I imagined, who appeared to be greatly amused to discover who I was.

He was very handsome and very like the Comte in appearance though lacking that firmness of jaw which perhaps came later in life, for I was sure Armand would be just as intent on having his own way as his father was, but perhaps had not yet found how to get it on every occasion. At least that was my impression of him. He was fastidious, that much was obvious; his dandyism was more pronounced than that of his father. I sensed this by the manner in which he lightly adjusted his cravat and touched the silver buttons on his jacket. His expression was one of haughtiness and his manner was intended to remind everyone that he was an aristocrat. His eyes rested on me with some approval and I felt a glow of pleasure; those striking looks which I had inherited from my ancestress Carlotta were a passport to approval wherever I went.

The Comte sat at the head of the table and Sophie at the extreme end. She seemed pleased because of the distance between them. I was on the Comte’s right and Armand was immediately opposite me, but it was such a large table that we all seemed a long way apart.

Armand asked me a great many questions about Eversleigh and I explained how my mother had fairly recently inherited it and that I had spent the greater part of my life at Clavering in another part of the country.

Sophie said nothing and everyone seemed to forget that she was there, but I was drawn continually into the conversation and was able to make a contribution until they talked of Court matters, to which I was only too ready to listen.

Armand had returned from Paris in the last few days and he said that the attitude of people was changing there.

‘It is always in the capital that such changes are first visible,’ said the Comte, ‘though Paris has hated the King for a long time now. The days are well past when he was known as The Well Beloved.’

‘It is the Well Hated now,’ added Armand. ‘He refuses to go to his capital unless it is absolutely necessary.’

‘He should never have built that road from Versailles to Compiègne. He should never have lost the regard of the people of Paris. It is downright dangerous. If only he would change his way of life there might be time yet …’

‘He never would,’ cried Armand. ‘And who are we to blame him?’ Armand’s eyes slid found to me rather maliciously, I thought. I knew what he meant. He was accusing my father of resembling the King in his morals. It wasn’t fair. I felt a great urge to defend my newly-found father against his cynical son. ‘But,’ went on Armand, ‘I believe the Parc aux Cerfs is scarcely in use now.’

‘It is because he grows old. However, I think the situation is becoming more and more dangerous.’

‘Louis is the King, remember. No one can change that.’

‘Let us hope no one tries to.’

‘The people will always be dissatisfied,’ said Armand. ‘There is nothing unusual about that.’

‘There have been riots in England,’ I put in. ‘It is said to be because of the high cost of food. They brought in the soldiers and several people were killed.’

‘That’s the only thing to do,’ said Armand. ‘Bring in the military.’

‘We should make the economy stronger,’ said the Comte. ‘Then we should not have these areas of poverty. The people, when roused, can be a formidable force.’

‘Not while we have the army to keep them in check,’ said Armand.

‘The people may try to raise their voices one day,’ the Comte went on.

‘They’ll never dare,’ retorted Armand lightly. ‘And we are boring our new sister Lottie with this dreary talk.’ He spoke my name with the emphasis on the last syllable which made it sound different and rather charming.

I smiled at him. ‘No, I am not in the least bored. I am finding everything too exciting for that and I like to know what is going on.’

‘You and I will ride together tomorrow,’ said Armand. ‘I will show you the countryside, little sister. And, Papa, I suppose you are proposing to show Lottie Paris?’

‘Very soon,’ said the Comte. ‘I have promised myself a jaunt to town.’

The meal seemed to go on for a long time but in due course it was over and we went into a little room where we drank wine. Even excited as I was, I was so tired that I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. The Comte noticed this and told Sophie to take me to my room.

The days were full of new impressions and yet how quickly they slipped past! I was enchanted by the château itself; a magnificent piece of architecture which was the more fascinating because it bore the mark of several centuries. It was necessary to be some distance from it to see it in all its glory and during those first days it was a delight to ride away from it and then halt to look back at the steep-pitched roofs, the ancient battlements, the pepperpot towers, the corbelled parapet supported by more than two hundred machicolations, the cylindrical keep overlooking the drawbridge, and to marvel at its sheer strength and apparent impregnability.

