Clandara (50 page)

‘Certainly. I never keep my promises.'

‘Will you be kind to Anne? She's good and gentle and she really loves you. I beg of you not to hurt her. It isn't much to ask.'

‘You really are fond of her, aren't you?' he said. ‘It must cost you a great deal to say ‘I beg' to me. I shall promise you nothing, my dear Jean. I told you, she can go to the devil for all I care. But if you want to protect her then give her good advice. Tell her to keep out of my way. Then I assure you she'll be safe enough.'

‘Very well.' Jean's eyes were very narrow. ‘I've spoken for Anne, now I'll speak for myself. If you harm her, I swear before God I'll find a way to have you killed. And you know I mean that.'

‘We're not in the Highlands now,' he reminded her. ‘You might find it more difficult to murder me here than you would in Scotland.
You
should inherit the estates, my dear Jean. You're a Fraser to your fingers' ends. What a pity you have Mother's red hair without her looks! Go away now, before I lose my temper and throw you out into the passage. And don't forget to kiss me when we meet in public.'

Half an hour later, Charles went down to meet his fiancée and their guests. The lackey who had admitted his sister was still on duty outside the door. He paused for a moment, adjusting the lace handkerchief that hung from his sleeve, and with the same movement brought his right hand up and struck the servant across the face.

‘Next time,' he said, without even looking at him, ‘do what you're told.'

The dinner was over, and even by court standards, Charles had to admit that it was magnificent. There were a hundred guests seated in the enormous dining room at two long parallel tables, and fifteen courses were served to them. Quail covered with light pastry, salmon and river trout, pigeons cooked in herbs and wine, venison and hare and duckling, fruits swimming in brandy, suckling pig stuffed with chestnuts and apples, sweetmeats and desserts that would have done credit to the King's table at Versailles. The banquet lasted for four hours, and at the end of it, Anne and Charles led their guests into the Marble Salon for Madame Louet's recital.

‘I am constantly surprised at how rich you are,' he whispered to her. ‘Such a pity to waste all that magnificence on these provincial bumpkins. How long is this woman going to play?'

‘Until I give the signal. Does music bore you?'

They were sitting together at the head of the salon in two gilt chairs. He had to admit that she was not only beautiful – the dazzling pink dress would have excited the acquisitive Du Barry's admiration – but she also knew how to entertain. When he spoke to her she blushed; he glanced across at his sister and smiled. ‘When I'm bored, my dear Anne, I leave. Give this an hour and no more.'

‘As you wish.' She sat very still listening to the recital; one or two of the male guests were asleep. Whenever she looked across at Jean she saw her watching Charles, her face pale and expressionless. It was surprising that such a soft, gay woman could look so implacable; she reminded her suddenly of Lady Katherine on the night she had come to her bedroom to dissuade her from marrying her son. Charles leant towards her.

‘The hour is up,' he said. ‘Stop her before some of your audience break into snores.' Anne gave the signal and led the applause. The harpist came up to them and curtsied.

‘A wonderful performance, madame,' Anne thanked her. ‘We have been enchanted. There will be dancing in the Long Salon. Be kind enough to join us.'

‘You keep late hours for the country,' Charles said. ‘Hunting half the day, eating and drinking for hours on end. No wonder all your neighbours look so gross. Will we have to go through this again on the wedding night? I'm afraid I may have to retire early if we do.…'

‘When a De Bernard marries, certain things are expected,' Anne said quietly. ‘I'm sure in your own country you had obligations to your neighbours. Ah, M. le Vicomte de Bré – may I present my future husband, M. Macdonald!'

Charles noticed the young man's fair face flush a deep red as he kissed Anne's hand. They bowed to each other and he saw the hostility in the young man's eyes.

‘My felicitations, monsieur,' the vicomte said stiffly. ‘You are the most fortunate man in the world.'

‘So I hear on all sides,' Charles answered. ‘I only fear that my good fortune is ill fortune for others. Anne, my dear, I'm sure M. de Bré wishes to claim you for a dance. I relinquish her to you, monsieur.'

He watched them move away, and the old Comte de Bernard came up to him.

‘This is a sad night for that young man,' he remarked. ‘He's been Anne's suitor for years.'

‘So I guessed,' Charles said. ‘I wonder she refused him.'

