The French Bride (26 page)

‘Did you miss me?' she asked. ‘Or am I being vain … I suppose you know I have been faithful to you all these months!'

‘I neither know, nor care, my dear,' he said. ‘Leave me alone, woman, for God's sake! I've satisfied you, isn't that enough?'

She sat up, her black hair falling around her bare shoulders.

‘You found someone else in Scotland!' she accused. ‘You go away for three months, you never write to me, and then you come back and treat me as if I were a common whore, good enough for your bed but nothing else!'

‘Hasn't it ever occurred to you that that's what you are,' Charles remarked. ‘A whore; highly skilled, I'll admit, and taking a deal of pleasure in it, but a whore just the same!' He looked at her and laughed. ‘I never touched a woman in the Highlands. Not because I was thinking of you, my dear Louise, but because I had better things to do. Also, our women aren't so generous with their favours. They're surprisingly chaste. You wouldn't understand that, of course.' He yawned and threw back the sheets.

She sprang up, facing him, maddened beyond caution by the indifference on his face and the hostility in his eyes. ‘Chaste, like your wife, I suppose,' she flashed at him, unable to control herself. ‘Or haven't you heard that she's gone to join her lover!' She used the lie, now generally accepted everywhere, as if it were a weapon, and like a weapon she saw it had struck home.

He began to dress, his back turned to her, and for a moment she stood there, half covered by her hair, until the soft, drawling voice remarked: ‘You're better in the dark, you know. In a year or so, you'll run to fat.'

She came at him, one hand upraised, spitting like a wildcat at the insult. He parried her easily and gave her a single blow across the face that sent her reeling backwards. She fell back against the bed, crouching beside it, one hand to her flaming cheek.

‘You unspeakable swine.' She choked. ‘Get out!'

‘I'm just about to,' he said. He fastened his coat and went to the door. ‘I'm growing very tired of you,' he said quietly, ‘I shan't come here again.'

As the door closed behind him he heard a shrill cry, like that of a hurt animal, and the cry followed him through the door.

‘Charles, Charles, come back, come back.…'

He walked on down the corridor until he could no longer hear it. That afternoon he went to see his father and report that he had ordered work to begin on what was left of Dundrenan House and appointed a factor from one of the Macdonald clan to supervise the work and tell him how it was progressing. Throughout the interview father and son talked long and soberly of Scotland, and there was something very like harmony between them. But no mention was made of Anne or of the judicial separation which she was seeking when he left France. Sir James was careful not to bring it up; her own misconduct had made such a plea impossible and he had let the petition drop.

When Charles left him, he was whistling softly to himself; he had his duties at the War Ministry to put in order and to pay his respects to His Majesty the King. That should take about two weeks. He was in no hurry before then; when his affairs were settled, it would be time enough to go to Metz and pay his wife and Captain O'Neil an unexpected visit.

‘I knew you'd do it,' the Duc d'Aiguillon put his arm round Mme. du Barry and kissed her warmly on the cheek. ‘I knew you'd get him back!'

‘It's more than
I
knew,' the favourite retorted. Her pretty face was thinner and there were lines of sleeplessness and worry round her eyes. ‘I had to go on my knees – you never saw such a scene! I wept, I begged, I took a leaf out of the Pompadour's book and sent him a message I was dying. Nothing less would have brought him, I can tell you! I ought to join the Comêdie Francaise after that little performance!'

‘You're a genius,' the duc said fondly. ‘I never doubted you.'

‘Oh yes, you did,' she retorted. ‘You were as sick as a cat, you were so worried. By God, so was I! And when I'd got him alone, I wouldn't tell you what I had to do to make him stay the night.… But I know what he likes – the old devil! He was grovelling round me by the time I'd finished. I said to myself – “Now, you cunning little bitch, whoever you are, now try and match that!” He's finished with her now, that's definite. He told me so.'

‘You're sure?' the duc demanded. ‘He promised to dismiss her?'

