Zipporah's Daughter

A Tutor Comes

IT WAS SEVERAL MONTHS since we had arrived at Aubigné and it seemed more like home to me than Tourville ever had. The children loved it. I had been rather ashamed at the blithe manner in which Charlot and Claudine said goodbye to their Tourville grandparents, who had always been so kind to them. But the prospect of adventure and new places was irresistible to them and they were guileless enough not to hide this. I am sure the Tourvilles understood and were completely sincere in wishing us all every possible happiness in our new home. Louis-Charles also was excited at the prospect, and as the eldest of the children he had great influence on the others though Charlot certainly had a will of his own.

I had to stifle my emotion when the castle came into view. I had seen it many times, of course, but somehow because of the circumstances it looked different. It seemed as it had on that first time when I had come with my father and did not know then that it was to be my home. It was like a mighty fortress with its corbelled watch-towers and its stone-walled parapets and buttresses proclaimed its strength. I glanced up at what I called in my mind ‘Sophie’s Tower’ and I wondered what life was going to be like at Aubigné.

Lisette was delighted to be going back. She had found life at Tourville excessively dull and she had always had a special feeling for Aubigné.

My father was overjoyed to receive us and he could not take his eyes from the children. I thought, He is happy … at least as happy as he can be without my mother. Armand welcomed us with that brand of nonchalance which could be construed as indifference, but at least he had no objection to our coming. Marie Louise was even more indifferent. My father said derisively: ‘She has her eyes so firmly set on her place in Heaven that she has become unaware that she is still on Earth.’

Sophie kept to her tower and for a long time the children did not know of her existence.

So we settled in and the weeks stretched to months. Strangely enough, bereaved widow that I was—and I still thought nostalgically of Charles and the old days although it was so long since I had known them—I felt more alive at Aubigné than I had at Tourville. Aubigné seemed closer to affairs. My father rarely went to Paris now but he said that when he did I must go with him; and I did believe that since our coming he had begun to take a more lively interest in what was happening in the country.

I had been about two months at Aubigné when Dickon arrived.

My grandmother had died. Dickon said that the death of Zipporah had been the end of her. She had gradually lost what grip she had had on life.

He talked to me more seriously than he ever had before and as he was continually striving to be alone with me these talks were frequent. Once when we were riding he suggested that we tether our horses and sit by the stream, for it was not easy to talk on horseback.

He sat there occasionally picking up a stone and throwing it into the stream.

‘Poor Zipporah,’ he said. ‘That she should meet such an end! She was always such a quiet person. I was very fond of her, you know. Oh, you can look at me sceptically. I know she didn’t like me, but I don’t have to like people just because they like me, do I?’

‘I really believe you think you would have to like almost the whole of the world if you did that.’

He laughed. ‘No … not quite. Zipporah was against me right from the start. It was understandable. I was an impossible child. I hope none of yours turn out as I did. I rather think one of mine—Jonathan—might. We shall have to watch him. Zipporah summed me up in her quiet way and put the black marks against me. Then she did the incredible herself. I don’t think she ever stopped being amazed. But look what it brought her! You … the incomparable Lottie … and then that wonderful romance. It was beautiful to see. A perfect love-story. The passion of youth … the separation, and then the final reunion when they were both older, wiser and capable of realizing what true love meant. It is an example of us all.’

I guessed what he was leading up to and did not want him to say it … yet. I felt very insecure and I doubted his intentions. I believed I would always do that. I told myself that I could never entirely trust him again.

‘They were so happy together,’ I said. ‘So ideally suited. He so worldly, she was innocent. But she was an idealist and I think she made him the man she believed him to be.’

‘It is possible. And to die like that! The victim of fools … for there are many fools in this country.’

‘Aren’t there in all countries?’

‘You are right. But France at this time cannot afford her fools. Can you feel it in the air? It is like the quiet before the storm.’

‘I can feel nothing.’

‘That is because you are not aware of what is going on.’

‘I do live here and you are a visitor.’

‘I travel a little in France and I watch … ’

‘Dickon, your mother said something about fingers in pies. Are you here on a mission?’

‘If I were it would be essentially secret, wouldn’t it, and therefore you would not expect an honourable man to divulge it.’

‘I always thought there was some motive … ’

‘The main motive in my life is to be with you.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

He sighed. ‘How can I make you believe it?’

‘You never could. There is too much behind us. You once talked of marrying me, but you took Eversleigh instead. You married soon afterwards … most suitably.’

‘I made one big mistake. I should have waited for you.’

‘But think what Eversleigh meant to you.’

‘I can only think what you mean to me. Lottie, we have the example of your parents. How wise they were! Think of their idyllic life together.’

‘It would never be like that for us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we are different. You will tell me that you and my father have a lot in common. But it needs two to make a perfect union and I can assure you that I am not in the least like my mother.’

‘Lottie, come back to me. Marry me. Let’s start where we should have started all those years ago.’

‘I don’t think it would be wise.’

‘Why not?’

‘If I married again I should want something wonderful. I remember seeing my parents together. I have heard my father talk of his marriage to my mother … nothing less would satisfy me. If I cannot have that I prefer to stay as I am, free, independent.’

‘You shall have everything you want.’

‘It’s too late, Dickon.’

‘It’s never too late. You have some feeling for me.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘You feel better for having me around.’

I hesitated. ‘I … I am aware of you.’

‘Very much aware of me. There is a sparkle in your eyes when you see me.’ He turned to me and, putting his arms round me, kissed me. I could not hide the fact that I was moved, that I responded, that I wanted him to go on kissing me; but I kept seeing my mother, hearing her voice, and she was warning me against him. She seemed closer to me now that she was dead.

I pushed him away vehemently. ‘No, Dickon,’ I said. ‘No.’

‘We are both free now,’ he reminded me. ‘Why not? Let’s take it up where we should have done all those years ago.’

I could not deceive myself. I wanted to say Yes. I knew life with Dickon would be a hazardous adventure, but I wanted to embark on it. Yet I could still see my mother warning me as it were from the grave; and so vivid was that image that I could not ignore it.

‘You could find someone very suitable in the circles in which you move,’ I said. ‘London society, is it? Some rich woman?’

‘I have a fair share of worldly goods now, you know.’

‘But you would still like more.’

‘Who can honestly say No to possessions?’

‘Certainly not Dickon.’

‘Well, you would hardly be a penniless parti,’ he said lightly. ‘I am sure your father, who is immensely rich, would not allow that. Then you must have dues to you from Tourville.’

‘I see that in the midst of your devotion you have had time to calculate my worth.’

‘Your worth is above diamonds, which I always considered to be more worthy than rubies. The fact is, Lottie, I love you. I always have. I always knew you were the one for me, ever since I set eyes on the beautiful child with the wilful ways and the passion which matched my own. Do you imagine that your romantic birth did anything to stem my love for you?’

‘No, I don’t think that. The stem was Eversleigh.’

‘Cruel! Cruel and cutting. A man makes one mistake. Is he never to be forgiven for it?’

‘Forgiven, yes. But the mistake—if mistake it was—is not easily forgotten.’

My mood towards him had changed. When he talked about my father’s wealth I remembered how interested he was in the estate, his speculation, his pleasure in it which he had shown when we were riding about it.

If I married again it would not be for my possessions, and although I was sure Dickon’s feeling for me went deep, I knew that he could not help considering every advantage.

He desired me. I was well aware of that. But I had seen with Charles that such desire does not last and when it begins to be less urgent there must be some firm foundation on which to build a love such as that which I had seen between my mother and father.

Dickon went on pleadingly: ‘There are two very good reasons why you should come to England. The first is that I need you and you need me. The second is that this is a very uneasy country. You are shut away in this rural district and you forget it. Can you ever forget, though, what happened to your mother?’

I shook my head. ‘Never,’ I said vehemently.

‘Why did it happen? Ask yourself why. France is in a ferment. I know that. It is my business to know it.’

‘Secret mission?’ I asked.

‘It is obvious that if there is trouble in France we on the other side of the Channel will not be very sorry about that. They deserve what is coming to them, and remember this, Lottie, it is coming. It’s in the air. Wise people are aware of it. Look back a little. Louis XIV left a strong France, but during the reign of the fifteenth Louis France’s fortunes were dissipated. The extravagant excesses of that king enraged the people. They hated the Pompadour and du Barry. The finery … the carriages in the streets … the glittering entertainments … the fortunes spent on dresses and jewels by the aristocrats had been noticed. And beside this are the poor … the starving poor. Such contrasts exist in other places but in no other have the foolish people called such blatant attention to them. They are nearly bankrupt. They have a young, idealistic King with an extravagant wife who is an Austrian—and the French hate foreigners. There are agitators in this country whose sole task is to promote trouble. They started with the Guerre des Farines but it misfired somehow and instead of becoming a revolution it was a rehearsal for one … probably due to the courage of the King when the mob marched on Versailles … and luck, of course. He had that.’

‘You hate them, Dickon.’

‘I despise them,’ he answered.

‘You have never forgiven them for their attitude towards the Colonists. They thought they were helping the oppressed. Charles thought that.’

‘And he left you, the fool. He lost you … and his life. He earned the reward of his folly. I understand why he went to fight for the Colonists. I wouldn’t tell any French man or woman this, but I think they were right to stand out against the imposition of taxes. But for the French to raise companies of men and go to their aid when the money was needed in their own country, and then to come back and preach republican ideas when their monarchy and the whole structure of their country is beginning to crumble, that is the utmost folly. It is more than that—it is madness.’

