The Adultress (59 page)

I looked about for Armand and Sophie but could not see them. I could see nothing but that seething mass of panicking, hysterical people.

I could not say how long it lasted. I was only aware of fear and anxiety, not only for ourselves but for Sophie and Armand. A terrible premonition came to me that nothing was ever going to be the same after that night.

Some of the buildings were ablaze and that had started a fresh panic; fortunately for us it was on the far side of the square.

I can still hear the sounds of screams, the sobbing and anguished cries when I recall that fearful night.

But Charles brought me safely through. I remember always his pale face grimy with smoke … his clothes awry, his wig lost exposing his fine dark hair so that he seemed like a different man. I knew that if I survived that night I should have him to thank for it.

When we were apart from the crowd … and safe, Charles put me down. I had no idea where we were except that we had escaped from the Place Louis XV.

‘Lottie,’ he said in a voice such as I had never heard him use before.

I looked at him and his arms were round me. We clung together. There were many people about. Some had come from the nightmare square; others were spectators who had come out to see what was happening. No one took any notice of us.

‘Thank God,’ said Charles. ‘Are you … are you all right?’

‘I think so. And you … you did it all.’

There was a flicker of the old pleasantry but it did not seem quite natural. ‘I did it just to show that I am always at your service.’

Then suddenly we were laughing and I think nearly crying at the same time.

Immediately we remembered Sophie and Armand. We looked back at the square. Smoke was rising to the sky and we could still hear the shouts and screams of people fighting to get free.

‘Do you think … ?’ I began.

‘I don’t know.’

‘The last I saw of Armand he was carrying her.’

‘Armand would get through,’ said Charles.

‘Poor Sophie. I think she was badly hurt. Her hood was on fire for a time.’

We were silent for a few seconds. Then Charles said: ‘There is nothing to do but get back quickly. We’ll have to walk I’m afraid. There is nothing to take us back.’

So we began our walk to the
hôtel.

My mother took me into her arms.

‘Oh, Lottie … Lottie …thank God …’

I said: ‘Charles saved me. He carried me through.’

‘God bless him!’ said my mother.

‘Sophie and Armand …’

‘They are here. Armand stopped a carriage and they were brought back. It was ten minutes ago. Your father has sent for the doctors. Armand is safe. Poor Sophie … But the doctors will be here at any moment. Oh, my dear, dear child.’

I felt limp, dazed, exhausted and unable to stand up.

As we went into the
salon
my father ran out. When he saw me he took me into his arms and held me tightly. He kept saying my name over and over again.

Armand came towards us.

‘Armand!’ I cried with joy.

‘I got through,’ he said. ‘I was lucky. I brought Sophie out and there was a carriage. I made them bring us back here.’

‘Where is Sophie?’ I asked.

‘In her room,’ said my mother.

‘She … ?’

My mother was silent and my father put an arm round me. ‘We don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘She has suffered some burns. The doctors must come soon.’

I sat down on a couch with my mother beside me. She had her arm round me and held me as though she would never let me go.

I lost count of time. I could not shut out of my mind all that horror. I kept thinking of Sophie and the waiting was almost as terrible as that nightmare journey through the crowd.

That was a night which none of us—including the entire French nation—was going to forget for a very long time. What had gone wrong with the fireworks no one knew and had the people remained calm the damage would not have been great. But the panic of the crowd to get out of the square in frantic haste had resulted in many being trampled to death and one hundred and thirty-two people had been killed outright and two thousand badly injured on that terrible night.

Remembering the storm on the wedding day, people began to ask themselves if God was displeased with this marriage. They were to remember what they called these omens later.

I had prayed so fervently that Sophie should not die and I rejoiced when my prayers were answered; but I have sometimes wondered whether had Sophie been given the choice she would have chosen to live.

She kept to her bed for several weeks. The day which should have been her wedding-day came and went. None of her bones had been broken—Armand had saved her from being trampled to death—but one side of her face had been so badly burned that the scars would be with her forever.