I felt moved to think that this was the home of my ancestors and then again I was aware of that twinge of remorse because I had been so happy in dear comfortable Clavering with my mother and Jean-Louis, which was all I asked for then.

But how could anyone help being proud of being connected with the Château d’Aubigné!

At first I believed that I should never learn the geography of the inside of the château. In those early days I was continually getting lost and discovering new parts. There was the very ancient section with its short spiral staircases; in this were the dungeons and there was a distinct chill in that part of the building. It was very eerie and I should have hated to be there alone. I knew that fearful things had happened there, for there the family’s enemies had been imprisoned. I could guess at the dark deeds which had been perpetrated in those gloomy dungeons. The Comte himself showed them to me … little dark cells with great rings attached to the walls to which prisoners had been manacled. When I shivered he put his arm round me and said: ‘Perhaps I should not have brought you here. Will it make you like the château less? But, Lottie, my dear, if you are going to live life to the full, you must not shut your eyes to certain features of it.’

After that he took me to those apartments where, in the past, he and his ancestors had entertained kings when they travelled in the district. In these rooms with their elegant furnishings, I was shown a different aspect of the château.

From the battlements one looked for miles over beautiful country to the town some way off with its shuttered houses and its narrow streets. There were so many impressions to absorb in a short time and I often thought: I will tell Dickon about this when we meet. He would be most interested and I was sure he would be in his element looking after an estate like this one.

But it was the people around me who interested me more than anything.

I was frequently with the Comte, for it seemed as though he could not have enough of my company, which considering the way in which he ignored Sophie was remarkable. I had obviously made a great impression on him, or it may have been that he had really loved my mother and I reminded him of that long-ago romance. I wondered. She must have been very different from the people he would have known. I had seen a portrait of his wife and she was just like Sophie, timid and nervous-looking. She had been very young obviously when the portrait had been painted.

Sometimes Sophie would come to my room and Lisette would join us. I felt sometimes that Sophie wanted to forbid the girl’s intrusion but she seemed afraid of her, as she was of so much.

I myself was rather pleased when Lisette came, for her conversation was lively and in spite of the fact that I was growing fond of Sophie, I did not find her company very enlivening.

I had caught a glimpse of the formidable Tante Berthe, a big woman with a stern face and tight lips which looked as though they would find it very difficult to smile. I had heard that she was very pious and kept the serving girls in order, which, Lisette told me, was quite a task as the men were always trying to seduce the girls.

‘You know what men are,’ said Lisette, laughing at me. ‘They are torn between their desire for the girls and their fear of Tante Berthe. If any of them were caught in what they call flagrante delicto, which means caught in the act, she would insist on their being dismissed.’

‘Surely the Comte would not allow that to happen.’

‘You mean in view of his own inclinations.’ Lisette continued to laugh. She did not seem to care what she said about anyone and I was sure she would never restrict her own behaviour. It was true that she had the redoubtable Tante Berthe behind her and that lady would surely not allow her own niece to be turned away.

Lisette liked to talk about lovers and I thought she did it to tease Sophie. I quickly came to the conclusion that she very much enjoyed showing her superiority in wit and looks over poor Sophie.

‘One day a husband will be found for me,’ she said, ‘just as yours will be, Sophie.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘The difference will be that yours will be a nobleman and mine a good solid member of the bourgeoisie who finds favour with Tante Berthe.’

Sophie looked apprehensive as she always did at the mention of marriage.

‘It might be very pleasant,’ I told her.

‘I know it will be awful,’ she replied.

I told them about Dickon and they listened avidly, especially Lisette.

‘Trust you,’ said Lisette, who enjoyed treating me with a mingling of familiarity and camaraderie, as though we were two of a kind.

