The French Bride (33 page)

Charles put it back on the table. ‘How much?' he said.

‘One hundred and seventy thousand livres, Excellency. There isn't another pearl like that in the world. It came from Constantinople, from the collection of the sultan. I'm not even making a profit at that price!'

‘Too much,' Charles said. ‘I have only one hundred and fifty thousand livres to spend. I'm not haggling with you; if you asked me a million and I had it, I should take the pearl and pay you. But I have only that much money and no more. One hundred and fifty thousand.'

The merchant shook his head. ‘My regrets, Excellency. If I were to rob myself, and say that I would take a hundred and sixty-five, what good would it do?'

‘Say a hundred and sixty,' Jean said suddenly. ‘And we'll take it. I'll raise the ten thousand,' she said to her brother, ‘but I can't do more. Here.' She unfastened the diamond and ruby brooch she wore and a fine matching bracelet and laid them down beside the pearl. ‘These will make up the price. But if you don't take it, we're not going to haggle over another sou!'

The little man took up the brooch and examined the stones in it; he did the same with Jean's bracelet. Both pieces were part of the De Mallot heirlooms, and the rubies were of superb colour.

‘Why should you do this?' Charles asked her. ‘He'd have taken my offer.…'

‘No, he wouldn't!' his sister snapped. It was impossible to be in her brother's company without quarelling with him, even when trying to help. It would always be so, even though they were closer than they had ever been because of their efforts to rescue Anne.

‘I'm not doing it for you anyway,' she added. ‘I'd sell the clothes off my back to help Anne.'

‘In that case, I won't thank you,' Charles said. ‘But I'll redeem them for you later. Well?' he demanded of the merchant. ‘Make up your mind, or give back the jewels.'

‘One hundred and fifty thousand livres and these two items.' The merchant put away his magnifying glass and smiled at them.

‘The great pearl is yours, Excellencies. You won't regret the purchase, I promise you. There isn't a woman in the world who could resist such a stone. Madame will be very, very grateful!'

On their way back to Versailles, Jean asked to see the pearl again. Charles unwrapped the box and opened it; the dusky lights gleamed and shimmered, reflected by the darker brilliance of the rare black diamond.

‘I wonder if he told the truth,' she said. ‘I wonder if Marie Antoinette did make enquiries for it.…'

‘What does it matter as long as Du Barry thinks she did? She'll wear that pearl and flaunt it in front of the dauphine and imagine she's scored over her. The effect will be the same.'

‘If she gets you a pass into the Bastille, what good will it do you? It won't take you to Anne, nothing can do that.…'

‘All I need is to get in,' he said. ‘I can't breach the walls alone or storm the gates. But once inside it, I'll find Anne. And I'll bring her out. Pull on the cord and tell that fool to whip up the horses!'

‘They're tired,' his sister said. ‘You're an impatient, inconsiderate devil, Charles.'

‘I want to give her this tonight, if I can,' he said. ‘Hasn't it occurred to you, my dear sister, that time is very important … or don't you realise that Anne must be at the end of her term by now.…'

There was a reception for the Russian envoy from the Court of Catherine the Great arranged at Versailles that evening, and the presentation was to take place in the Galérie des Glaces, the fantastic hallway of mirrors and silver, large enough to accommodate the huge crowds of people. Three thousand wax candles burned down its enormous length; the tables and ornaments were all made of silver, magnificently chased by master craftsmen; the ceiling was spendidly decorated with allegorical paintings depicting the triumphs of the great Louis XIV in his war with Holland, and two exquisite Savonnerie carpets reflected, overhead, in their design and colouring the paintings of Charles Le Brun. There was a sweet, slightly pungent smell of oranges from the fruit trees that were spaced between the windows in their silver-mounted tubs, and members of the Swiss Guard and the King's gentlemen at arms were at their posts by the superbly gilded and decorated doors.

