The French Bride (22 page)

They began a steep climb up some rickety stairs as dark as the inside of a well and on the first landing they stopped outside a door. Mme. Grand-mère found a bunch of keys in her skirts and opened the door with one of them. The room was in semi-darkness, a small rush light burned in one corner and it was furnished with nothing but heaps of straw. There were empty food bowls on the floor; it reminded Louise of a dog kennel.

‘Come in,' the old woman said. ‘Hold up the lamp, you idiot, so that the lady can see!' She stepped into the room and clapped her hands. ‘Stand up, my children, and come forward. One of you may be going to a new home! Look your best then, children, just as I have taught you!'

Slowly the light travelled over a line of faces; some were so young they had not reached their teens; it flashed into eyes of every colour – green, blue, black, brown – and over figures of every size and shape. Some delicate, too thin almost, some unmistakably voluptuous; others big-boned and country-bred. Skins that were fair under the dirt, skins that were swarthy; the light paused for a moment over a beautiful gipsy girl, her black hair curling over her bare shoulders, her black eyes spitting fire at them like a cat out of the gloom.

‘There's a fine girl for you,' Madame remarked. ‘Look at that body; like a tigress she is too … And none's put a hand on her! Does your gentleman like spirit?'

‘No,' Louise said. ‘I said breeding, charm … not a wild animal! She looks as if she'd knife us.'

‘When I first got her, a month ago, she might,' the old woman chuckled. ‘But she's learnt better since. She's very tame now, aren't you, my little spitfire?'

The girl shrank back and animal terror distorted the lovely face. When Madame inflicted a beating, it was worse than anything the inhuman brutes of men could do, and she was careful not to leave a mark on her merchandise. She had beaten the gipsy on the soles of her feet. The light travelled on. ‘Wait!' Louise said suddenly. ‘That one you passed! Show her again.'

‘Come forward,' the old woman ordered, and slowly a girl stepped nearer to them and the lantern threw all its light upon her.

‘How old are you?' Louise asked.

‘I do not know, my lady.' The voice was soft. ‘I was fifteen once but that was long ago.'

‘A year,' Mme. Grand-mère said. ‘She was ill when she came to us, poor child. I nursed her myself.'

There was no fear in the pale, exquisite face of the young girl; she looked at her monstrous gaoler with calm eyes, as if she were indifferent to her. It had never been necessary to hurt this one; she seemed to know instinctively that she was lost from the moment they brought her into the house, and she had never once resisted. She was dressed in a coarse, shapeless dress of homespun; it drooped off her shoulders and great rents showed her legs and the shape of one breast.

As if she sensed what was passing through Louise's mind, Mme. Grand-mère made a gesture. Mechanically, the girl slipped the dirty garment off.

‘Well,' she demanded after a moment. ‘Is this the one you want? You've made a good choice if it is, except for one thing.'

‘She's beautiful,' Louise said slowly. ‘She has a face like a saint. What's wrong with her?'

‘Lack of temperament,' the old woman said. ‘I deal honestly, Highness, or not at all. If your gentleman wants a pretty doll with sawdust in her instead of spine, then that's the one to take. But don't say I didn't warn you first.'

‘Bring her downstairs,' Louise said. ‘I want to see her again and I want to know something about her. What was this illness?'

‘Fevers,' the old woman said. They had begun the climb down again and once more they were in the bare reception room; Pierre kept the girl outside until they called for her. She looked into the masked face before her and winked.

‘You have a good eye, Highness. You said you wanted breeding and you certainly chose it. That girl was brought to me a year ago, sick with fever; I paid for her too, ill though she was, when the foster mother told me who the real mother was. There's a certain marquise who lives near Lyons, a very handsome lady, very nobly born, and married. That brat was her one indiscretion. She put it out to foster parents as soon as it was born. Then, over the years the payments lapsed; the woman's husband was dead, she was burdened with this sickly girl and someone told her to bring her to me. I took her in and nursed her back to health; she'd been shamefully neglected, shamefully.'