‘It can’t be long now,’ said Sophie mournfully. ‘I shall be taken to Court. Papa thinks I shall be perfectly safe there. The King likes young girls but he won’t look at me.’

‘I sometimes think,’ said Lisette, ‘that I should like to be selected by the King’s pander to minister to His Majesty’s delight.’

‘Lisette!’

‘Well, it would be better than being pushed off to some boring old gentleman who has a little money but not too much, for being the niece of a housekeeper—even such a housekeeper—does not warrant too much.’

‘You mean you would like to go the Parc aux Cerfs?’ asked Sophie incredulously.

‘They say it is most luxurious and when the King grows tired of the girls they are given a good dowry and can marry, which they do, the dowry making them very desirable. Those dowries, they say, are more than an average husband can earn in a very long time. So those girls—and their husbands—are lucky. Don’t you think so, Lottie?’

I pondered it. ‘I believe a lot of people starve here and in England,’ I said. ‘But from what I hear it is worse in France. If those girls please the King in that way of their own free will and are paid for it, it may be it is better than living in dire poverty all their lives.’

‘You talk like Armand,’ said Sophie. ‘He is very loyal to the King and would like to live just as he does. He loathes the complaining poor—especially when they riot. He says they will never be content whatever they have so why bother to make conditions better for them.’

‘It is hard to pass an opinion on those girls,’ I temporized. ‘One would have to experience the sort of places they come from. Perhaps we are complacent … and lucky never to have known hardship.’

Lisette was studying us thoughtfully, but she did not speak which was unusual for her.

‘At least,’ said Sophie, ‘they can choose their own husbands.’

Poor Sophie, she was always uneasy when marriage was talked of.

I had been at the château a week when the Comte announced that he was going to take me to Paris and perhaps if possible give me a glimpse of the Court at Versailles.

I was greatly excited, but when he said that Sophie should accompany us she was thrown into a state of apprehension because she was afraid a husband would be found for her.

A few days later we were in Paris. I was so fascinated by this great and enchanting city that I did not think of Dickon for two whole days before I realized the omission and reproached myself for it.

We went first to the Comte’s magnificent town house—one of the mansions situated in the Rue Saint-Germain which were called hôtels and belonged to the country’s most wealthy noblemen. With their emblazoned pediments these tall buildings were very grand and impressive. The house was as luxuriously furnished as some parts of the château but in the style which had become so popular during the reign of Louis XV—a combination of classic severity and the rococo. I knew little of such things than I learned later. All I was aware of at that time was that the exquisite beauty overwhelmed me, and it gave me infinite pleasure merely to look at the beautiful chairs upholstered in Gobelin tapestry and the unusual sofas called sultanes, the carved cabinets and the inlaid tables. The rugs and carpets were of delicate colouring and toned beautifully with the paintings which adorned the walls. The Comte pointed out with pride his Boucher and Fragonard—two painters who had just been making their way when he had bought their pictures and were now Court Painters for the King, who might be profligate and given more to erotic pursuits than matters of state, but certainly had an appreciation of art. This had been encouraged by Madame de Pompadour when she had been alive and ruled the country through her lover.

I was enchanted by the mansion but even more so by what was inside it.

Then there was Paris itself—city of charm, noise, gaiety, mud and … contrasts. Perhaps it was the last of these which struck me more than anything else, when I come to look back—those few glimpses I had of the squalor and horror which existed side by side with the utmost elegance and richness.

The Comte was determined that I should love Paris. I was to discover later that there was a motive in this and that he and my mother were planning to divert my thoughts from Dickon. At that time I put it down to an intense national pride. And indeed he had much to be proud of in that respect.

So he was determined to show me everything, but first he took us to a fashionable dressmaker so that Sophie and I might have dresses made for a presentation at Versailles.