‘She took my advice.' The old man smiled. ‘I told her to wait for a better. There was not much hesitation about you after you arrived. You've made her very happy, my dear boy.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.' Charles bowed. ‘I'm sure she deserves all the happiness I can give her.'

Anne danced the figures of the minuet, smiling mechanically into the face of her partner, watching for Charles whenever they turned.

‘I wish you happines,' De Bré said to her quietly. ‘You know I would give anything in the world to be in his place, but I wish you all possible joy.'

‘I know you do,' she said gently. ‘And you will have that joy yourself one day. I pray that you'll find it quickly. Excuse me, my dear Michel, but I think my fiancé is looking for me.…'

She left him as soon as the dance ended. Charles was drinking wine in a corner, making conversation with an elderly lady who claimed to have known his parents when both were visiting France before their marriage.

‘How little your mother has changed,' she was saying. ‘Still as beautiful as ever. I'm surprised you don't resemble either of them more.'

Charles gave her a disarming smile.

‘I'm told I take after my uncle Hugh,' he said. ‘He was a famous rapist. I beg your indulgence, madame; I see my delightful fiancée approaching.'

He bowed low over the astonished old lady's hand and kissed it. He came up to Anne and he was frowning; he caught her arm and forced her towards the door.

‘I'm intolerably bored,' he said. ‘I've decided to go back to Versailles until the wedding.'

A lackey sprang to the door and opened it wide for them, bowing low as they passed through. In the empty corridor Anne turned and faced him.

‘Are you sure you intend to come back for the wedding?' She spoke very quietly. ‘Please, Charles, tell me the truth. If you're going to defy your parents, at least give me warning. I promise I shan't speak a word to them.'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘I shall be back to marry you, depend on it. By God, so many people are against it, it's almost a challenge to me now. I'm going to bed. I'll start at dawn tomorrow. You can make what excuse you wish to my family.' She began to walk up the staircase with him; at the entrance to his suite of rooms she touched his arm.

‘I must speak to you, just for a moment.'

‘Everyone wants to speak to me just for a moment,' he sneered. ‘My dear sister came bursting in upon me, just to speak for a moment. Now it's you … what do you want? Do me the favour of being brief. I'm bone weary.'

‘I don't know what Jean said to you but I can guess. What I have to say is brief indeed. We began this engagement in the worst possible circumstances; let us review it before it is too late. Charles, I don't want you to marry me against your will.'

‘And what exactly did you think I was doing, except that?' he demanded. ‘Didn't I make it clear to you that I was being blackmailed into this marriage?'

‘You did indeed,' she said. ‘But even so, I hoped – I thought that you might change. Now I can see you haven't. You're unhappy here; nothing I've done has pleased you. I don't please you, I doubt I ever shall. Charles, I cannot force you into this. Let me give you the money to pay that creature De Charlot, and I willingly free you from any obligation to marry me, or pay me back.'

She was very pale; it had taken all her courage to offer him his escape when all she wanted in the world was to keep him by her at any price. To her surprise he laughed.

‘Very noble of you, my dear Anne. Is it possible that you have changed your mind and seek to buy me off? By God, there's no end to the subtlety of women, even the stupidest! Do you think my father would be balked of his desire to bolster his Highlands with your money? Do you think my lady mother would allow you to frustrate her plans to fetter me? De Charlot would have his money and I should be a penniless outcast, disinherited from my Scottish rights!' He stepped close to her and caught her arms; the grip was so tight that she winced.

‘You agreed to have me and now I've grown used to the idea. I'm going to marry you, my little cousin, whether you want it or not.'

‘Don't judge me by the strumpets at Versailles,' she said. ‘I made the offer out of decency – and pride, if you like. Women have pride too. I admit I haven't shown much in the last few weeks, but that was only weakness. If you wish to humiliate me further I'll oblige. I still want you, detestable as you are! But if you want your freedom, you can have it!'

‘Generous, honourable Anne,' he mocked. ‘To hell with your generosity!' He was still holding her and there was something in his face that made her shrink away and struggle to release herself. He laughed and forced her arms behind her back.

‘Go down and console that poor oaf De Bré,' he sneered. ‘And don't forget, I shall be back the night before the wedding.' He thrust her away from him and disappeared into his rooms, slamming the door on her.