The black wig shook vigorously. ‘She's fair-skinned and blue-eyed like the marquise, according to the woman who looked after her. I've never had a moment's trouble with her. You saw how she obeyed? Good-tempered, submissive … if that's what you want, you have it. And a virgin, of course. They all are in that room.'

‘I should like to speak to her alone,' Louise said firmly. Breeding, refinement, if possible; that was what the comte had advised her to look for, and there, like a pearl in a dung heap, she had come upon this aristocrat's bastard with her delicate madonna face and perfect bodily form. Louise had an instinct for beauty; something glimmered under the dirt and the rags and she saw its fitful gleam by the lantern light, where before she had seen nothing but pretty faces and the ghastly impression of a child among the others.

‘As Your Highness wishes. Pierre!' the hoarse voice rose in a yell. ‘Bring the girl in!'

A moment later Louise was alone with her. She felt no feeling of pity or even of human kinship with the silent girl in front of her. Too much was at stake to risk sentiment, and there was little inclination towards it in her nature. Everything depended on the success or failure of this piece of goods, for as such she regarded her. She examined her as she would have done a prize mare.

‘Smile!' The girl did so, showing perfect teeth.

‘Turn round!' She moved well; her bare feet were small, and though the hands were rough and reddened, the wrists were delicate. Louise lifted a strand of the fair hair. A bath and some proper clothes would transform the girl into a dazzling blond beauty.

‘They say you're spiritless, is that true?' The dark-blue eyes were wary. ‘I am whatever you want me to be; so long as you buy me, my lady, and I can get out of here.'

‘I thought you weren't such a fool as you pretended,' Louise said. ‘You can make yourself agreeable to a gentleman? A great noble, powerful and exalted … you will take trouble to please him?'

‘I have been taught a little,' the girl answered, ‘by her outside. Your gentleman won't complain about me.'

‘No,' Louise said thoughtfully, ‘I don't believe he will.' On an impulse of curiosity she turned to her once more. ‘You have no objection to your fate; no rebellion? You accept it quite calmly?'

‘My lady' – the eyes were strangely alive now – ‘I know who my mother was and who I am. But there's no sense in resisting against hopeless odds; I saw what was done to that gipsy girl and others. I've learnt to obey because I had no choice. Once get me out of here and I shan't be a prostitute for long. May I ask a question?'

‘Hurry,' Louise answered. By God, she said to herself, how fortune smiled on me when I picked her. There's brain here and ambition and no little skill, I'll swear. When she knows it's the King … she might unseat the Du Barry herself in the end.

‘Shall I belong to you?' the girl asked her. ‘Or to this gentleman?'

‘To the gentleman,' Louise told her. ‘And what you make of your chances after that are up to you! Go and call that old harridan.'

‘Now,' Mme. Grand-mère said. ‘You have decided on her; we must come down to the price!'

‘How much?'

‘Fifteen hundred louis!' The sunken black eyes watched the eyes of the woman through the mask; they told her nothing. Fifteen hundred louis was a ridiculous sum in the old woman's opinion for that pasty little aristocrat. She had only kept her for just such a chance as this, a special need, not easily satisfied. She blessed her own good sense and decided not to budge an inch when the client started bargaining. To her surprise the woman opposite drew out a heavy bag from the folds of her cloak.

‘You will find fifteen hundred here. Count it out.'

It was the first time she had taken her hands out of the little muff; Mme. Grand-mère caught a glimpse of a curious ring on her right hand, two hearts made of a diamond and a ruby, surmounted by a stag's head in brilliants. It was a most unusual jewel. The old woman began counting out the coins. Better and better, the money was in gold. She put the rest back in the bag and gave it to Louise.

‘Put a cloak on the girl. I will take her with me now.'

A few moments later they were back in the inky street, Louise and her purchase muffled in a heavy hooded wrap, the two lackeys on guard each side of them. When they reached the baroness' coach she gave the address of a lodging house in a respectable quarter of the city and they drove away at speed.

It was past midnight; the King had retired early after playing cards and his humour was not improved by losing. He seemed as much abstracted as bored; the watchers reported delightedly that he had not left his rooms to visit Mme. du Barry in her apartments on the first floor. Anxiety had driven the favourite to the wine bottle and she had gone to bed tipsy and near to tears, escorted by her friend the Duc d'Aiguillon and her niece the Vicomtesse du Barry; she was quite unsteady on her feet.