My mother nursed her and I wanted to help but whenever I went into the room Sophie was disturbed.

My mother said: ‘She does not want you to see her face.’

So I stayed away, but I wanted to be with her, to talk to her, to comfort her if I could.

Even when she rose from her bed she would not leave her room and she did not want anyone to be with her except her maid, Jeanne Fougere, who was devoted to her and of whom she had become very fond.

Jeanne spent her days in Sophie’s apartments and both my father and mother were grateful to the girl, for she seemed to be able to comfort Sophie as no one else could. I had hoped that I should be able to, but it was very clear that my half-sister did not want that.

Jeanne was clever with her fingers and she devised a kind of hood of blue silk which covered half of Sophie’s face. Fortunately the burns had not touched her eyes although one side of her face was badly scorched and the hair would never grow again there; but it was the lower part of her jaw which had caught the full fury of the flames. The hood which Jeanne had made was, said my mother, very effective.

‘She will emerge from her room in time,’ went on my mother. ‘And your father thinks that we should return to the country. Sophie will feel better there. The sooner she gets away from the place where it happened the better.’

I said: ‘The wedding will have to be postponed for some time, I suppose.’

My mother was thoughtful. ‘She won’t see Charles,’ she said.

‘I suppose she can’t bear him to see … ’

‘Poor girl. It may be that now … ’

‘You mean he won’t want to marry her?’

‘I don’t know. The Tourvilles are very eager for the marriage. A good deal is involved.’

‘Settlements? Money?’

‘Yes, and your father would have liked an alliance with the Tourvilles. Sophie, however, has told Jeanne that she will never marry now.’

‘She may change her mind. She loved Charles very much.’

‘Well, you know she was always nervous … unsure of herself. The betrothal made such a difference to her. Now, of course, she just wants to hide herself away.’

‘I wish she would see me.’

‘I can understand it. Perhaps it is because you are so very pretty. I think she has always been a little … well, not exactly jealous but aware that you are more attractive than she is.’

‘Oh … nonsense.’

‘Not nonsense at all. It is all very natural. She was never very attractive herself; although she did change after the engagement.

‘Is Charles willing to go ahead?’

‘Yes. As soon as it can be arranged.’

‘So it is just Sophie.’

‘No doubt she will change her mind. We must wait and see. And now your father thinks that the best thing we can do is return to the country.’

So we did. Sophie sat in the carriage huddled in the corner, her face covered by Jeanne’s hood and her cloak wrapped tightly around her.

I tried to talk to her but she clearly showed she did not want me to. I wished that Lisette was in our carriage but she did not of course travel with us. She had gone ahead to the château in the company of Tante Berthe.

It was a very gloomy journey.

Everything changed after the night of the fireworks. The château was different; it was as though the ghosts of so many who had suffered there had come out of their hiding places to remind us that life was cruel.

Poor Sophie! I suffered with her and I was bitterly hurt that the friendship she had felt for me no longer seemed to exist. She had her own rooms in the château; she had asked for this and nothing was denied her. My mother and my father—who, I suspect, had never been really fond of her—wanted to indulge all her wishes. So when she asked for this set of rooms in the turret she was given them, and with Jeanne she set up what was like a private home there. I realized why she had wanted those rooms. They were apart from the rest of the château and she could really feel shut off there. From the long narrow windows high in the tower she could look out on the surrounding country and see most of the arrivals and departures from the château.

She made it clear that she was happier alone and wanted to see no one. She had her needlework, at which she had been very good, and there were one or two card games which she and Jeanne played together. Jeanne had become quite an important person in the household because of the influence she had with Sophie and every one of us wanted to do all that was possible to make Sophie’s life happier.

Lisette and I discussed Sophie. ‘It’s strange,’ said Lisette, ‘that she doesn’t want to see us. After all, we were her good friends before.’

‘I seem to be the one she has taken against,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it is entirely due to her accident. Before that I noticed she seemed to be turning against me.’

