The adulteress (17 page)

happening on the Continent; all the same, we should remember that England was involved in it.

I wondered often about Gerard. I guessed that the purpose of his visit to England had had something to do with the political situation. No doubt he had been discovering how England would react to events on the Continent and perhaps even assessing the effectiveness of our defenses along the coast and sending messages back across the sea. I would listen avidly to James Fenton, who noticed my interest and was delighted by it. He directed his remarks to me as often as he did to Jean-Louis; and the three of us would become involved in discussions of the rights and wrongs and the possible effects of the conflict.

"The Pompadour rules France," said James, "not so much because of the hold she has on Louis but because he is too lazy to do so himself. He loves to leave affairs in her hands . . . which are capable enough . . . but perhaps not so good for France. She is a clever woman. She holds her sway over the king by seeing to his needs ... in every direction. She procures little girls to amuse him in his bedchamber. It is said he has a penchant for young girls. The Pare aux Cerfs proves that."

As I had never heard of the Pare aux Cerfs James explained that it was the Deer Park—an establishment where young girls from all walks of life whose only qualifications need to be beauty and a certain sensuality were trained to pander to the king's pleasure.

Jean-Louis looked uneasy as though he did not like such matters to be discussed in my company.

"I'm sorry to speak of something so distasteful," said James to me, "but to understand the situation you must know Louis and the Pompadour, and why she has this hold over him."

I lowered my eyes. They could not guess that I myself was far from ignorant of the delights of sensual love.

There was a treaty which was called the Alliance des Trois Cotillons—the alliance of "three petticoats," which referred to the agreement between Madame de Pompadour, Maria Theresa of Austria and Empress Elizabeth of Russia. It was important to us because no sooner had it been signed than England declared war on France.

Gerard's country and mine were enemies—they had always been that, of course, but now they were engaged in a war . . . fighting on opposing sides. I wondered whether this

would bring him back to England . . . secretly. . . . For a time I used to look out for him, telling myself that he would suddenly appear. Nothing of this sort happened and then I asked myself whether love affairs like that which there had been between us were commonplace with him. Could it be that he loved violently, dramatically . . . and then passed on to the next?

That was something I could not bear to contemplate. I had been shameful but at least for me it was for no petite passion, no passing whim of the moment.

And so the time began to slip by.

I had acquired an excellent nanny for Lottie. She was a great-niece of Nanny Curlew who had long since retired. But, said my mother, it was always wise to keep nannies in the family and we could be sure that a relative of Nanny Curlew's would have been brought up to serve nobly in the honorable tradition.

And so it proved. From the moment she was installed in the household we knew we had a treasure in Nanny Derring. Dickon had scornfully rejected nannies some time ago, and because they could deny him nothing, the guardian of his nursery had been found another post and Dickon now went to the vicarage for lessons, which he shared with the vicar's son, Tom, and which were taught by the resident curate. In due course he would go away to school.

Lottie grew more beautiful every day. She was very pretty with magnificent eyes—dark blue, fringed with incredibly long almost black lashes. "Her eyes are darker than yours were at her age," said my mother. "Hers are violet. They always said that my mother, Carlotta, had violet eyes."

Remarks like that always unnerved me temporarily. I wondered whether my mother noticed it.

Lottie also had a good deal of dark hair. It was almost black.

"She looks like a little French doll," said Sabrina.

"French!" I cried.

"Well, Jean-Louis had a hand in it, didn't he?" said Sabrina. "Sometimes I get the impression that you think you are wholly responsible for her."

I must be careful. It could be over some small thing that I would betray myself. There was every reason why Lottie should look French. After all, the man who was supposed to be her father was of the same race as her actual one.