‘I want you to be acknowledged by the King,’ he told me, ‘because without that you cannot go to Court. It may be that you won’t be. We have to wait and hope that he will appear. All you have to do is curtsey lower than you ever have done before and if he addresses you, answer him clearly. It would be a brief encounter and if he should speak to you I will make it known that you are on a short visit to France in case he should ask someone to make plans for you. There will be others present all hoping for the honour of being addressed—however briefly—by the King, and he will be passing through the ante-room on his way to some engagement.’

‘And for this we must have new dresses?’

‘You must do me credit,’ said the Comte.

‘It seems a great deal of formality.’

‘That,’ said the Comte, ‘is France.’

So we went to the dressmaker—a very soignée woman—who seemed very old and was so patched and powdered that her face was scarcely visible. It was as though she were wearing a mask. She brought out bales of material which she caressed with long white fingers as though they were loved ones; she summoned her assistants and they turned me about, unpinning my hair and treating me as they might have done a bundle of merchandise; and all the time the dressmaker’s piercing eyes studied me. They glinted as she said: ‘She is a child … as yet … but we will do something.’

And to me: ‘When you are older … when you have become a woman eh? … then it will be a joy to dress you.’

They decided on rich peacock blue silk for me. ‘Very simple,’ she cried. ‘We show the child … but the woman to come.’

She spent a lot of time with me, less with Sophie. It was blue for her too, a light turquoise shade.

I laughed when we came out. ‘She takes her dresses very seriously,’ I said.

‘She is one of the greatest dressmakers in Paris,’ Sophie told me. ‘She once made for Madame de Pompadour.’

I was impressed, but more interested in the sights of Paris than the forthcoming visit to Versailles which was the reason for so much planning.

The Comte and I were often alone. He seemed to want that and poor Sophie was often excluded from our expeditions. We did not always use his coach but for fun would take the little carriages which were called pots de chambre because of their shape, and although they exposed us to the weather we did not mind that in the least. In these we would ride round Paris. Whenever I hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on a road, I can be transported to those days which seemed to hold a special magic for me.

The Comte wanted me to understand the life of Paris. He wanted me to hear the people coming in through the barriers from the country in the early morning bringing the produce they sold in the markets. It was a city which awoke early and at seven o’clock, although there were no carriages on the roads, people began to stir and go to their business. I was most amused when the waiters from the lemonade shops came running to the various apartment houses with their trays of coffee and rolls for the petit déjeuner of the people who lived there. The various trades seemed to have their special times for making themselves seen and heard. At ten o’clock the legal practitioners went to the Châtelet and, wigged and gowned, they made an extraordinary spectacle with those whose cases they were going to try running along beside them. At midday it was the stockbrokers. But at two o’clock all was quiet. That was the dinner hour and it was not until five that the city became lively again. Then it was at its most noisy, for the streets were blocked with carriages and pedestrians.

‘The most dangerous time is when it begins to get dark,’ said the Comte. ‘No lady must ever be out alone at that time. Thieves abound … and worse. The Watch is not yet on duty and no one is safe. Later on when the streets become full of people it is not so bad.’

The play started at nine and after that the streets quietened down a little until round about midnight when carriages carrying people from supper and gambling parties would go rumbling through the streets.

I loved it all. I wanted to get up early to see the peasants arrive with their fruit, flowers and provisions of all sorts as they made their way to Les Halles. I wanted to see the bankers of Gonesse bringing in their bread. I wanted to buy coffee from the coffee women who stood on the street corners with their tin urns on their backs; it was two sous a cup and served in earthenware vessels but it tasted like nectar to me. I loved the street singers, some of them singing sacred hymns and others specializing in obscenity.