The wealth that Charles left behind him at Charantaise did not extend to the villages and towns on the estates as he travelled back towards Versailles. Anne's people at the great château were well fed and properly cared for; her stewards and bailiffs treated the servants and the estate workers with the consideration due to pedigree animals. Unlike the majority of the peasants, undernourished, sullen, frightened, and dirty, the staff were intelligent and trained. Charles had heard a great deal about the poverty of Scotland and the wretched conditions to which the Highland people were reduced by the oppression of the English.

As he rode through the French countryside, he doubted if anything he encountered on his return to Dundrenan could be much worse than the windowless hovels and half-naked creatures who ran after his coach, yelling for alms. It was a country endowed with enormous natural wealth; its soil was productive, its climate superb, but the fields were tilled as they had been three hundred years before; men drew the plough and women sowed and reaped by hand with the crudest tools. There was no proper drainage system; outbreaks of plague ravaged the countryside. What little profit the farmer managed to produce was swallowed up by the extortionate taxes from which his aristocratic master was exempted, and by the corruption of the fiscal officers.

Speeding back to the most luxurious and extravagant court in Europe, Charles was less interested in the conditions that were eating away the internal prosperity of France, than in the problems facing him in his native Scotland. He had begun to think a little more of Dundrenan and Clandara since his stay at Charantaise. God knew there was nothing else to interest him.… The year after the wedding it was planned to return with his bride and take possession of the estates. Sir James had warned him that he would find the people sunk in the deepest poverty, the two great houses lay in blackened ruins, and many of the old clan ways were abandoned altogether. At the time he had shrugged and betrayed no interest, but later he began to think about it. The size and complexity of Anne's huge estates were closely paralleled by his own but only in acreage. French money would have to water the poor Highland soil and build up the mansions destroyed by war and clan feud. He had never seen Scotland, and one of his favourite means of exasperating both parents was to dismiss it as a land of penniless barbarians. Now he was becoming curious; when he returned he would own something, and something more than land, as his angry father had so often tried to tell him. He would own his Macdonald people, not as the irresponsible and wastrel French seigneur bodily owned his peasants, but with a spiritual ownership. He would cease to be the son of an emigrant Scots revolutionary, tolerated by the French nobles because of his father's favour with the King. He would be the Macdonald of Dundrenan, lord over the unwilling Frasers, for he was the last who carried their blood.

Sitting back in the coach, he thought of the woman whose wealth would bring all this about; her money would re-stock the vanished herds of sheep and cattle for his people, raise a great house on the site of his clan's ancient home and fill it with fine furniture, silver, and plate. She was responsible for his inheritance becoming a reality. For that alone, his pride would never permit him to forgive her. He thought of his sister's threat and laughed. They were a fierce breed, the Scots; however much you tamed them with European manners they still turned on you like wolves if you pricked them. The women were no better than their men; his sister, who hated him and snarled like a lioness in defence of her friend, would have died sooner than submit to a man who had abused her as he had done to Anne. ‘Good and gentle,' Jean had called her, as if those cloister virtues were a recommendation in a wife. If Anne had thrown him out of her house, he might have tempered his dislike of her with a modicum of respect. But she loved him, just as Louise loved him, because of the power he exercised over their bodies. He had despised women from the moment he discovered how much of their lives was governed by sexual greed. He leant back against the cushions and settled down to sleep for the rest of the day's journey.

Louise de Vitale was a very good horsewoman, even though she lacked the brilliance of Anne whose horses were half broken by the standards of Versailles. She and Charles had joined the royal hunt, and at the end of a long morning's chase, they were making their way slowly back in the wake of the King and his attendants. There were dozens of coaches following the hunt, filled with ladies from the court who were not able to ride, and with onlookers from all over the country who had driven for miles in order to follow the King. In a conspicuous vehicle with gold carving and painted door panels, drawn by four magnificent grey horses, the Comtesse du Barry was a spectator of the King's triumphant pursuit and kill of the deer. The comtesse did not know how to ride well enough to expose herself to the ridicule of her many enemies, all of whom would have been enchanted had she fallen off and, best of all, broken her exquisite neck. She waved to her lover like a pagan goddess from her golden chariot, her masses of curling hair dressed round her shoulders, sparkling with diamonds and silver lace. Louise drew her horse level with Charles, and touched him with her little ivory switch.