The Galérie des Glaces was one of the triumphs of Versailles in an age when glass was still a luxury; its priceless mirrors reflected a scene of opulence and display that impressed itself deeply on the mind of the envoy of Catherine the Great of Russia, whose own court was accounted lavish by any standard. He was even more impressed, though he forbore to mention it officially, by the beauty and elegance of the French King's official mistress, a tiny, fragile creature as graceful as a bird, her colouring as delicate as that of a Sevres figurine; she was wearing a dress of shimmering white silk and one of the largest and finest black pearls he had ever seen hung from a simple chain round her neck.

He found her captivating and the King pleasant enough, though inclined to be morose, and he came away from the reception with the impression that the much vaunted beauty of Marie Antoinette was overrated; she was too haughty and her manner too unyielding to please him. He had to admit that her complexion was brilliant and her eyes very blue. As it was his duty to report the meanest items to his Empress as well as the most important, he added that the rivalry between her and the Du Barry was as keen as ever. The dauphine had apparently suffered a slight on acount of the pearl which the King's mistress was wearing. He ended his report with a eulogy of the virtues and modesty of his own imperial mistress, by comparison with the ladies of other royal houses, and made sure of his own interests by humbly enquiring about the health of the Empress' favourite, Potemkin. The reception at the Galérie des Glaces was a success for everyone but the discomfited and jealous dauphine, Marie Antoinette.

But the most rewarded of all those who attended it was Charles Macdonald. He had been standing in the background, watching the Russian envoy and his retinue of servants and attendants make their way down the gallery from where the King and his ministers had received them, when the people ranked in front of him suddenly moved away and he found himself standing face to face with the Du Barry. Her face was flushed and her eyes shone; one dainty hand fingered the glowing pearl that hung from her neck, and she made a gesture with the other that sent everyone near them out of earshot. Charles bowed to her.

‘Your servant, Comtesse.'

‘I want to thank you,' she said quickly, ‘for this magnificent present. Did you see her face, did you see it when I came in with this round my neck … I thought she was going to fall down in a fit! Oh, my dear monsieur, I was so sick of you and your family pestering me that I nearly sent the box back without opening it! But I'm delighted – overjoyed! I want you to know you haven't wasted your money either. I'll do the favour for you, whatever it is, because of what this evening has meant to me!'

‘I'm glad you like it,' Charles said quietly. ‘And I thought the dauphine was so angry she was going to leave the reception at one moment. It's not the pearl's triumph, madame, it's yours. Only you could wear it as it should be worn. I think she realised that too.'

‘She's choking,' Du Barry said. ‘When I think of how she's snubbed me, humiliated me.… Do you know what I think I'll do, monsieur?'

Charles shook his head; he managed to keep the attentive smile on his lips while she continued excitedly, but it was slowly turning to a strained grimace. The hours since he sent the gift had seemed as long as every year of his life while he waited for some word or acknowledgment. It was his last chance; if the jewel was not good enough or the Du Barry was in a capricious mood, he would never get within reach of Anne.

‘I'll send it to her as a present,' Du Barry declared. ‘That should embarrass her; that should make it impossible for her to go on ignoring me.… Let me know in the morning what I can do for you, monsieur, and I shall do it with pleasure. As long,' she added more seriously, ‘as it isn't to get your wife released. You know I can't do that!'

Charles took her hand and kissed it. She noticed suddenly how lined and thin his face had become. He was still a very handsome man if one liked that sardonic, mocking type.

‘I'm not asking you to get anyone out of the Bastille, madame,' he murmured. ‘Just get me a pass so that I can get in.'

She took her hand away and looked at him, her head a little on one side.

‘You're mad, you know. Very well, I'll get D'Aiguillon to get you a pass. You'll have it before the end of the week. Tell me something – why were you such a swine to your wife before? I'd have thought you'd be thankful she was out of your way and taken damned good care to keep her there. I don't understand you at all.'

‘It's not surprising, madame. I'm only just beginning to understand it myself. Men are often very cruel to women when they find they're in love with them against their will. You'll let me have the pass in two or three days' time, then? I'm deeply grateful to you, believe me.'

‘I promise you'll have it. And hope you succeed in whatever you're planning, but please don't tell me; I'd rather not know. I hope she hasn't had her child yet.'