‘And you think it will have some effect?’

‘Have some effect! You have seen what happened to your mother. She knew nothing of their grievances but the mob does not care on whom it wreaks its vengeance. She was an aristocrat in a grand carriage. That was enough for them. You have never seen these agitators. You don’t know how persuasive they can be.’

‘I did see one once. But I did not stay long to listen. I was with my father and we left immediately.’

‘That was wise of you. Don’t make any mistakes. There is danger in the air. It could catch up with you. Come away while you are safe.’

‘What of my father?’

‘Bring him with you.’

‘Do you think he would ever leave Aubigné?’

‘No.’

‘I shall not leave him as long as he wants me. It would be too cruel to go away. It would be worse for him than my being at Tourville. At least then I was in France.’

‘And what of me?’

‘You, Dickon? You are capable of taking care of yourself.’

‘You will see that I am right.’

‘I hope not.’

‘And I shall not give up. I shall continue to harry you. And one day you will realize that it is useless to hold out any longer.’

‘You mean you will come to France again on your secret mission?’

‘On my romantic mission. That is the only mission important to me.’

We talked and I swayed. I believed at some times I was on the point of giving up everything for Dickon. He had that effect on me. Then I heard again the voice of my mother and I remembered that I could not leave my father. So I tried to be content and make a happy life for myself in Aubigné.

Time passed quickly at Aubigné. There was so much to do. Lisette had added the task of governess to that of lady’s maid. She had always taught Louis-Charles when he was young and now she took over Claudine. I helped her and we enjoyed our sessions with Claudine, who was a bright child.

My father said the boys should have a tutor and he would look out for someone reliable and suitable.

The American war had come to an end and even King George had given his consent to the independence of the colony. Everyone was very pleased about that, including my father, who pointed out that the English had been soundly beaten and that as well as losing half a continent they had added millions to their national debt.

‘A piece of folly,’ he said.

And I thought of what Dickon had said about French participation in it. It had taken Charles; it had brought a republican spirit into France; Dickon had said that it could have far-reaching consequences, and although I tried to dismiss those implications from my mind I could not do so entirely.

I had been up to see Sophie on several occasions. I think she could bear to see me now that Charles was dead. Neither of us had him now. I believed that was how she saw it.

She managed to look quite pretty in a way. Jeanne, who was an expert seamstress, had devised a method of attaching hoods to her gowns; they always matched in colour or were beautifully blended; and they were designed to hide her scars completely.

I tried to make her believe that Charles and I had not been lovers before our marriage. I insisted that the flower she had found in his room had not been dropped there by me. I wished I could have found that flower, but although I had searched, I never had been able to. Charles had given it to me so long ago and I had never given it a thought until Sophie mentioned it. I greatly regretted that it was lost and I could not show it to Sophie to prove that I was speaking the truth. But she did not want to hear any more on the subject and I knew that if I persisted I should be prevented from going again to see her and I was trying very hard to get back to that relationship which we had once shared.

The children were a safer subject, but I did not take them to see her. It occurred to me that it might make her resentful of me if she saw the children, for she would immediately think that they might have been hers. So I merely told her about Charlot’s prowess at sport and how he enjoyed playing with Louis-Charles.

I knew that Lisette went to see her, and I thought it was a great breakthrough when Lisette and I went together and there were the three of us just as there used to be in the old days.

Lisette was a great asset. She could keep the conversation flowing in the right directions. She brought materials to show Jeanne and we all discussed the making of a new gown for Sophie.

I thought: One of these days we shall persuade her to come down and live like an ordinary member of the household. There was no reason why she should not. She looked rather pretty in her cleverly fashioned gowns, and the hood seemed like a charming fashion.

Jeanne would welcome us when we went up so I supposed we were making good progress.

There was a sudden change in Armand. He seemed to have become almost lively and there was a new sparkle in his eyes. It was as though he were taking a new and sudden interest in life.

I mentioned it to my father when I was sitting with him in the small room of his own apartments which he regarded as his very private sanctum. I was one of the few who were invited to join him there.

When I mentioned Armand, he smiled and said: ‘Yes, he has changed. So you noticed. He really is getting quite enthusiastic about this project.’

‘Has he a project then?’

‘Yes. Perhaps he is rather over-reacting. But on the other hand, it is a change to see him really getting interested in something. He is gathering together quite a little band of his friends. He was deeply affected, you know, by what …’ My father faltered and went on briskly: ‘By what happened to your mother.’

I nodded.

‘He has always had strong feelings about the rights of those born in high places and what happened was an outrage against his class.’

‘So it was that which affected him so deeply, not … ’

‘Armand’s feelings for people do not go very deep. But he can feel strongly for causes. People are like that. Have you noticed? Those who campaign on behalf of the masses very often have little feeling for the individuals. Armand is such a one. So what deeply affected him was the outrage against class. It has stirred him to action, and he is gathering together a number of his friends with some scheme in mind for forming an armed band to deal with those agitators who are making speeches in the towns. They seem to be the ones who are stirring up trouble. Indeed it was one of those … ’

I put my hand over my father’s. ‘Don’t talk of it,’ I said.

‘You are right. I should stop myself. It brings it all back more vividly. We were saying that Armand had changed and it is a change for the better. It is good to know that he can show some spirit about something. I thought he never could.’

‘What do they plan to do?’

‘I don’t quite know. When they find these agitators speaking to the people they will attempt to answer them … and if there is trouble they will be ready to deal with it.’

‘There really is a great deal of trouble in the country, I fear,’ I said.

‘That is so, my dear. Sometimes I say to myself as our King did, “Perhaps after me the deluge.” But it won’t come to that. There are men like Armand all over the country. They would soon deal with a revolt. Sometimes I wish it would come to the boil so that we could deal with it. It is these undercurrents, these subversive attempts to undermine law and order, which terrify me.’

I could see that the subject was dangerously near that one which could bring back such poignant memories and although they were never far from the surface of his mind I wanted to stop his plunging into them. So I talked of Charlot and asked how he was getting on with his chess which my father was teaching him.

‘Not bad … not bad at all. He lacks the necessary concentration … but he might play one day.’

‘He enjoys being with you.’

‘He likes best to talk about the castle.’ My father smiled. ‘I have had to look up our family history to satisfy him.’

‘Claudine likes too to get into this room.’

‘Ah, Claudine. She is a minx.’

There was no doubt what the children’s presence meant to him. How could I ever go to Dickon and take them away from him!

I vowed to myself that I would never leave Aubigné while my father lived.

The castle had its effect on Lisette. I realized that before we came here there had been a vague dissatisfaction in her manner. She had never talked about her farmer husband and I had not asked because I had quickly understood that that period of her life was something of which she did not wish to be reminded. It had brought her Louis-Charles, it was true, but although she was ambitious for him, she did not show him a great deal of tenderness.

But since we had returned to the castle she had become more like the old Lisette whom I had known when we were young girls. She used to come to my room to dress my hair and we had a great deal of fun trying out new hairstyles. At Court, under the influence of the most extravagant of queens, they were becoming more and more ridiculous. Ladies vied with each other to build up these towers of folly on their heads, using jewels, feathers and stuffed birds. Lisette amused herself by trying out ideas on her own and my hair.

I had always been fond of her but since my father had told me the pathetic story of her beginnings, I felt tender towards her, and when she was laughing and talking with me I often used to wonder what her life would have been like but for my father.

We talked about everything that came into our heads. We often discussed the children and I told her that now that they were growing up my father wanted to find a good tutor for the boys.

‘We can manage Claudine for a little while yet,’ she said, ‘but boys in their teens certainly do need a tutor.’

‘I dare say my father will find someone soon. He is waiting really until he goes to Paris and then he can make enquiries in certain quarters. He is most anxious to find the right sort of person.’

‘That is very important. And this tutor … he will teach Louis-Charles as well?’

‘But of course.’

I glanced at Lisette in the mirror. Her mouth had that old square look which I had noticed before. I construed it as a form of bitterness. She was very proud, I knew, and hated to accept charity.

I said quickly: ‘It is good for Charlot to have a companion round about his own age. I am so glad you had a son, Lisette.’

‘He certainly made a lot worth while.’ She had recovered and was smiling.

‘Armand seems to have changed lately,’ she added.

‘Oh yes, he has a project. The Comte was telling me about it.’

‘A project? What sort of project?’

‘Well, you know there is some concern about what is happening in the country.’

‘Is there?’ said Lisette.

‘Lisette, you must give some serious attention to these matters.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they concern you.’

‘How could they concern me?

‘Remember my mother.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Lisette quietly.

‘There was an agitator in the town. It was his talk which aroused the fury of the mob.’

‘I know. Don’t talk about it. I can’t bear it. Your mother was such a charming … good lady.’

‘Apparently these agitators are travelling round the country. They are men with a gift for words. Well, people are getting rather worried about it. Even Armand.’

‘Even Armand!’ She echoed my words.

‘Yes, he and some friends are getting together apparently.’

‘What are they going to do?’

‘They will try to do something about it. I don’t know what.’

‘Oh … I see. Armand has certainly changed. He seems to have found something he can really care about.’

‘Armand was incensed by what happened to my mother. It evidently stirred him.’

‘To a hatred of the rabble?’

‘He always had that. But this brought home to him how much damage they could do. Well, he and his friends are getting together and they are going to do something. I think it’s a good thing, don’t you?’

‘That people should be aware of what is going on, yes.’

‘Dickon is always talking about it.’

‘Dickon! I thought when he was here he talked of other things!’