‘On his word of honour.' The Du Barry sniggered. ‘Oh, he tried to pretend it had never been serious, said she was a poor, pathetic child who touched his sympathy. I nearly vomited! There were tears in his eyes when he talked about her.… I tell you, we've never been in such danger! I saw De Verier this morning, hanging about the King's apartments, watching me like a cornered rat.
He'll
have to go; the dirty skunk held the candle for them, I'll be bound!'

‘He'll go,' the duc said fiercly. ‘He and everyone else connected with the business. When does this girl leave? And where's he sending her?'

‘Not to the Parc au Cerf,' Du Barry rejoined. ‘He didn't even suggest putting her there. He wants to do something for her, he said. Of course I was all generosity and understanding. Anything to get her out of Versailles! He's placing her in a convent at Lyons, run by the Carmelites. Can you believe it? He wants to turn her into a respectable young lady, with a dowry … it's all arranged, Louis, down to the last detail. It only shows,' she added, ‘how damned dangerous this one must have been. Normally there's not a drop of sentiment in his soul.'

‘What else did he say about her?' the duc asked. ‘We've got to know everything, my dear, to make quite sure this doesn't happen again! Where did she come from, who introduced her …? That's what we've got to find out!'

‘He said she was well born.' Du Barry began walking up and down; the nightmare she had been through had sharpened her wits and unsheathed her claws; she paced the room like a cat. It had taken all her experience and cunning to win back the King and even though her domination over him was re-established as strongly as ever she had not yet recovered from the fright he'd given her.

‘He said she was an innocent child who had been terribly ill-used, abandoned by her parents. That means she's a bastard, some
grande dame's
throw-off.… I have a suspicion, only a suspicion, where she might have come from.… One or two things he said made me think.… I'll make an enquiry, Louis. When we know where she came from, we'll be on the way to finding out who introduced her. And you can deal with them!'

‘Leave it to me,' the duc said. He, too, could hardly believe that the chasm had suddenly closed under his feet.

By the evening the news of Du Barry's triumph would be all over the court, and the sycophants would come running back to pay her compliments and prove that they had always been her loyal supporters. But among them, somewhere at Versailles, there lurked the man or woman and the faction which they represented, who had so nearly dragged the Du Barry off her unofficial throne. The girl herself was unimportant; her hold on the King was broken. His shallow sentiment towards her did no harm. She would be no danger in her convent. She must have been a very clever minx; the duc gave her that. All of the King's previous fancies had found their way to the luxurious little brothel in the Parc au Cerf, where His Majesty shared his treasures with a few convivial friends and the Du Barry added to the recruits. This one had done very well for herself.

‘We'll go quietly,' the duc said. ‘We'll show no animosity, all shall be peace and light. And at the same time, we'll work, you and I, and we'll find out who did this if we have to burrow under the foundations of Versailles!'

‘I've brought the surgeon to see you,' the turnkey said. He stepped aside and another, younger man stooped through the low door and came to the woman lying on the straw. Her eyes opened and she watched him kneel beside her, setting up a lantern; they were bright with fever and her hands picked at the straw and the folds of her dress.

‘How long has she been like this?' the surgeon asked over his shoulder; he laid his hand on the damp forehead and then felt for her pulse.

‘Two days,' the turnkey muttered. ‘I had to get permission from the governor to call you and he wouldn't beleive me. Said she was shamming. I told him it was Bastille fever.…'

‘You were right,' the surgeon said. ‘Go out, I want to examine her properly. Don't be alarmed,' he said gently to the sick girl. ‘I am the prison surgeon. Let me see if I can help you.'

Anne opened her lips; they were parched and cracked with fever and her clothes hung on her painfully thin body.

‘I want some water,' she whispered. He nodded; he was a humane man and though experience had hardened him to his male prisoners, some of whom he attended after torture, the sufferings of the women always distressed him and he did what he could to relieve them. After a few moments he looked up into the peaked face, its skin surface shining with sweat.

‘In God's name,' he muttered, ‘in God's name, how did you get in here … does anyone know you're pregnant?'