‘I think she probably noticed that Charles de Tourville was aware of your charms.’

‘Oh no. He was charming to her always and would marry her now.’

‘Of course. She is still the daughter—the
legitimate
daughter—of the Comte d’Aubigné.’ Lisette spoke rather tartly and I guessed she was still resentful because Sophie and I had been with her so rarely during our stay in Paris.

‘Well, whatever the reason, he would go on with the marriage. She is the one who won’t.’

‘Have you seen her face?’

‘Not lately. I caught a glimpse at first. I know she is badly disfigured.’

‘She never really made the most of what she had when she had it,’ said Lisette.

‘It’s tragic. I wish I knew what I could do to help.’

I had told Lisette about Madame Rougemont’s ordeal, and she had listened intently.

‘I have heard she is practicing just the same.’

‘Yes, I know. Charles de Tourville told me she is too useful to the nobility for them to allow her business to be closed.’

‘If she had been trading in poor prostitutes that would have been a different matter,’ said Lisette. Her mouth hardened. ‘You can scarcely call it fair.’

‘I never did. I consider it most unjust.’

‘Life often is,’ commented Lisette.

Charles came to the château.

‘He has come to see Sophie,’ said my mother. ‘I think he hopes to persuade her to go on with the marriage.’

‘I am so pleased,’ I replied. ‘That will make her happy.’

She did see him. He went alone to her turret rooms and only Jeanne was there with them. He said afterwards that she had kept Jeanne in the room all the time and she told him most emphatically that she was never going to marry.

He was very upset after the interview. He said to my mother: ‘She took off that hood thing she wears and showed me her face. I was horrified and I could not hide this, I’m afraid. But I told her it made no difference. She wouldn’t believe that. She said she intended to live the rest of her life in those turret rooms with Jeanne, who was the only one she wanted to see. She said she was sure of Jeanne’s devotion. I told her she could be sure of mine but she said she did not think so, that she had given up all thought of marriage and her decision was irrevocable.’

‘It is early as yet,’ said my mother. ‘It was a terrible shock and she is still suffering from it. Charles, I am sure if you persist …’

He said he would. He stayed with us for three or four days and tried every one of those days to see Sophie, but she would not receive him.

I saw him often but never alone. There was always someone to chaperone me and I was not sorry. There were reasons why I did not want to be alone with him and I did not want to probe too deeply into them.

He went away eventually but in less than a month he came back again.

‘He is very anxious to marry with Aubigné,’ said Lisette.

‘I think he is really fond of Sophie,’ I replied.

Lisette looked at me scornfully. ‘Such a good family to be allied to,’ she said cynically.

But he had changed. He was quiet. I often saw his eyes on me broodingly and I thought a great deal about him; so that was one of the reasons why I did not want to be alone with him.

August had come and it was about this time that I began to notice the change in Lisette. There were times when she looked a little older and sometimes she seemed quite pale with little of that colour which used to be so charmingly and delicately pink in her cheeks.

One day I said to her: ‘Lisette, are you well?’

‘Why do you ask?’ she demanded quickly.

‘I thought you seemed a little pale … and somehow not quite yourself.’

She looked quite alarmed. ‘Of course, I’m all right,’ she said sharply.

But there was something wrong. I saw Tante Berthe watching Lisette closely and I thought: Something is worrying her. Once when I was going to see my mother I encountered Tante Berthe coming out of her room and she looked very stern and angry … more than that. I thought I detected anxiety and even fear.

My mother was very absent-minded when I was with her. I asked if anything was wrong with Tante Berthe and she answered quickly: ‘Oh no … no … nothing at all wrong with her.’

Everybody was changing. Nothing had been the same since that fearful tragedy. What was happening to everyone? Even Lisette had ceased to be the vivacious companion she had once been.

Lisette herself came to my room one evening. She said with a grimace: ‘Tante Berthe is taking me with her to visit some relations.’

‘Relations! I didn’t know you had any.’