Lights still burned in Louise's room; her maid Marie had been dismissed and forbidden to leave her closet. The baroness and the Comte de Tallieu were making a last inspection of their investment, and the investment turned round for them obediently at their command and curtsied as Louise had taught her.

‘I really must congratulate you,' the comte murmurmed. ‘In perfect taste. All of sixteen, you say.'

He peered once more at the dainty figure in a dress of simple, blue silk, the neck and sleeves sewn with fine lace. She had been bathed and scented and her thick golden hair hung down her back, tied with a blue satin ribbon. The lovely face was as serene as an angel's; the pale skin was not touched by powder or rouge and a faint natural colour gave it radiance.

‘Do you know who is waiting for you?' the comte asked softly. The girl shook her head.

‘No, monseigneur. I know nothing.'

‘Excellent. You will find out soon enough.'

‘You think she will do then?' Louise demanded.

She was trembling with impatience, her nerves so overstrung that she had boxed the minx's ears that evening while she was giving her the last instructions.

‘Why are we waiting, suppose he goes to sleep?'

‘He won't,' the comte said. ‘He's been well primed, his curiosity is whetted. Put on your cloak, my child, and cover your face well. De Verier is waiting in the cabinet. Everything is arranged.'

They went down the long corridors and down the stairs, passing a sleepy guard on duty who paid no attention. Versailles was a place where women came and went at night and no one questioned them. At the door of the anteroom to the royal bedchamber, De Tallieu paused and knocked. The King's valet opened it and behind it they saw the King's confidant and
valet de chambre,
De Verier. He had served the King for years; he was Louis' friend as well as his servant and the guardian of all his amorous secrets. Du Barry herself had entered the King's room through the influence of De Verier.

The comte made Louise a sweeping bow. ‘Good luck,' he murmured. ‘Now it is up to you and your charming protégée. I can do no more for either of you.'

De Verier closed the anteroom door behind them, and at a signal from Louise the girl took off her cloak. She was used to being inspected now and when the
valet de chambre
had taken stock of her, he turned to the baroness.

‘Does she know where she is going, what is expected of her?' Louise made a gesture and took the girl aside. She gripped her arm so fiercely that she winced.

‘Through that door is the King's bedroom.
He
is the gentleman you have to please! Succeed, and your fortune is made. Fail me, and by God I'll throw you at Mme. Grand-mère's feet and demand my money back. You know what that will mean for you!'

The blue eyes opened wide, but only for a moment, and the soft colour deepened to a rosy blush.

‘The King! Don't worry, madame. I won't fail you – or myself!' Then she was gone and Louise settled down on a chair to wait.

The hours went by so slowly, and yet she could not even doze. She heard the palace clocks chime through the night and there was no movement, no opening of the inner door. It was five o'clock in the morning and she had drawn back the curtain to see the dark sky turning grey, when a hand touched her and she swung round. De Verier stood before her, his thin face creased by a smile.

‘Congratulations, madame. His Majesty sends you his thanks; he is enchanted, delighted. I have his authority to grant any favour you may ask.'

She gave a sigh, a long, trembling sigh of pent-up nerves and rising triumph; for a moment her knees shook under her. ‘You know what I want,' she whispered. ‘The comte told you?'

‘He mentioned it,' De Verier admitted. ‘A
lettre de cachet,
madame, with the name left blank? One moment, and I will prepare it.'

He went through a door in the tapestry which was cleverly concealed and held it open for her. His little cabinet was beyond it, a small room well lit and comfortably furnished, with a writing table and bed in it. She waited silently while he sat down, waited interminably while he selected a quill and tested the ink and spread out a sheet of paper, and then she saw the signature already written at the bottom of it, a new signature with grains of sand still clinging to the final stroke beneath the name: Louis, le Roi. The King had signed. The valet spoke again.

‘There, madame – there is your reward. Fill in the name yourself. I suggest that you go now. I will look after Mademoiselle. You will not be seeing her again.'