I think the Comte enjoyed those days too and perhaps saw Paris more intimately than he ever had before. He would dress very simply when he took me walking and he always held my arm firmly. I was touched by the way he always protected me from the splashing of carriages, for the Paris mud was notorious and contained an element of sulphur in it which would burn holes in one’s clothes if not removed at once. He took me to Notre Dame, that great landmark of a great city. How it inspired me with its grandeur, but most of all by its antiquity. We went inside and when he had shown me the glorious wheel window in the north transept and the rose window over the organ and we had climbed the three hundred and ninety-seven spiral steps of the turret to look at Paris from the top of the Cathedral, we sat inside in the gloom and the Comte told me of some of the events which had taken place in the history of Notre Dame. Afterwards we looked at the gargoyles which decorated the walls of the Cathedral and somehow my mood changed. They were such strange faces … so wicked … so cunning.

‘Why did they put them there?’ I demanded. ‘They have spoiled its beauty.’

All the same I could not stop looking at those hideous faces … saturnine … evil, but what struck me most was that they seemed to be leering, revelling.

‘In what are they revelling?’ I asked.

‘The follies of human nature, I always thought,’ answered the Comte.

He must have been impressed by the effect this had on me, but he was determined to show me everything possible during our tours of the city. Our rides took us past various prisons. Two stand out in my memory—the Conciergerie on the Quai de l’Horloge whose circular towers could be seen from the bridges and bank of the river; and the Bastille at the Porte St-Antoine with its grim bastions and towers. I shuddered at the sight of the gallery from which cannon projected.

‘They are not all criminals who are imprisoned there,’ the Comte explained. ‘Some are victims of their enemies … men whose politics have betrayed them … or perhaps they have become too dangerous through Court intrigue.’

He then told me of the infamous lettres de cachet, which were warrants of imprisonment issued by the Kings of France. Although they were countersigned by a minister they had to be signed by the King. ‘There is no redress,’ said the Comte. ‘Any man can receive his lettre de cachet and never discover the reason why, for once he is incarcerated in the Bastille, he has little hope of ever getting out.’

Looking up at those grim walls I wondered about the people who were living behind them. ‘But it is so unfair … so unjust!’ I cried.

‘Life often is,’ said the Comte. ‘One has to be always wary to make sure one does not take a false step which could end in disaster.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘One can’t. One has to walk carefully and one does learn as one gets older. In one’s youth one can be rash.’

He did not want me to be too depressed and that evening we went to the play; and how I loved to see those people’s elegant clothes and the women’s magnificent coiffures, all laughing and calling to each other.

Sophie was with us. She obviously enjoyed the theatre and when we returned to the hôtel I stayed in her room for a while and we discussed the play and laughed over the evening’s entertainment. I did believe I was getting to know Sophie better and beginning to understand that she had been rather lonely, and that she wanted to confide was really rather glad that she had found a sister.

We shall be great friends, I told myself. But then I remembered that I should shortly be returning to England and wondered when we should meet again. When she marries, I promised myself, I shall visit her; and she will visit me.

There came the great thrill of our visit to Versailles. Oddly enough, after the exploration of Paris it did not impress me as greatly. Perhaps I had become satiated by so much splendour and luxurious extravagance. Of course I thought it was wonderful and the Le Notre gardens superb; the terraces and the statues, the bronze groups and ornamental basins from which the fountains rose and fell—they were like fairyland; the orangery had been built by Mansard, the Comte told me, and was reckoned to be the finest piece of architecture in the whole of Versailles and I could well believe that; and it was impossible not to be impressed by the great central terrace and stretch of grass called the tapis vert. But what I remember most about Versailles was that crowded ante-chamber, named the oeil de boeuf because of its oval window, in which I, with Sophie and the Comte, waited for the King to appear from his apartments.

Everyone was very elaborately dressed, and the Comte, I supposed because he was an important person at Court, stood in a prominent position near the door with me on one side and Sophie on the other.

There was an air of suppressed tension in that room and such eagerness on the faces of everyone. They were all so anxious that the King should notice them on his passage through the room. I kept thinking of those people in the Bastille who had been despatched there for something of which they might well be unaware, and just because they had displeased someone who had the power to put them there. But hadn’t the Comte said the lettres de cachet had to be signed by the King?