‘He does, but he talks a good deal about the state of affairs in France as well.’

‘What does he—the Englishman—know of French affairs?’

‘He seems to make it his business to find out.’

‘Does he tell you what he finds out?’

‘No. It is all rather secret, I gather. I accuse him of being on some mission.’

‘It would be against France, I suppose.’

‘I don’t know. He won’t talk of it.’

‘He is a fascinating man. I don’t know how you can resist him.’

I was very frank with Lisette as I had been in the past and I admitted that sometimes it was not easy.

She understood.

‘What if you married him?’ she said.

‘I have sworn never to leave my father.’

‘He would not wish you to stay, surely, if you would be happier married.’

‘It would be too much for him. If he knew I wanted to go he would say I should, I know. Think of it. I should take the children with me. It would be too cruel.’

‘And me … ? Would you take me with you?’

‘But of course you would come. You and Louis-Charles.’

‘I think the Comte is a little bit fond of Louis-Charles. Do you agree?’

‘I am sure he is. Louis-Charles is a delightful boy.’

‘I fancy I see the Comte’s eyes on him now and then, which is rather strange, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t. The Comte likes lively children. He is desperately missing my mother and the best thing that can happen to him is to have children in the house.’

‘His own … yes. But the way in which he looks at Louis-Charles … ’

‘Oh, Lisette, stop being so obsessed.’

‘With what?’ she asked sharply.

‘With position. You are always remembering that you are the niece of the housekeeper.’

‘Well, am I not?’

‘Yes, but it is not important.’

‘It is … now,’ she answered. ‘If those agitators had their way, perhaps it would be a good thing to be the niece of the housekeeper and not such a good thing to be the daughter of a Comte.’

‘What an absurd conversation! How do you think my hair would look with this green feather stuck in it at a ridiculous angle?’

‘Very amusing … and far more important than all this talk about boring matters.’ She snatched the green feather from me. ‘Here! Let’s put it there, so that it sticks right up at the back. Isn’t that grand?’

I gazed at my image in the mirror and grimaced at Lisette, who was watching me with her head on one side.

About a week later we had a visit from the Duc de Soissonson. This was quite unexpected and put the household in a turmoil.

Tante Berthe complained that she should have been told and immediately set to work ordering her staff in her usual efficient and peremptory manner. They were busy in the kitchens. The cook plunged into her prodigious memory and remembered that when the Duc had last stayed at the château, which was twelve years before, he had shown a preference for a very special potage, the recipe for which was a guarded secret known only to her family.

In appearance the Duc was quite insignificant, in spite of his wealth which I gathered was immense, and his influence in the country was also great.

He chided my father for not visiting Paris nowadays.

‘I heard what happened to the Comtesse,’ he said. ‘A sorry business. This rabble … I wish we could do something about them. Did they find the ringleaders?’

My father, with great emotion, said that they had been unable to trace the agitator who was the real villain. It was impossible to accuse a mob. They had rioted and in the mêlée the horses had been frightened and the carriage overturned.

‘We ought to put a stop to it,’ said the Duc. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘With all my heart,’ answered my father. ‘If I could find those responsible … ’

I wanted to beg the Duc not to talk about it.

We sat down to dine in the great hall of the castle. Tante Berthe and the cooks had certainly made sure that all the culinary and domestic arrangements ran smoothly and I was sure there could not have been more attention to detail in the ducal establishment itself.

The Duc, however, did not stand on ceremony. He was friendly and easy-going and conversation at the table was far from stilted.

Inevitably it drifted to the troubles in France and my heart sank as I looked at my father.

‘Something should be done about it,’ said Armand. I noticed he was eyeing the Duc speculatively and I wondered whether he was contemplating asking him to join his band. ‘These fellows are getting really dangerous.’

‘I agree,’ said the Duc. ‘Something should be done. But what, my dear fellow, what?’

‘Well, we should stand together … those of us who want to keep law and order.’

‘Stand together … that is the idea,’ cried the Duc.

‘We are not going to stand idly by,’ Armand told him.

‘Certainly not!’ went on the Due. ‘Nice boys you have here, Comte. I watched them from my window. Grandsons, I suppose.’

‘One of them,’ said my father. ‘And I have a granddaughter too. I hope you will meet them before you leave us.’

‘I want to do that. Do you have a tutor for the boys?’

‘Strange you should say that. We are in fact looking out for one now.’

‘Léon Blanchard,’ said the Due.

‘What’s that, Soissonson?’ asked my father.

‘I said Léon Blanchard … best man in that line, my cousin’s boy Jean-Pierre tells me. Ought to get him for your boys, but I suppose you couldn’t do that. Jean-Pierre wouldn’t let him go.’

‘I dare say we shall find a good man.’

‘It’s not easy,’ said the Duc. ‘A bad tutor can be a disaster, a good one worth his weight in gold.’

‘I agree with that,’ said my father.

Armand put in: ‘There are quite a number of us. We are not going to stand by and let the mob take over in these small towns.’.

‘Mind you,’ the Duc was saying, ‘Jean-Pierre employs the man only two or three days a week now. I wonder … ’

‘You mean the tutor?’ I asked.

‘Yes, the tutor. He’s the man. You ought to try and get hold of him. He might manage three days a week. Three days with the right man is better than the whole week with the wrong one.’

‘I think you are probably right,’ said my father.

‘Leave it to me,’ said the Duc. ‘My cousin was telling me about this man and how pleased Jean-Pierre was with him. Said his boys were getting too old for a tutor now. They’ll be going to their university soon. But they still get coaching for two or three days a week. I’ll ask.’ He shook his finger at my father. ‘You will be most unwise to engage anyone else until you have seen Léon Blanchard.’

‘We must certainly see the man,’ said my father. ‘It is good of you, Duc, to take such an interest.’

‘Nice boys,’ said the Duc. ‘Look as if. hey should have the best.’

The Duc de Soissonson spent three days with us. He talked a great deal to my father and continued to chide him for shutting himself away from his friends. My father presented Charlot to him, and because I felt that Lisette was more hurt to see her son left out than she had been for herself, I arranged that Louis-Charles should be presented to the Duc at the same time.

He was a little vague and seemed unsure which boy was his friend’s grandson but he was very complimentary about them both. After he had gone, my father said: I hope he doesn’t forget about the tutor. He can be a little vague.’

But the Duc did not forget and in less than a week after his departure, Léon Blanchard came to see us.

We were all impressed by Léon Blanchard. There was about him an air of dignity and a certain indifference whether or not he was employed, which was unusual in someone applying for a post. Not that there was anything insolent in his demeanour—far from it. His manners were impeccable. My father said to me afterwards that it was probably because several others were trying to secure his services.

His dress proclaimed him to be something of a dandy; his white wig accentuated his blue eyes which were startling in his dark face; his high cheekbones and lean looks were quite attractive. His clothes were of good though far from gaudy material, his shoes sturdy but of fine good leather. He had a pleasant voice and because his manner and speech and everything about him suggested a man of breeding he was treated as such.

He was in my father’s private sitting-room when I was called in to meet him.

My father said: ‘You had better tell Monsieur Blanchard what will be required.’

Monsieur Blanchard took my hand and bowed over it. He could have come straight from Versailles.

‘I am very glad that you have come to see us, Monsieur Blanchard,’ I said.

‘I could not ignore a command from the Duc de Soissonson, Madame,’ replied Monsieur Blanchard, smiling.

‘Oh, was it a command?’

‘A very urgent request. The Duc is anxious that I shall be of help to you.’

‘Then I hope we can come to some arrangement.’

We talked about the boys and what they had learned so far. He shook his head gravely implying that they must certainly be in need of his tuition.

‘It would be my pleasure to take on that task,’ he said. ‘But it may well be that your boys need a full-time tutor.’

‘That was what we were hoping for,’ I said.

‘Then, Madame, I cannot be of service. I have two charges whom I must see into the university. They are advanced and I spend three days at the Château de Castian. They are connections of the Duc de Soissonson, as you are probably aware. I could not desert them at this stage and in the circumstances would only have four days a week to spare here. You see how I am placed.’

My father said: ‘These boys you are teaching … I understand they will in due course go to the university.’

‘Indeed they will, Monsieur le Comte, but until they do I am in duty bound to stay with them.’

‘It does not sound very difficult to me. You could spend four days of each week here and the other time with your present pupils. How would that work out?’

‘Excellently, if it were not necessary to tie me down. I could come here and teach your boys for four days of the week. But there might be a time when I would feel it necessary to give an extra day to my original pupils …who … forgive my saying so … have first claim on me.’

‘It does not seem an insurmountable problem,’ I said.

Then we laughed and chatted and it was agreed that Léon Blanchard should come to us for part of the week and if he should need a day off to spend with the boys of Castian, no obstacle would be put in the way of his taking it.

When he left we had agreed that he should start at the beginning of the next week.

After he had left my father said he thought it was an excellent arrangement. It would give us a chance to see how we liked each other.

I was pleased to see my father in an almost merry mood. I had Léon Blanchard and the boys to thank for that.

So Léon Blanchard came into our household and he appeared to be a great asset.

First, the boys liked him. He had a knack of making lessons interesting. He came to table with us. He, being such a gentleman, had made that natural and the servants accepted him, which was in itself something of a miracle because they usually took umbrage if anyone, as they would say “stepped out of their class”. I was not sure into which class a tutor fitted, but it seemed that in Léon Blanchard’s case there was no question. He fitted naturally.