Jean-Louis adored her and she was fond of him. I was deeply moved to see him carry her round on his shoulder. I knew it was painful for him because to do so he abandoned his stick, but she loved it and was always trying to clamber up. She was now beginning to talk and was enchanting, murmuring to herself usually about Lottie—which was the word she used more than any other. Everything belonged to Lottie, she seemed to think; she was demanding, showed a lively interest in all around her, loved us to sing or tell her nursery rhymes and she had an endearing habit of watching our mouths as we talked or sang, trying to imitate us. She was the center of our life. Jean-Louis said to me as he watched: "I still cannot believe that we really have a child. Sometimes I dream that it was all fancy and wake up in such gloom . . . until I remember or she comes in [which she was beginning to do now] at an early hour in the morning to be with us."

She did more than anything else to ease my conscience, but sometimes I would have a fearful sense of foreboding and when I looked back at all I had done and how I had brazenly carried off my deceit I was still amazed at myself.

People talked about the war but not with any great seriousness. There had always been wars and as long as they remained outside our country we were not greatly concerned. When there were triumphs for us we heard a great deal about them; when there were disasters they were briefly glossed over. We did hear about the execution of Admiral Byng, though. He had lost Minorca to the French and was accused of treachery and cowardice. People were shocked by the case and for a time talked of little else. Prime Minister Pitt had tried to persuade the king to pardon him but to no avail, and he was shot on the quarterdeck of his ship in Portsmouth Harbor.

Jean-Louis was indignant. "It's harsh and unjust," he said. "Byng might have failed through bad tactics but that does not merit execution."

James Fenton said that such executions were performed for reasons other than justice. The French were evidently very interested in the outcome. The writer Voltaire said he was slain "pour encourager les autres" and solely for that reason. Someone else said that Byng was afraid of too much responsibility and was shot to let those about him know that in war those who could not take quick decisions were no use to their country.

In any case the interest in the case seemed to bring the fact that we were at war home to a good many people.

"How will it affect the war?" I asked James.

"Oh, the capture of Minorca is a feather in the French cap."

Such talk always set me wondering about Gerard. It seemed so strange that we who had been so close, should now be so far apart that we had no idea what the other was doing. I wondered what he would think if he knew there had been a child.

It was when Lottie was two years old that I had the irresistible urge to return to Eversleigh.

I talked it over with my mother and Sabrina. "I think a great deal about Uncle Carl and that strange menage of his. I said I would visit again. Do you think I should?"

"Lottie is a little young to travel," she said.

"I had thought of leaving her here. Nanny is well able to look after her. Jean-Louis is not really fit for a long journey ... no, I thought of . . ."

"Not going alone!" cried my mother.

"Well ... I went before."

Dickon happened to have come in while we were talking. He was now getting on for thirteen—very tall for his age, full of self-importance, arrogant, ruthless, I judged him to be. He did not improve as he grew up.

"I'll go with you," he said.

"I'll be perfectly all right . . . with the grooms. I'll go as I went before."

But Dickon was set on going, and as my mother and Sabrina always went out of their way to satisfy his demands they came up with the idea that Sabrina and he might go with me. And no sooner had it been suggested than Dickon was so taken with the idea that he would not have it otherwise than that we should go together.

I wrote to Uncle Carl and had an enthusiastic reply. He would be delighted to see us, and asked us to come as soon as possible.

It was spring—the best time for traveling; the days remained light for longer and the weather was more to be relied on.

Both Dickon and Sabrina were in high spirits. It was true that Dickon wanted us to move faster, which the grooms pointed out to him was not possible if the saddle horse was to keep up with us. "Let him come on after," said Dickon.

I said: "You know we must all keep together. You must have heard that often enough."

"Highwaymen. Everybody's scared of highwaymen. I'm not."

"No, for the reason that you have never encountered one.

"I'd soon frighten him off."

Sabrina said: "Dickon!" half reproving, half admiring; and I merely ignored him.

The journey passed without mishap and on this occasion we arrived at Eversleigh in the early afternoon.