There was a sudden hush, for a man had come into the room. The King of France! He was followed by several men but I had eyes only for the King. I think I should have known him for the King anywhere. He had an air of great distinction in a way which I can only describe as aloof. It was a handsome face, certainly marked by debauchery but the good looks remained. He moved with grace and he was most exquisitely dressed; diamonds glittered discreetly on his person. I could not take my eyes from him.

He was close to us now and the Comte had caught his eye. I felt myself propelled forward and curtsied as low as I could. Sophie did the same and the Comte bowed low.

‘Ah, Aubigné,’ said the King; his voice was low and musical.

‘I would present my daughters, Sire,’ said the Comte.

I could feel those weary looking eyes on me. A very charming smile appeared on the King’s face and for a few seconds he looked straight at me.

‘You have a very pretty daughter, Comte,’ he said.

‘On a visit from England, Sire. She returns there soon to her mother.’

‘I hope we shall see her at Court before she goes.’

The King had passed on. Someone else was bowing with the utmost servility.

The Comte was delighted. As we rode back to Paris in the carriage he said: ‘It was a great success. The King actually spoke of you. That’s why I told him you were here only on a visit. He liked you. That was clear. Aren’t you flattered?’

‘I have heard that he likes young girls.’

‘Not all,’ said the Comte with a laugh, and I noticed that Sophie shrank into a corner of the carriage. I felt sorry for her because the King had scarcely glanced at her.

When we reached Paris the Comte said that he wanted to speak to me and would I go into the petit salon where he would join me shortly.

I changed into a simpler dress and went down to the room where he was waiting for me.

‘Ah Lottie,’ he said, ‘flushed with success, I see.’

‘It was a very brief glory,’ I reminded him.

‘What did you expect? An invitation to sup with him? God forbid. I should not have taken you if that had been possible.’

‘I didn’t expect anything. I was just surprised that he looked at me for what was it?—two seconds?’

‘You are a beautiful girl, Lottie. You stand out in a crowd. It means that now the King has spoken to you … or been aware of you … you could go to Court if the occasion arose. It is always well to be in a position to go.’

‘Well, I shall be on my way home soon. I suppose I should be thinking of my return now. I only came for a short visit, didn’t I?’

‘And you have enjoyed that visit?’

‘It has been wonderfully exciting and different from anything I ever knew before.’

‘I don’t intend to lose you now that I have found you, you know.’

‘I hope you won’t.

He looked at me steadily. ‘I think, Lottie, that you and I understand each other well. We stepped easily into the roles of father and daughter.’

‘I suppose we did.’

‘I am going to tell you something. I have written to your mother asking her to marry me and she has consented.’

I stared at him in amazement. ‘But …’ I stammered. ‘Her … her home is at Eversleigh.’

‘When a woman marries she leaves her home and goes to that of her husband.’

‘You mean she will come to live here?’

He nodded. ‘And it is your home too,’ he added.

This was bewildering. First a father appearing, then the scenes I had witnessed during the last weeks, and now … my mother was going to marry the Comte.

‘But …’ I said because I had to go on talking in the hope of collecting my wits meanwhile …‘you … er … you haven’t seen each other … for years before you came to England.’

‘We loved each other long ago.’

‘And then … nothing happened.’

‘Nothing happened! You happened. Moreover we are both free now. Neither of us was then.’

‘It seems to me so very sudden.’

‘Sometimes one knows these things at once. We did. You don’t seem very pleased. Are you wondering about yourself? Lottie, it is my earnest wish and that of your mother that you will be with us. This is your home now.’

‘No … My home is in England. You know about Dickon.’

‘My dear, you are so young. You know there can be no thought of a marriage yet.’

‘But I do know I love Dickon and he loves me.’

‘Well, you have to grow up a little, don’t you? Why shouldn’t you do that growing up here?’

I could not think of anything to say. I wanted to be alone to ponder this new turn in affairs and to ask myself what effect it was going to have on my life.

The Comte was saying: ‘Your mother is making arrangements to come to France.’