I thought Lisette might be a little put out because he took meals with us, something which I had wanted her to do, but she had refused. However, at least she showed no resentment.

He used to sit over the dinner table and talk with my father, usually about the state of the country. He had travelled widely and could discuss other countries with first-hand knowledge; and he could be very entertaining. He had a wonderful gift of words and could create a scene vividly with a few well-chosen sentences.

‘I am grateful to the Duc for sending us such a man,’ said my father.

There was one thing he did which was the most outstanding of all.

One day he was looking for the boys and strayed up to Sophie’s turret. Thinking that part of the castle was uninhabited, he opened a door and walked in. Sophie and Jeanne were playing a card game together.

I can imagine her horror. Fortunately she was wearing her hood and that must have saved her considerable embarrassment.

She must have been horrified, for the rest of the household respected her wish for privacy and whenever we did attempt to see her we did so by asking Jeanne if it were possible first.

Lisette got out of Jeanne exactly how it had happened.

‘There was Mademoiselle Sophie seated at the table,’ said Jeanne, ‘and this man was walking into the room. I stood up and asked what he wanted. He guessed I was a servant and went straight to Mademoiselle Sophie. She got to her feet, her face scarlet with mortification, and he took her hand and bowed and explained that he was the tutor looking for his charges and she must forgive him for the intrusion. Well, she surprised me. She asked him to be seated. He looked at her as though he was interested. She always says she is hideous but that isn’t so. With her hood on she looks like a lady wearing a special fashion, and fashions, heaven knows, are crazy enough these days. She asked him to take a glass of wine with us and there she was telling him how she had got her scars. I’d never heard her talk like that with anyone before. She explained her terror when the crowds pressed in on her … and the pain … and everything.

‘He listened attentively and said he could well understand her horror of crowds. People en masse could be terrifying. And he said he thought what a charming fashion it was to wear a hood in the way she did. It would be the rage at Court if she appeared there in it. She said she was not likely to do that, but it was clear that she enjoyed his company and when he rose to go he apologized once more for coming in so unceremoniously, and he asked if he might come again. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she said he might.’

How amazing it was that this stranger had been able to break through what had seemed an impenetrable barrier.

Even Lisette was a little charmed by him, and I thought what a happy solution it would be if he married her. She needed a happy married life. Her experiences with the farmer whom, I began to understand, she had come near to loathing, had embittered her in some way. I was sure that a happy marriage with an attractive man would heal her wounds.

Lisette and I found great pleasure in riding together and we often tied up the horses and stretched ourselves on the grass and indulged in the pleasure of light-hearted conversation. Lisette was an inveterate gossip and if she could discover a hint of scandal about anyone in the neighbourhood she was delighted. What she liked most was discussing the royal family. She had the Frenchwoman’s dislike for Marie Antoinette and declared her belief in the rumours about her when they were scandalous. She often went into the town and once brought back two books which were allegedly about the Queen. One was Les Amours de Charlot and ’Toinette which told of the supposed love-affair between the Queen and her brother-in-law Charles, Comte d’Artois. The other was even worse. This was Essai Historique sur la Vie de Marie Antoinette … a scurrilous production.

I read it with indignation and told Lisette she should burn the book. ‘It is obviously full of lies,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I think it is only fair that when queens behave immorally they should not be allowed to escape criticism. Think what happens to poor girls who are not queens. One false step and their lives are ruined.’

‘But this is lies. You have only to read it to see through it. It is written by someone who hates the Queen.’

‘It is printed in secret but that does not prevent people seeing it. I was told that you could buy it in most of the towns, and all over the country people are reading about the private life of their queen. So why shouldn’t I?’

‘No sensible people will mistake such rubbish for truth.’

Lisette looked at me slyly. ‘I will not show you anything else,’ she said.

‘I hope you will not show this sort of thing to anyone.’

‘How fierce you are! It is only a joke.’

‘It wouldn’t be to the Queen.’

‘I am sure she would laugh. They say she is very frivolous.’

I refused to discuss the scandals about the Queen with Lisette and she stopped talking about them. Instead she talked about Léon Blanchard and marvelled that he had become quite friendly with Sophie.

‘Lottie,’ she said one day, ‘do you think he might marry Sophie?’

‘Marry Sophie! She would never marry.’

‘Why not? She allows him to visit her. Hasn’t she changed since he came?’

I flushed a little. A short while ago I had been thinking he might be a suitable husband for Lisette.

‘I know,’ went on Lisette, ‘he is only a tutor and not therefore of the right social standing to mate with the daughter of a Comte, but she is scarred … damaged goods, you might say.’

‘Don’t talk about Sophie like that!’ I said sharply.

‘You are soft, Lottie. Women in families like this one are regarded as so much merchandize or bargaining counters. Marriages are made for them … suitable marriages. Poor Sophie is not of the same value as she once was. I am sorry if I offended you by referring to her as damaged goods, but that is really what she is.’

‘If she could marry and have children, it would be wonderful. She looks quite pretty in her hoods.’

‘But for a husband she would have to take off her hood.’

‘I think Léon Blanchard is a very kind man.’

Lisette was silent.

‘I should be happy if she married,’ I went on. ‘I would cease … ’

‘To feel guilty for marrying the one who was to have married her?’

‘I know she had rejected him.’

‘For good reason. Oh, Lottie, you should never feel guilty in life. What happens happens, and if one person’s tragedy is another’s good fortune that is all the luck of the game.’

Sometimes Lisette made me see myself too clearly for comfort. I did feel guilty though, and if Sophie would only marry and be happy I should be able to wash all guilty feelings from my mind.

Lisette smiled at me knowingly.

‘Let us pray for a match between them … for her sake and for yours.’

It really seemed as though this might not be impossible. Sophie had changed. She even joined us for dinner now and then. She sat next to Léon and seemed to draw comfort from him and she began to look prettier in her beautifully coloured hoods, and there was a certain contentment visible on her face.

What a change since Léon Blanchard had come to our household!

Armand talked about his friends when we gathered over the meal and the servants had brought in the last of the dishes. There would be an atmosphere then almost of conspiracy.

‘These agitators are doing their work more frequently now,’ said Armand. ‘There was one in Aurillac last week. The trouble is we never know when they are going to strike. It is the same procedure every time. A man suddenly gets up in the market-place, begins to harangue the crowd, tells them how they are maltreated, rouses them to fury and usually that starts it.’

‘Why is it that you cannot find out where they are likely to be?’ asked Leon. ‘If you did … and your band could be there waiting for them … ’

‘We plan to have our agents watching for them, visiting the towns, listening. We shall catch up with them in time. Then we shall be ready for them. You should join us, Blanchard.’

‘I doubt I should have the time. But if I had I should be with you.’

‘I am sure we could arrange something.’

‘Unfortunately I have to prepare lessons for my pupils. I think perhaps that in taking on two sets of them I may have given myself too much.’

My father said: ‘Of course Monsieur Blanchard has not time to join your band, Armand. You should know better than to ask him.’

Any suggestion that Blanchard might leave threw my father into a panic. He had assured himself that having been recommended by the Duc de Soissonson, Blanchard must indeed be the best possible tutor. His coming had made such a difference to us all. The boys seemed to enjoy their lessons; they were more docile, more serious; the Comte himself enjoyed Léon’s conversation and would miss his company; but perhaps above all was what he had done for Sophie. It was so much more natural that she should join us for meals and live like a normal member of the family. Shutting herself away in her turret had been most unhealthy.

‘I shall see what can be done,’ said Léon. ‘I do realize the importance of your mission. It may well be that I can find a little time … ’

Armand was delighted and beamed his approval of Léon Blanchard. He went on to talk at length of the aims and intention of his band.

I often wondered what it was about Léon Blanchard that people seemed to find so attractive. I myself was growing interested in him but that was because I was seeing him as a possible husband for Sophie; but I did find he was in my thoughts very often.

One day when I returned from a ride I saw him going into the stables and I was suddenly aware of an extraordinary feeling, almost as though I remembered living that moment before.

It was uncanny. A kind of déjà vu.

Léon turned and faced me and the strange feeling vanished. He bowed with his customary graciousness and remarked that it was an excellent day for a ride.

That summer Dickon visited us again. He came unexpectedly and caught me completely off my guard. With characteristic aplomb he expected to be warmly welcomed. I told him that he should have warned us but he really was behaving as though my father’s château was one of the family homes. ‘Anywhere you are I think of as my home,’ he said.

I told him he was ridiculous and I should have to make his excuses to my father.

My father, however, had taken quite a fancy to him. It was not surprising. When my father had been young he must have been a little like Dickon. They both possessed an overwhelming masculinity and therefore perhaps irresistible charm for the opposite sex; deeply rooted in this was an assurance that they would be welcome wherever they went.

Dickon told me that he had two reasons for coming to France. One he need not explain because it was obvious: Myself. The other was that France was becoming the most interesting country in Europe and the eyes of the rest of the continent were fixed on it asking, What is going to happen next? Wildly conflicting stories were circulated about the Queen’s diamond necklace and the whole of Europe was agog for news. Some reports said it had been a gigantic swindle to discredit the Queen, but her enemies were sure that she had been involved in the conspiracy. The French exchequer was in a dire state and everywhere the Queen was blamed for her extravagance. The necklace was just another excuse to denigrate her. She was becoming known as Madame Deficit. In Paris there were demonstrations against her.

Dickon was very interested to meet Leon Blanchard. He regarded him intently and said: ‘I have heard your praises sung throughout the household, Monsieur. I understand the boys profit from your excellent tuition. I have two myself so you will forgive me if I am a trifle envious. We have tutors who never seem to be able to endure my sons for more than a few months. What is your special secret?’