Sabrina remembered the place well and grew reflective, excited but a little sad. I guessed so many memories—some not very pleasant—were stirring in her mind. She had spent the early part of her childhood at Enderby and in the days before Eversleigh Court had passed into Uncle Carl's hands it had been a very orderly, rather conventionally run estate.

Jessie came out to meet us. I noticed that she displayed a little more discretion in her appearance than she had on that first occasion. She wore a blue muslin dress with a frilly white fischu and cuffs. There was only the smallest patch beside her left eye.

Evalina was there with her mother, almost a young woman now. I guessed she must be about fifteen years of age.

"His lordship is excited about your visit," Jessie told us. "He has ordered that you are to be taken to him the minute you arrived."

Oh yes, she was creating a different image. Now it seemed that his lordship gave the orders in the house; on the previous occasion it had clearly been Jessie who did this.

Evalina and Dickon eyed each other with interest, but Dickon's main attention was for the house. He was rather quiet— which was unusual with him—gazing about him. I could see that he was impressed.

"Your rooms are all ready for you," said Jessie. "And I was wondering if you would like a light snack, say ... or wait for supper."

I looked at Sabrina, who hesitated, I knew, because she thought Dickon would certainly be hungry. However, for once he did not seem interested in food. He was indeed taken with his surroundings.

I said I was prepared to wait. Sabrina said the same.

"Well then, would you like to come straight to his lordship?" She looked at me. "It was his orders," she said.

So while our baggage was brought in we went to Uncle Carl's room. He was seated in a chair by the window. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him—parchment-wrinkled skin and those strikingly lively dark eyes.

He turned to us and gave an exclamation of delight.

"Ah . . . you're here. Come in. Come in. Oh, this is a pleasure. Now . . . you're Sabrina. Ah yes, of course . . . Damaris's girl. Good girl Damaris, and of course my dear Zipporah." He gripped my hand and held it firmly. "And this . . ."

"He's Richard, we call him Dickon . . . my son," said Sabrina.

"Yes, yes . . . indeed. Welcome . . . welcome . . . Now, Jessie, have you given them something to eat?"

"Why bless you, they've only just come and it was your orders that they was to be brought straight to you. They say they'll wait till supper."

"Well . . . well. Bring chairs for them, Jessie."

She did so, smiling at us, the stones in her ears twinkling.

"Now is there anything else you want before I leave you for a little family chat? When you're ready pull the bell rope. I'll have hot water sent to your rooms. I expect you want to wash and change. You must be tired after your journey." She turned to Uncle Carl and lifted a finger. "Don't forget they've had a long journey."

"No. I don't forget. It was good of you to come to see me. Would you want to go straight to your rooms?"

"In a little while," I said. "But it is wonderful to see you looked after so well."

His bright eyes looked straight into mine. "Jessie takes good care of me . . . thank you." I was not sure whether or not he winked at me.

We talked awhile; mostly he was recalling the past. Sabrina was more conversant with that, being older than I and having been part of the earlier scene. Dickon got up and walked round the room examining the paneling and the wonderful old fireplace which was intricately carved with scenes from the Wars of the Roses.

I had never known him so quiet.

Uncle Carl asked solicitously after Jean-Louis and thanked

me for the letters I had sent since we had last been together. It was all very conventional conversation and I began to think that it all seemed very normal and quite different from on that previous visit. After a while Dickon pulled the bell rope and it was Jessie who came up to take us to our rooms. She behaved with decorum and only occasionally stepped out of her role as housekeeper to assume that of mistress of the house.

I had the same room as I had had before, and I felt poignant memories flooding over me. I went to the window through which Gerard had climbed. Behind me was the bed on which we had spent that last ecstatic and melancholy night.

I wished I had not come. The memories were all bitter now.

Sabrina came in. She sat on my bed and smiled at me.

"I wasn't expecting it to be so . . . normal. . . ."

"No," I said. "Nor I. What did you think of Jessie?"

"Too flamboyant. Too much carmine and white lead."

"She's very subdued compared with what she was. Do you think she gives herself an air?"