‘She can’t leave Eversleigh.’

‘Arrangements will have to be made. In fact she has been making them for some time. We agreed to this two weeks ago. We both decided that having found each other we were not going to risk losing each other again. Lottie, I can never explain what a joy it has been to find you … and your mother. I thought of her over the years and it seems she did of me. What is between us is something which rarely comes.’

I nodded and he smiled at me fondly, realizing that I was thinking of Dickon; and although he believed that I could not possibly understand, he did not say so.

‘Now we have a chance to regain what we have lost. We both realize that. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Your mother will be coming here soon. We shall be married then. I wanted you to hear it first from me. When your mother comes she will tell you what arrangements have been made. In the meantime we must prepare for the wedding.’

He put his arms about me and, drawing me to him, kissed me. I clung to him. I was very fond of him and proud that he was my father. But when I tried to look into the future, it seemed very misty to me.

The news that my father was to be married was received in his household with consternation, I think, although no one said very much to me. Armand shrugged his shoulders and seemed cynically amused because the bride was to be my mother, and the romantic plans were clearly the outcome of an old love-affair.

‘So we have a sister and belle mère at one stroke,’ he said, and I was sure he went off to laugh about it with his cronies—worldly young gentlemen like himself.

Sophie was inclined to be pleased. ‘He will be so taken up with his own marriage that he won’t think about arranging one for me,’ she confided to me.

I replied: ‘You worry too much. If you don’t want to marry the man they choose for you, just say so. Be firm. They can’t drag you screaming to the altar.’

She laughed with me and it occurred to me that we were beginning to get on very well.

Lisette talked excitedly of the marriage.

‘He must be deeply enamoured,’ she said, ‘for there is no need to get heirs.’

‘Surely that is not the only reason for marrying,’ I said.

‘It usually is the main one in France. Otherwise men would never marry. They like a variety of mistresses.’

‘How cynical you all are! Don’t you believe in love?’

‘Love is very fine when there are advantages to let it flourish in comfort. I think that is the view of most people. I have learned to stare cold hard facts in the face and it seems to me that on this occasion your father must be truly in love.’

‘And that amazes you?’

‘I suppose such things can happen to anyone—even men like the Comte.’

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed at me.

I was delighted to see my mother when she arrived. She seemed to have cast off years. I felt very tender towards her because I realized that her life had not been easy. True, she had loved the Comte and betrayed her husband, but that was one of the reasons for her years of contrition, and being the woman she was, she suffered very deeply through what she would call her sin. Now she blossomed; her eyes shone and there was a faint flush on her cheeks. She looked years younger. Like Pilgrim, I thought, when the burden fell from his shoulders. She was like a young girl in love.

The Comte had changed too. I was amazed that two elderly people—at least they seemed elderly to me—could behave like two young people in love. For indeed, they were in love and love appeared to have the same effect on people in their forties as it did on those in their teens.

She embraced me; the Comte embraced me; and we all embraced each other. All the retainers came into the hall to greet her. They bowed low and were all smiling and chattering and the Comte stood by, like a benign god, smiling on the happiness he had created.

Armand and Sophie greeted her with their own special brand of behaviour: Armand, smiling rather condescendingly as though he were confronting two children who were having a special treat, and Sophie nervously, certain that her new stepmother would find faults in her, in spite of the fact that I had assured her my mother was the easiest person in the world to get along with.

They were to be married the following week and the ceremony would take place in the castle chapel. I was all eagerness to ask questions about what was happening at Eversleigh but I did not get a chance to talk to my mother alone until much later in the evening.

We had eaten in the dining-room and I saw how impressed and enchanted she was by the château—just as I had been; and when we arose from the table she asked me to take her to the room which had been prepared for her.

‘We have hardly had a word alone since I arrived,’ she said.

When we were in her room she shut the door and as she looked at me some of the happiness faded from her face, and I felt misgivings that all was not as well as it had seemed.