‘I think,’ answered Léon, ‘it is to make the lessons interesting, to understand the young and to treat them as individuals.’

‘Monsieur Blanchard certainly has the gift,’ said my father warmly.

It was obvious even at the first meal that Dickon was eager to find out all he could about what was happening in France.

‘What do you think of this necklace affair?’ he asked.

Leon Blanchard said: ‘The Queen does not understand the state of the country and the effect her extravagances are having on the people.’

Armand put in: ‘The people will never be satisfied. The Court has to preserve its dignity. It is quite clear that the Queen has been cheated over this matter of the necklace and rogues and vagabonds have sought to commit a great fraud and have used her name to bring it about.’

‘That certainly seems to be the decision of the courts,’ said my father.

‘The people are rising against her,’ added Léon. ‘They blame her for everything.’

‘They have to have a scapegoat,’ replied Armand. ‘I am for harsher punishment for the rioters. We shall track them down eventually.’

‘Have you had any luck in discovering who the people are who are causing all this dissension?’ asked Dickon.

‘It’s organized,’ said Armand. ‘That much we know. We don’t so much want to catch members of the mob as the people who are inciting them. That is our motive.’

‘But what are you doing about it?’ insisted Dickon.

‘Don’t imagine we are standing aside and letting them ruin this country,’ cried Armand. ‘We are going to find these people, I tell you. We are very busy doing just that.’

Léon Blanchard said: ‘The Vicomte is deeply concerned with what is happening and has formed a band of men who share his opinions. I am happy to be one of them. We are doing very good work. I, alas, cannot be of as much use as I would wish. I have my work to consider … ’

‘You are doing excellent work with us,’ said Armand.

I watched Sophie while Léon was speaking. I was surprised that she had joined us as we had a visitor. Dickon had not shown by a flicker of his eyelids that he was surprised by her presence; he had talked to her naturally and although she was a little quiet she appeared to be at ease. In fact she looked pretty in a gown of pale lavender and a hood to match. I noticed how often her eyes rested on Léon Blanchard and although I was glad to see her changed and happier, I did feel a certain apprehension as to what the future held for her. Was it really possible that he would marry her? If he would, some of the happiness she had known during her engagement to Charles might be brought back to her.

Armand was talking enthusiastically about the work he and his band were doing, gathering together noblemen from the outlying districts. ‘We’ll get these agitators,’ he cried. ‘They’ll get their just deserts and that will hit at the root of the trouble.’

When we left the table Dickon said he wanted to take a walk round the ramparts and asked if I would join him.

I said I would. I took a wrap and we went to the top of the tower and walked round the path, pausing now and then to lean on the stone between the battlements and look out over the countryside.

Dickon said: ‘It looks deceptively peaceful, doesn’t it?’

I agreed.

He put an arm round me. ‘You shouldn’t stay here, you know. It’s going to blow up at any minute.’

‘You have been saying that for a very long time.’

‘It has been simmering for a long time.’

‘Then perhaps it will go on for a little while yet.’

‘But not too long a while, and when it comes the deluge will be terrible. Marry me, Lottie. That is what you should do.’

‘And come to England?’

‘Of course. Eversleigh awaits you and the children. My mother hopes every time I come to France that when I return you will be with me … you and the children to grow up with mine. Of course, I can’t promise you such a paragon of a tutor as Monsieur Blanchard appears to be. Who is that man, by the way? He is a very distinctive character.’

‘Did you think so? You have only seen him at dinner.’

‘He’s the sort of man who makes his presence felt. He seems to have changed the whole household. Not you perhaps. I hope your thralldom is for one only.’

I did enjoy Dickon’s company. I liked the way he could be light-hearted when discussing the most serious subjects.

‘I am in thrall to no one, Dickon,’ I answered. ‘You should know that.’

‘To my sadness, yes. But why don’t you come to England? Get away from this cauldron of discontent.’

‘Which you have said several times is on the point of boiling over.’

‘It will be no joke when it does. Some will be sadly scalded. But not my Lottie. I shall not permit that. It would be much easier though if you summoned up your good sense and left while it is easy to do so.’

‘I can’t go, Dickon. I won’t leave my father.’

‘Eversleigh is a very big house. Don’t underestimate it because you have passed your days in châteaux. Let him come too.’

‘He never would. This is his home, his country.’

‘A country, my dear, from which men such as he is will soon be trying to escape.’

‘He never would and I would not leave him.’

‘You care more for him than for me.’

‘But of course. He loves me. He brought me here to acknowledge me. I have been treated as his daughter. You chose Eversleigh.’

‘Will you never forget that?’

‘How can I? It is there while you are there. You are Eversleigh and I was the one whom you rejected for its sake.’ I laid my hand on his arm. ‘Oh, Dickon, I have forgiven it … if there was anything to forgive. You were just behaving naturally as Nature designed you should. No. What I mean is that it is not important any more. But I won’t come to England while my father lives. You can see how he relies on me. If I went and took the children—and I would never go without them—what would happen to him?’

‘I know his feelings for you. That is obvious. You are the one. Poor Sophie means little to him and he does not like his son overmuch. I see that. I am not surprised. Armand is a fool. What is all this about a band?’

‘It’s some sort of society … an organization. They are trying to scent out agitators.’

‘I gathered that, but with any success?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But what do they do?

‘They meet and talk … ’

‘And talk and talk,’ said Dickon derisively. ‘That sort of thing should be done in secret. He should not announce his plans at the dinner table.’

‘Well, it is the family.’

‘Not entirely. There is the tutor for one.’

‘Oh, but he is one of them. Armand eventually persuaded him and Monsieur Blanchard is very obliging. He likes to live on good terms with everyone. He did plead too much work at first but eventually he agreed.’

‘Such an obliging man. How did you come by him?’

‘By recommendation. The very best. It was a great stroke of luck when the Duc de Soissonson visited us and the matter of getting a tutor came up. Monsieur Blanchard looks after the Duc’s cousin’s children … or some such relationship. He still does for a few days a week. So we have to share him.’

‘The gentleman seems in great demand. The Duc de Soissonson, did you say?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘I know of him. He is much talked of in Parisian circles.’

‘I have often wondered, Dickon, how you come to know so much.’

‘I am glad you respect my knowledge.’

‘Why do you come here so often?’

‘Surely you know the answer to that.’

‘No, I don’t. At least I am not sure. Dickon, I have come to the conclusion that there is much about you that I am not sure of.’

‘The mystery makes me more attractive perhaps.’

‘No, it does not. I should like to know more about your motives. Sometimes I think you are rather pleased … perhaps that is not quite the right word … rather gratified about the troubles here.’

‘As an Englishman whose country has suffered a great deal at the hands of the French, what do you expect?’

‘Are you by any chance engaged in work for the government of England?’

He took me by the shoulders and looked into my face. He was laughing. ‘Am I a spy?’ he whispered. ‘Am I here on some secret mission? Why won’t you believe that I have one purpose in my life and that is to win you?’

I hesitated. ‘I know that you would marry me, but I would never be first in your life, would I? There would always be other things … like Eversleigh. Property, possessions which mean power, I suppose. Yes, that would come first with you, Dickon, always.’

‘If I could convince you that nothing else mattered to me, would you alter your determination to stand out against me?’

‘I would never believe it.’

‘There will come a day when I shall convince you.’

He caught me to him and kissed me wildly, passionately, over and over again. I wanted to cling to him, to tell him that I was ready to accept what he could give me, and if it were not all that I wanted, I would take what I could get. I tried to remind myself that I was a widow who had been long without a husband; and I was a woman who needed the love of a man. I had loved Charles in a way; I had missed him sorely; but I knew that what I felt for Dickon went deeper than that. It had its roots in the past when I had been a young idealistic girl, innocent and unworldly, dreaming of perfection. I drew away from him.

‘That will not convince me,’ I said.

‘When I hold you in my arms, when I kiss you, I know that you love me. It is something you cannot hide.’

‘I won’t deny that I could deceive myself, but I won’t, Dickon. I will have everything or nothing. Besides, as I have told you I would never leave my father.’

He sighed and leaned over the parapet.

‘How quietly beautiful it is—the château land. The moonlight makes the river shine like silver where it catches it. Château land …rich land … all the wood of the forest and the farmlands. The Comte must be very proud of his possessions.’

‘He is. They have been his family’s for generations.’

And to think they will go to that fool Armand! He has no notion of how to manage an estate of this size.’

‘There are people to do it for him as you have at Eversleigh when you make your mysterious jaunts to the continent.’

‘Still … a pity. But for him it might come to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you are his daughter and he is very proud of the fact.’

‘Armand is very much alive. And in any case Sophie would come before me.’

‘Sophie! I wouldn’t gamble on that. You are the apple of his eye. I am sure he will want to see you well provided for.’

‘Dickon!’ I cried.

‘Well?’ He smiled at me lazily.

I said: ‘Are you calculating again?’

‘I always calculate.’

‘And you think that my father will make me a rich woman. Oh, now I see why you are so ardent.’

‘I should be ardent if you were a pauper.’

‘But perhaps not for marriage.’

‘If you were a peasant in the field I should still yearn for you.’

‘I know that you have yearned for many women and some of them doubtless of humble station. It is getting cold. I want to go in.’

‘Not until you have listened to me. Why are you so suddenly incensed?’