‘No one,' Anne whispered. ‘I don't even know how far I am; I've lost all count of time.'

‘About six months I'd say, perhaps more. Lie still a little longer; I haven't finished yet.'

He talked on as he examined her; the shape of her swollen body stood out grotesquely against her wasted limbs. As he touched her, she shivered with the deadly prison fever, product of foul drainage and bad drinking water.

‘Have you any idea why you're here, or who sent you?' he asked.

‘I think I know now who sent me.'

She turned her head away and the tears began to roll down her cheeks. After hope died, the terrible suspicion grew in her mind and took hold, strong as a poisonous weed. The King was not her enemy, nor the Du Barry; she had only one person in the world who hated her, only one enemy capable of sending her to such a fate. Charles had obtained the
lettre de cachet
; Charles had sent her to a living grave so he could have his mistress and enjoy her money in peace. There was no other explanation. Once she believed that, she began to lose the will to live. He was clever, he would see no trace of what had happened was left behind her in the world outside. He would know how to silence even those who loved her who might ask questions. That's why there was no news, no visit from the governor telling her she was released. Her husband had sent her to the Bastille; he would see she never got out of it alive. When she fell ill with fever and the horrors of vomiting and shivering began, she lay back on her soiled bed and prayed that God would let her die. She wanted the child she bore to die; each time she felt the little movements, growing stronger every week, she touched the place and begged that God would take the tiny life and never let it draw breath in the surroundings where its mother lay.

‘My husband sent me here,' she said, and the surgeon started. She put out her hand and touched him. ‘Don't give me medicine,' she whispered. ‘I beg you, have pity. Leave me alone and let me die. Let us both die.'

He did not answer her, because he had heard that plea made many times before, and obstinately true to his profession, he had ignored it and tried to keep the unwanted flame alive. There was no point in telling the poor women that as far as he could see, her wish would be granted in spite of whatever he could do.

‘Now listen,' he said gently. ‘You mustn't despair. This child makes you a special case. I'm going to see the governor now and tell him. And I'm going to get you a trestle bed and some clean linen if I have to bring them in myself. I'll get my wife to come and see you. She's a kind woman, and she'll help you.' As he went to the door and banged for the turnkey to open it, Anne heard him swearing to himself.

The governor was not responsive to appeals for extra food or what he angrily termed ‘luxuries' for his prisoners. He listened in stony silence while the surgeon told him that No. 713 was desperately ill with the fever and likely to die. When he added tersely that she was also six months pregnant, the governor lost his temper.

‘What in God's name am I supposed to do?' he shouted. ‘I'm sent these people in any condition, not a word of explanation, not a warning, and then they die on me and I have that on the record, as if they weren't well treated! This is the last straw … a damned aristocrat is brought in here with an order of the highest secrecy and you come and tell me she's pregnant and dying as if it were my fault!'

‘It will be your fault,' the surgeon snapped, ‘unless you let me do my best for her. Have you seen that cell and the conditions she's been living in for the past four months? It's not fit for a dog, let alone a woman in that state … I want a bed for her, and blankets, and permission for my wife to visit her, and clean clothes and decent food! I insist on it! Leave her as she is and you'll be guilty of murder!'

‘Beds,' the governor sneered. ‘Linen next, I suppose, and pillows? What do you think this is, a palace?'

‘No,' the surgeon said, ‘I think it's the worst prison in the whole of France. The shame of it cries out to Heaven. There's not a system in the world that would have a woman brought in here and shut up without trial and left to die.… That's what I think of the Bastille and that's what I think of the government that supports it. Put that in your report when you record the woman's death!'

‘That's treason,' the governor yelled back; he felt better, having found someone with whom to quarrel. His position was intolerable; he hated it and yet he could not imagine himself doing anything else. He fought the surgeon at every step but he wouldn't have known how to keep his sanity without him.

‘That's treason to the King!'

‘To hell with the King,' was the reply. ‘And damned he'll be, for signing things like your “order of the highest secrecy”.… It won't go on forever, I tell you that! The people will rise one day!'