I said: ‘There is so much I want to know. What about Eversleigh? What are you going to do about everything there?’

‘That is what I want to explain to you. It is taken care of …’

Still she hesitated.

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘No no. It has all worked out very well. Lottie, I have made Eversleigh over to Dickon.’

‘Oh!’ I smiled. ‘It is what he wanted, and of course, it is the solution.’

‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘It is what he wanted and it is the solution.’

‘So … he’ll have Eversleigh … and Clavering. I suppose he’ll be at Eversleigh most of the time. He loves that place and of course he is one of the family. If Uncle Carl had not been so eccentric it would have gone to him.’

‘Well, he has it now, and I have a letter for you, Lottie.’

‘A letter!’

She was a long time producing it and when she did she held it as though it were some dangerous weapon.

‘It’s from Dickon!’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘It will explain.’

I threw my arms about her and kissed her. I was longing to read the letter and did not want to do so until I was alone, but as she had asked me to talk to her I did not feel that I could leave her immediately.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I cried. ‘Everyone gets what they want! And you are happy aren’t you, Mother? You truly love him, don’t you?’

‘I have always loved Gerard.’

‘It’s so romantic … one of those “and they lived happily ever after” endings. It’s nice to know they do occur sometimes.’

‘We intend to be happy … after all these years. And, Lottie, this will be your home, you know.’

I frowned. ‘Well, I suppose so really. But I shall visit my relations in England. I suppose my grandmother will be at Eversleigh with Dickon’s mother.’

‘They will not be able to tear themselves away from him, and Eversleigh is a big house. They need not get in his way.’

I was smiling. It was all working out so happily. I would go to Eversleigh and he would be there. I was clutching his letters in my hand and it was difficult to stop myself tearing it open.

Perhaps she understood my impatience for she said: ‘Well, that is what I wanted to tell you.’

‘Dear Mother,’ I replied, ‘it is lovely to see you here. It is the most exciting and beautiful place you could imagine. I love it. And it is wonderful that you and the Comte are going to be so happy.’

‘He is so fond of you. He was delighted with you as soon as he saw you.’

‘I like him, too. Good night, Mother. I’ll see you in the morning. There is so much to talk about.’

‘Good night, my child,’ she said, ‘and always remember that everything I have ever done has been for your good.’

‘I know that. Good night. Sleep well.’

Then I was gone.

As soon as I was in my room I slit the envelope. Dearest little Lottie [he had written],

When you read this Eversleigh will be mine. It was like a miracle. Prince Charming appears out of the blue and whisks your mother off to his romantic castle and she leaves Eversleigh to me.

Isn’t that exciting? I often think of you and our little romance. It did amuse you, didn’t it? Our little game of pretence? We tried to forget that you were only a child and I must admit that at times you did not seem so. But facts are facts. You are going to live in France now. You will meet interesting people, for I believe Monsieur le Comte leads a very colourful life. I am so pleased that you will have such a wonderful time.

I shall soon be installed in Eversleigh with my mother and your grandmother. It is a family house, isn’t it? Generations of the Eversleigh clan have lived here … so even when I marry they won’t be moving out. I dare say that will be fairly soon. I am really so much older than you, Lottie, and it is time I was settled—especially now that I have Eversleigh and new responsibilities.

My blessings on you, dear Lottie. I hope you won’t forget the pleasant times we had together.

Dickon.

I read it through again. What did he mean? There were three facts which kept going round in my head. Eversleigh was now his. I was a child. He was going to marry soon.

It was all over then. Dickon no longer loved me, no longer wanted me. He wrote as though what had been between us had been some game of make-believe.

I began to see it all very clearly. It had been Eversleigh he had wanted. And now that he had it I had no place in his picture of the future.

I had never felt so miserable in the whole of my life. I threw myself on to the bed and stared up at the tester.

It was over. There was no need now for Dickon to marry me to get what he wanted.

So … he had jilted me.