‘Because for a moment I forgot what you are like. You want to marry me because you have somehow discovered that my father is leaving me something, and although you won Eversleigh and Clavering … and heaven knows what from your wife … you are still looking for more.’

‘You get so angry, Lottie. What a temper you have!’

‘Good night, Dickon. I am going in.’

He took my hand and pulled me towards him. ‘We should not part on bad terms.’

I repeated wearily: ‘Good night.’

Then he held me against him once more and in spite of the fact that I had followed the trend of his thoughts, I was moved to respond to his embrace. He was dangerous. He could catch me unaware.

I wrenched myself free.

‘You have misunderstood,’ he said.

‘No. I understand perfectly. You are following your custom of courting rich women. Well, my father is not dead yet and I pray it will be a long time before he is, but you may be sure that what he leaves me is not going to be added to what you have accumulated through your matrimonial manoeuvrings.’

‘Lottie, I have told you that if you were a peasant gleaning in the field … ’

‘You would want to make love to me, yes. I understand you perfectly, Dickon. And as you believe me to be an heiress you would like to marry me. Once more … Good night.’

I ran off, and I was rather surprised that he did not attempt to follow me.

In my room I lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling.

‘Go away, Dickon,’ I murmured. ‘Leave me alone.’

I mistrusted him and yet I longed for him. He was becoming very dangerous and I should have to be wary.

I spent a disturbed night thinking about Dickon, trying all the time to make myself see him as he really was, and to upbraid myself for wanting him in spite of what I knew.

He, too, might have been disturbed by our conversation of the previous night because he went off during the morning on horseback on what I began to think of as his secret missions.

I walked round the gardens with my father in the morning and he told me that Léon Blanchard had taken the boys on a ramble. They were learning something about forestry and botany and finding it very interesting.

‘They will be looking for specimens of various plants,’ said my father. ‘It is good for them to learn these things. Blanchard seems to have some knowledge on every subject.’

I said: ‘Dickon is very concerned about the position here.’

‘Ah yes. Who is not?’

‘He thinks it is getting more dangerous.’

My father smiled. ‘He would like you to return to England with him.’

I was silent.

He insisted: ‘That is what he wants, is it not?’

‘He has suggested it.’

‘And you, Lottie?’

‘I am going to stay here, of course.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes,’ I said determinedly.

‘He interests me, that man. I have never ceased to be grateful to him, you know. It was due to him that I found you and your mother. If your mother had not been so much afraid of him she would never have written to me and I should never have known of your existence. My feelings towards him are mixed. Your mother always disliked him and was a little afraid of him, I think. But I have to say that I have strong admiration for him. In spite of everything he might well be the man for you, Lottie.’

‘I should have to think a great deal about that!’

‘I have been thinking. You are too young to spend your life here like this. You should marry. You should have more children.’

‘Do you want to be rid of me?’

‘Heaven forbid! What I want is your happiness and if that takes you away from me, then … so be it.’

‘I should never be happy away from you.’

‘God bless you, Lottie,’ he said emotionally. ‘Bless you for the happiness you have brought into my life. I want you to promise me that if you should long to go with him—or to anyone—you will not let any feeling of duty, or whatever you feel towards me, stand in your way. I am old; you are young. Your life is before you. Mine is finished. Remember, that more than anything I want your happiness.’

‘And do you know,’ I said, ‘I want yours.’

He walked away from me for a moment. Then he said: ‘All will be well. This kingdom has stood firm in all the troubles which have beset it through the centuries. France will always be France. There has to be a future for our children. I won’t deny the fact that I want Charlot to inherit Aubigné. Of course, if by any chance Armand has children it would have to go to them first … but that is hardly likely. After Armand, it must be Charlot. I have drawn this up with the lawyers.’

‘I hate all this talk of wills,’ I said. ‘I want everything to stay as it is now. You have years ahead of you yet.’

‘Let us wait and see,’ he said.

At midday Léon Blanchard and the boys came back with their specimens which they had found in the woods and the countryside. My father was very amused by the conversation at the table, which was all about the amazing things which could be found in the forest and the meadows. They were going to spend the afternoon listing their specimens. On the days when Léon Blanchard was with them, they usually worked mornings and afternoons to make up for those days when he was with his other pupils—though he always left them work to do in his absence.

Dickon came back late in the afternoon. I saw him arrive and I watched while he left the stables and sauntered into the castle.

I was still thinking of him as I dressed for dinner.

Sophie was there. She was talking to Léon Blanchard when I came in; she was flushed and smiling, almost sparkling, as she did in his company. I decided to ask my father whether he would consider a match between them. I was sure he would give his approval for he was very impressed by Léon Blanchard, and as Lisette had said, he would be very relieved to find a husband for Sophie.

Armand had not appeared and my father asked Marie Louise if he were coming down. Marie Louise looked surprise as though it was remarkable that she should be asked about her husband’s whereabouts. She had no idea, she said. So my father sent up one of the servants to find out.

The servant came down with the news that the Vicomte was not in his rooms. His valet said that he had laid out his clothes, for he was expecting him back, but he had not returned.

No one was very surprised for Armand was never very precise in his movements. He had been known to go hunting and not come back until morning. Now that he was enthusiastic about his Band, he sometimes stayed a night with one of the members if he had what he called business to do.

So the meal progressed as usual and Léon Blanchard talked about the boys’ enthusiasm for botany and said he thought that it was an excellent subject for them to pursue. Sophie listened intently to him when he spoke. The change in her was growing more and more noticeable every day and I intended to speak to my father at the first opportunity.

Dickon was unusually quiet and after the meal he did not suggest we take a walk through the castle grounds or round the parapet.

I slept well that night to make up for the previous one and the next morning, when I was alone with my father, I broached the subject of Sophie and Léon Blanchard. We were sitting on the grass overlooking the moat when I said to him: ‘What a difference there is in Sophie nowadays.’

‘It is remarkable,’ he agreed.

‘You know why. She is in love.’

‘Yes … Léon Blanchard.’

‘Suppose he offered to marry her?’

My father was silent.

‘You have a high opinion of him,’ I said.

‘I would never have thought a tutor a suitable husband for my daughter.’

‘In the circumstances … ’

‘I agree, the circumstances make a difference.’

‘You could not wish for a more cultured man. He is connected with the Duc de Soissonson, I believe.’

‘Very remotely, apparently.’

I turned round. Sophie was standing very near to us. I flushed scarlet because it was Sophie.

‘Sophie,’ I cried scrambling up.

‘I was taking a walk,’ she said.

‘It’s a lovely day.’

Our father said: ‘Good morning, Sophie.’

She returned the greeting and started to walk away.

‘Won’t you … ’ I began, but she walked on.

I sat down again. ‘How strange that she should appear like that. So quietly … ’

‘We wouldn’t have heard the footsteps on the grass.’

‘I hope she didn’t hear that we were discussing her.’

‘She should have made herself known before.’

‘I think she was trying to escape notice altogether.’

‘We were saying that she has changed, but she doesn’t seem quite to have got over that ridiculous recluse attitude.’

‘Only when Léon Blanchard is there. If the matter were raised you would not withhold your consent, would you?’

‘I should be as pleased as you to see Sophie happily settled.’

‘I am so glad.’

Then we talked of other things.

When Armand did not appear at dinner that night we began to be uneasy. My father said if he was not back on the next day he would send a man to some of Armand’s friends to see if they had news of him.

It was rather an uneasy meal for we were all wondering about Armand. Léon Blanchard said he was sure he was with one of his friends because there had been a meeting on the day Armand had left the château. He himself had been too involved in the boys’ lessons to leave the château during the whole day, and from the first he had made it clear to Armand that his post with the boys came first with him.

The following day we heard the disquieting news that Armand had not arrived at the meeting which had taken place at the house of one of his friends. They could not understand why he did not come, as he had definitely arranged to be with them and had sent no message to say he could not come or why he had failed to turn up.

Now we were really alarmed.

‘There must have been an accident,’ said the Comte and began questioning the servants. Armand had left on horseback in the early afternoon, the groom told us, and he seemed in excellent spirits. He had gone alone.

There was no news of him all that day. Dickon went out with the men, scouring the countryside but it was the following day before anything was discovered. It was Dickon who found Armand’s horse. It was tethered to a bush close to the river. The animal was in a state of panic, not having been fed for so long; and by the river bank was a feathered hat which we identified as Armand’s.

The river was deep and fairly wide at that point but Armand was a strong swimmer. It seemed possible, however, that there had been some accident and the Comte ordered that the river be dragged. This was done but nothing came to light. We tried to conjecture what could have happened.

The Comte thought that Armand might have been near the river when he slipped, was knocked unconscious and fell into the water. It was swift-flowing and could have carried his body away and eventually reached the sea.

Dickon said: ‘This looks like foul play. He was on one of his Band excursions. Is it possible that this was known? Indeed, it is impossible that it was not known. All the Band seemed to do was talk, and there must have been many who were against such an organization.’

‘Wouldn’t they have attacked the entire Band?’ asked my father. ‘We must find Armand.’

A week passed and nothing came to light. Armand had completely disappeared. Dickon had a theory that someone had killed him and buried the body, and he took Léon Blanchard with him and they went out with spades to search the spot by the river.

Everyone joined in the task of trying to find Armand. There were no lessons during those days and the boys joined enthusiastically in the search.

At length we really began to accept the fact that Armand was dead. This seemed certain, for Armand would never have forgotten his horse unless circumstances made it impossible for him to do otherwise.

A gloom had fallen over the house.