‘I hope so,' he said. ‘But it doesn't matter. Her life is all that matters to me now. Good night, madame. Whatever happens to me, I shall always thank you.'

‘I must say,' the Comte de Mallot said gently, ‘it's nice to see the family so united!'

Jean's husband made her a little bow which she returned with a grimace. All Paul de Mallot's relatives were gathered together in the small château owned by Sir James Macdonald. It had been thought wiser not to hold this particular conference anywhere inside Versailles for fear of being overheard. What a curious family they were, he thought, looking from one face to the next. Lady Katherine, so beautiful and so determined; few French husbands would have put up with her for a moment, but Sir James was besotted still, and he was formidable enough with a past reputation that was stained and brutal. Paul dearly loved his own wife; he had grown accustomed to the gusts of temper associated with red hair and Scottish blood, he had forgiven her for much that was wilful, extravagant, and foolish, but he could not do otherwise. He loved her, and in spite of that one stupid episode, of which the silly girl thought he was ignorant, he knew that she loved him. It was typical of Jean to sell her jewels to help her sister-in-law Anne. It was equally typical that she abused her brother mercilessly and accused him of being responsible for the whole tragedly. What was stranger still was the calm with which Charles bore her reproaches. Paul de Mallot had never liked him; on the few occasions when they met in previous years, he had always regarded him as an unprincipled, heartless scoundrel, and resisted the temptation to box his ears and call him out, because he was by then married to his sister. But Charles had changed. Much of the old mocking attitude remained; he would always convey an insult whenever he opened his mouth and there would always be people who resented it, but the callousness which had made Paul hate him seemed to have gone. At last he had shown some evidence of human feeling for someone besides himself. He had aged ten years since the night he learnt what had happened to his wife.

‘It's very good of you to involve yourself, Paul,' Sir James said. ‘But we feel we need your help.'

‘But in anything,' the comte said. ‘All you need to do is ask!'

‘My son has a plan to rescue Anne from the Bastille,' Katherine said. ‘It seems incredibly dangerous to me, and he will need the luck of Heaven to succeed with it. Charles, you had better explain to Paul and let him tell us what he thinks.'

‘I have a map of the fortress,' Charles said. ‘I also have a pass signed by the Duc d'Aiguillon to see the governor on a private matter. Nothing could be attempted without this pass. But I have it. I can get into the Bastille, my dear brother-in-law, and then it will be up to me to get out again, bringing Anne with me. This is where I shall need you.'

‘Go on.' The comte nodded. ‘It seems quite mad to me, but go on. What am I to do?'

‘Come to the outer gates with me in a carriage and wait, that's all. If I have difficulty in getting away, or manage to get only Anne through the gates, there must be someone in command to take her into hiding. And en route, two pistols will be better than one, if we're followed. Will you come with me?'

‘Of course,' Jean's husband shrugged. ‘Coach journey, a little wait, another journey … it's nothing. Of course I shall come. I thought you were going to ask me to strangle the gatekeeper.…'

‘I shall do that, if I have to,' Charles answered shortly. He looked at his sister. ‘Don't worry, I shan't bring Paul into any danger!'

‘Not unless you get captured on the road,' Jean retorted. ‘Then he'll be tried with you and lose his head, that's all. I'm content he should go; Anne must have someone to protect her in case anything happens to you.'

‘She also needs a woman,' Katherine said. ‘No, Jean, not you, we've had this argument before. Nor me, unfortunately. We're both too conspicuous. I've asked Annie, my son, and she says she'll go in the coach with you and take care of Anne on the journey. She'll look after her like a child.'

‘She's not afraid?' Charles asked her. ‘She understands what it could mean if I fail?'

‘Don't underestimate a good Scotswoman,' his mother said. ‘Annie faced worse dangers with me than anything you're talking about!'

‘Perhaps,' her son said. ‘I've always felt you exaggerated your adventures, Mother. I don't think you can compare a Highland raid with being broken on the wheel, and that's what they will do to Annie if she's captured helping a state prisoner escape. I'm very grateful to her. Anne will need her.'