‘It is true,’ said the Comte, ‘that we live in dangerous times. Armand should never have got involved in that Band. Poor Armand, he never did succeed in anything he undertook and all this has done has brought him to his death.’

‘He may not be dead,’ I said.

‘Something tells me that I shall never see him again.’

The search went on. In the town, in the castle nothing else was talked of; it went on and on; there were continual searches; but the weeks passed and there was no news of Armand.

It was about three weeks after Armand’s disappearance when a messenger came to the castle.

It was mid-afternoon. Dickon had gone out. He was still hoping to find some clue which would solve the mystery of Armand’s disappearance. The boys were in the schoolroom because it was one of Leon Blanchard’s days to be at the château and Lisette and I were in my room. She was making a shirt for Louis-Charles and I was seated at the window looking out.

I was still hoping for news of Armand and I had a notion that Dickon might well be the one to find it.

As I sat there I saw a stranger riding towards the castle.

‘I think he’s coming here,’ I said.

Lisette dropped her sewing and came over to stand beside me.

‘Who is it?’ I wondered.

‘We’ll soon know,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go down and see?’

‘I will. It might be news of Armand. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he were alive and well!’

I was in the hall when one of the grooms came in with the stranger.

‘He is asking for Monsieur Blanchard, Madame,’ said the groom.

‘I think he is in the schoolroom.’ One of the maids had appeared and I said to her: ‘Go and fetch Monsieur Blanchard.’ I turned to the visitor. ‘Not bad news, I hope.’

‘I am afraid so, Madame.’

I sighed. He did not continue and I felt it would be incorrect to pry into Léon Blanchard’s business.

Léon appeared on the stairs, his expression bewildered, and when he saw the man and recognized him, he was very anxious indeed.

‘Jules …’ he began.

The man said: ‘Ah, Monsieur Léon, Madame Blanchard is very ill. She is asking for you to come to her at once. Your brother sent me off and I have been two days getting here. It is necessary for us to leave without delay.’

‘Mon Dieu,’ murmured Léon. He turned to me. ‘This is sad news. My mother is very ill and asking for me.’

‘Well, you must go to her,’ I said.

‘I’m afraid I have no alternative. The boys … ’

‘The boys can wait until you come back.’

Lisette was beside me. ‘They will need some food before they go,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ said Léon. ‘I think we should leave at once. We could get quite a way before nightfall and perhaps make it the next day.’

‘That would be the best, Monsieur,’ said the messenger.

The boys came running into the hall.

‘What’s happening?’ cried Charlot.

I said: ‘Monsieur Blanchard’s mother is ill and he is going to see her.’

‘What about those poisonous toadstools you were going to show us, Monsieur Blanchard?’

‘You can see those when Monsieur Blanchard comes back.’

‘When?’ demanded Charlot.

‘Before long, I hope,’ I said. ‘Oh, Monsieur Blanchard, I do hope you find your mother recovering when you get to her.’

‘She is very old,’ he replied sadly. ‘But if you will forgive me … I have very little time. I must prepare. I could be ready to leave within an hour.’

I went to find my father to tell him the news. He was most concerned.

While we were gathered in the hall wishing Léon Blanchard godspeed, Sophie appeared on the stairs. Léon Blanchard stood very still as she came towards him.

‘What has happened?’ she asked.

He replied: ‘I have a sudden message from my brother. My mother is very ill. I have to go to her at once.’

Poor Sophie! I thought. How she loves him!

‘You will come back … ’

He nodded and, taking her hand, kissed it.

She was with us when we went into the courtyard to watch him ride away. Then without a word she went back to her tower.

When Dickon returned he was most interested to hear that Léon Blanchard had left. He said that he too must think of leaving. He had been away a long time, far longer than he had planned to be.

Two days later he left.

He took my hand and, holding me close to him, kissed me with fervour.

‘I shall be back soon,’ he said, ‘and I shall keep coming until that day when I take you back with me.’

When he had gone a gloom settled on the castle. There was no news of Armand. Marie Louise did not seem unduly upset but insisted that whatever had happened to her husband was God’s Will. Sophie returned to her old way of life, shutting herself away with Jeanne. I seemed to spend my time between Lisette and my father and I was thankful that I found the conversation of both of them lively enough to compensate for the brooding sense of doom which seemed to be settling over the castle.

Sometimes when I went out I would glance up at Sophie’s turret. She was often there at the windows looking out along the road … waiting, I knew, for the return of Léon Blanchard.

Several months passed. We had now ceased to talk of Armand. It was presumed that he was dead.

My father had changed his will. I was to inherit his estate in trust for Charlot. He had left Sophie amply provided for and he said that if Léon Blanchard returned and asked for her hand he would make a handsome settlement.

Dickon came again. I was surprised to see him so soon. He looked more pleased with himself than ever.

He said: ‘I have been very busy and I have news for you.’

‘I am all eagerness to hear it.’

‘I would like to tell you in the presence of your father.’

While he was washing off the grime of the journey I went to my father and told him that Dickon had come and that he wanted to see him immediately because he had news which he wanted us both to hear.

My father smiled at me. ‘I guessed who it was,’ he said. ‘I could tell by your face.’

I was surprised and a little horrified that I should show my feelings so clearly.

‘Yes,’ he went on indulgently, ‘there is a shine in your eyes … a softness. That is what makes me think that you and he.

‘Oh please, Father,’ I said, ‘I have no intention of marrying … not yet in any case.’

He sighed. ‘You know I would not stand in your way.’

‘I know. But let us hear what Dickon has to say.’

Dickon was clearly very proud of himself but then that was habitual with him; but on this occasion he was more than usually self-congratulatory.

My father sent for wine and we settled down in his little sitting-room to hear what Dickon had to say.

‘You are going to be amazed,’ he said, ‘but I am not entirely surprised. I always thought it had worked out a little too neatly to be genuine.’

‘Dickon,’ I cried, ‘you are keeping us in suspense to shock and surprise us and show us what a clever creature you are. Please tell us.’

‘Let us start at the beginning. In the first place the Duc de Soissonson has no cousin whose boys require a tutor.’

‘That’s impossible!’ cried my father. ‘He was here himself and told us so.’

Dickon smiled slyly. ‘I repeat, he has no relations whose boys require a tutor.’

‘Are you suggesting that the man who came here calling himself the Duc de Soissonson was not the Duc at all?’ I asked.

‘Absurd!’ cried my father. ‘I know him well.’

‘Not well enough,’ retorted Dickon. ‘It was indeed the mighty Duc who came here, but there are certain aspects of his character which have escaped your notice. He is a crony of the Duc d’Orléans.’

‘What of that?’

‘My dear Comte, have you never heard what goes on at the Palais Royal? The Queen’s chief enemy is Orléans. Who knows what his motives are! Does he want to topple the monarchy and set himself up as ruler? If he did he would be the leader of the people—my Lord Equality. There is much intrigue at the Palais Royal. These men are the traitors to their own class and are more to be feared—or as much as—the mob.’

‘Tell us what you are suggesting,’ said my father. ‘The Duc recommended Blanchard to us because … ’

‘Because,’ finished Dickon, ‘he wanted one of his men in your castle.’

‘A spy!’ I cried. ‘Léon Blanchard … a spy!’

‘Difficult as it is to believe of such a paragon … yes.’

‘But why here? We are remote from all this trouble.’

‘Armand was not. He had his little Band, didn’t he? Mind you, I don’t think Orléans or Soissonson could be very alarmed about that. But they are acting with caution and they could not allow such meetings to go unnoticed.’

‘This is a monstrous suggestion,’ said my father. ‘What proof have you?’

‘Only that Blanchard’s story was false. He was not a part-time tutor. When he was not here he was carrying on the work his fellow conspirators had designed for him.’

‘But he was an excellent tutor.’

‘Of course he was. He is a clever man … cleverer perhaps than Soissonson and Orléans himself. But he was not a Duc, was he? Therefore he takes orders until the time comes when he will be one of those to give them himself.’

‘He has promised to come back.’

‘We shall see if he does,’ said Dickon. ‘My bet is that he will never return to this château.’

‘And my son Armand … ’ said the Comte.

‘It seems most likely that he was murdered.’

‘No!’

‘Monsieur le Comte, we are living in dangerous times. What seems like melodrama in one age is commonplace in another. Blanchard knew there was to be a meeting that day.’

‘Blanchard spent the whole day in the château. He could not have been involved in murder.’

‘Not in the act of carrying it out, but he could have given the information as to where Armand would be. My theory is that your son was set upon and killed, and his murderers made it appear an accident and that he had been drowned in the river and carried away by it.’

‘It is a fantastic story.’

‘Fantastic things are happening in this country now.’

‘I really cannot believe it,’ said my father.

‘Then,’ retorted Dickon, ‘you must disbelieve.’

‘If Blanchard comes back he will be able to refute this story.’

‘But he has not come back, has he?’

‘It might be that his mother is still very ill and he must stay with her.’

‘Where does he say he has gone to?’

‘A place I never heard of. What was it, Lottie? Paraville. It is a good many leagues south. I trust he comes back soon. I should like to hear from his own lips that this is just wild conjecture.’

‘How do you explain Soissonson’s lack of relatives with children?’

‘Soissonson is vague. It might have been some connection … not exactly related.’

‘He doesn’t appear to have anyone, and he is hand in glove with Orléans who is doing his best to bring this country to revolution.’

‘My dear young man,’ said the Comte, ‘you have worked so hard and I know it is for our good. You must forgive me if I tell you I find it hard to believe that Soissonson would have a hand in murdering the son of an old friend.’

‘When revolution comes old friends become new enemies.’

‘You are very kind to take such an interest in our affairs,’ said my father. ‘I trust you will be staying with us for some little time.’

‘Thank you, but no,’ answered Dickon. ‘I must return to England in a few days.’

He was really quite angry with my father. He had been so excited when he arrived with his news—which I had to admit, like my father, I did not believe—that he found the reception of it a somewhat bitter anticlimax.

He was quite subdued when he dined with us and afterwards when he suggested a walk on the ramparts, I readily agreed because I was sorry for the reception he had had.

He said: ‘The sooner you leave this place the better. People are half asleep. They cannot see what is going on around them and when it is thrust under their noses they turn away and call it melodrama. I tell you this, Lottie: these people deserve what is coming to them. Don’t be as foolish as they are. Come back with me … now. This is no place to be in, I do assure you.’

‘Dickon,’ I said, ‘how can you be sure?’

‘You should go to Paris. You should see the crowds every night at the Palais Royal. The gardens are full of them. They are preaching to the people … and who is behind all this? Orléans … men like Soissonson. Traitors to their own class … and therefore the most dangerous traitors. It is all as clear as crystal. Did it not strike you as fortuitous that Soissonson should arrive just at the time when you needed a tutor and provide one?’

‘But he was such a good tutor!’

‘Of course he was. These people know what they are doing. They are not half asleep. He comes because rumour has reached Orléans and his gang that bands are being formed throughout the country. I take it they have disbanded this little one. You might say that Armand was ineffectual, and I agree wholeheartedly with that, but men such as Orleans are too thorough to allow even the inefficient blunderers to have a little success. I see it all clearly. Blanchard comes to spy out the land. He even joins the band.’

‘He did not want to at first. He had to be persuaded.’

‘Of course he had to be persuaded! He wouldn’t appear eager. His was a secret mission.’

‘It’s too wild.’

‘And what of Armand?’

I was silent and he went on: ‘Yes. Poor foolish Armand, he will never inherit his father’s estates now. I’ll warrant they’ll be for you.’

I looked at him quickly and he went on: ‘For the boy, of course. That would be how the Comte’s mind would work. After all, there are only you and that pathetic Sophie now. She was not considered for a moment.’

I looked at him coldly. ‘At such a time you concern yourself with such matters … ’

‘They are there, Lottie. You cannot ignore what is there.’

I wasn’t listening to him. I was thinking of Armand, going down to the river … a group of armed men springing out on him. But perhaps there was only one.

I felt sick and frightened.

I said: ‘I want to go in.’

‘Think about what I have said, Lottie. Marry me. I’ll take care of you.’

‘And the estate,’ I said, ‘and Charlot’s inheritance … ’

‘I’d take care of everything. You need me, Lottie, as much as I need you.’

‘I don’t feel that need,’ I said. ‘Good night, Dickon.’

He left the castle the next day. He was clearly very displeased with his reception.

Lisette wanted to know what had happened and as she knew something important had, I told her.

‘Blanchard!’ she said. ‘Yes, when you come to think of it, he was too good to be true. He was quite handsome, wasn’t he, in a manly way. Yet he never seemed to look at anyone except Sophie. He never made the slightest attempt to be flirtatious with you, did he, Lottie?’

‘Of course not.’

‘With no one but Sophie. That was a very gallant sort of relationship, wasn’t it? It could have been because he was sorry for her. But what was I saying … handsome and courtly. His manners were of the very best … and such a good tutor, recommended by a noble Duc. It was all so very satisfactory. Tell me what Dickon discovered.’

I told her what I knew of the Duc d’Orléans and the Palais Royal, and Soissonson’s connections with them.

‘Dickon tells a good story. When you come to think about it, as good a one could be made up about him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, let’s allow our imaginations to run loose, shall we? Dickon wants you … very much he wants you but he would like you even better if you brought something substantial with you. I suppose the Comte’s wealth is vast. Armand would naturally inherit the bulk … but if Armand were no longer there … well, it is likely that Sophie’s being hors de combat, so to say, all that wealth might descend to you.’

‘Stop it,’ I cried. ‘It’s … horrible.’

‘You know what’s coming. If Armand were out of the way, you see … ’

I could not shut out the vivid pictures which came into my mind. Armand going to the river … someone waiting there for him … leaving the horse tethered … dropping the hat by the river … burying the body. Dickon had been out all that day, while Léon Blanchard had spent the morning with the boys in the wood and the afternoon they had sorted out their specimens. Dickon had been out, I remembered. He had come back late.

‘This is nonsense,’ I said.

‘Of course it is. The whole thing is nonsense. You will see Léon Blanchard returning soon and all this suggestion about the Duc de Soissonson will be explained.’

‘There is one thing which cannot be explained,’ I said, ‘and that is Armand’s disappearance … perhaps death.’

‘Yes.’ Lisette looked straight ahead. ‘It may be that one of our theories is right after all.’

Soon after Dickon’s departure the messenger who had come before to see Léon Blanchard arrived at the castle. He did ask to see my father but as he was out at the time left a letter for him.

When my father returned he sent for me and I went to his sitting-room where I found him anxiously awaiting me.

‘Come and look at this,’ he said and gave me the letter which the messenger had brought.

It was from Léon Blanchard and explained that he could not come back to us. He had found his mother very ill indeed when he returned and although she had recovered she was still in a weak condition. He had decided that he could not be so far from her and was most regretfully telling us that he was giving up his posts and was taking something near his mother’s house so that he could live with her and care for her. He thanked us for the happy time he had had in the castle.

He had sent separate notes to the boys telling them that they must work harder, that Louis-Charles must look to his grammar and Charlot to his mathematics. He would be thinking of them and the happy relationship they had enjoyed when he was under the Comte’s roof.

There could not have been more sincerely written letters.

‘And we are to believe that this man was a spy sent to us by Soissonson!’ said my father.

‘Reading those letters it does seem improbable,’ I agreed.

‘Well now,’ went on my father, ‘we have to look for a new tutor. I promise I shall keep Soissonson out of this!’ he added with a laugh.

I wondered what Dickon would have said if he could have seen those letters.

I was sure he would have insisted that they proved his case.

The whole household was talking about Léon Blanchard who was not coming back. The boys were clearly upset and Charlot said they would hate the new tutor. I explained that it was unfair to hate someone before you had seen him.

‘His trouble will be that he is not Léon,’ said Charlot.

The servants talked continually of what a delightful man he had been. ‘Always the gentleman,’ they said.

He certainly had the power to charm.

Lisette told me that Jeanne had said Sophie was taking Léon’s departure very badly.

‘I think that is the really tragic part of it all,’ I said. ‘I wonder if it would have come to anything if he had stayed.’

‘If he had intended it should, surely he would have done something about it.’

‘I am not sure,’ I pondered. ‘Class distinction comes very strongly into it and I imagine a man like Léon Blanchard would be very much aware of that. Perhaps he was just being chivalrous to Sophie and she, poor girl, longing to escape from what her life is here, imagined something which was not there.’

‘Poor Sophie,’ said Lisette. ‘His going is a tragedy for her.’

That night I was awakened by some dream to find myself in a state of terror. I could not understand what was happening. Then I was suddenly aware that I was not alone.

For those first waking seconds I was transported back in time to the days before my wedding to Charles when I had been awakened in just such a way to see Sophie at the foot of my bed in my wedding veil.

I cried: ‘Who is that?’

Then she came out of the shadows. She stood by my bed. She had taken off her hood and her face looked grotesque in the moonlight.

‘Sophie!’ I whispered.

‘Why do you hate me?’ she asked.

‘Hate you! But Sophie … ’

‘If you don’t, why do you try to hurt me? Haven’t I been hurt enough to please you?’

‘What do you mean, Sophie?’ I replied. ‘I would do anything I could for you. If it were in my power … ’

She laughed. ‘Who are you? The bastard. You have come here and won my father from us all.’

I wanted to protest. I wanted to cry: He was never yours so how could I take him from you?

She stood there at the end of my bed as she had done on that other night. She said: ‘You took Charles from me.’

‘No! You gave him up. You wouldn’t marry him.’

She touched her face. ‘You were there when this happened. You went off with him and left me.’

‘Oh, Sophie,’ I protested. ‘It was not like that.’

‘It is long ago,’ she said. ‘And then you told my father, did you not, that Léon wanted to marry me … and you persuaded him that it would not be right because he was only a tutor and I was a Comte’s daughter. I heard you talking to him about me at the moat.’

‘It is not true. I said no such thing. I said it would be good for you and for him. I assure you, Sophie, that is what I said.’

‘And he was sent away. There was this story about his mother … and now he is to stay with her and he won’t come back here. That is your doing.’

‘Oh Sophie, you are quite wrong.’

‘Do you think I don’t know? You tried to pretend first that he was a spy … you and your friend … that man … that Dickon. You are going to marry him, are you not? … when my father is dead and everything comes to you. What of Armand? How did you and your lover get him out of the way?’

‘Sophie, this is madness.’

‘Madness now, you say. Is that what you want them to say of me? I hate you. I shall never forget what you have done to me. I will never forgive you.’

I got out of bed and approached her, but she put out her arms to ward me off. She walked backwards to the door her arms stretched out before her as she went. She looked like a sleepwalker.

I cried: ‘Sophie … Sophie … listen to me. You are wrong … wrong about everything. Let me talk to you.’

But she shook her head. I watched the door shut on her. Then I went back to bed and lay there, shivering.