The Magician's Wife (6 page)

The phaeton rumbled through the great arches, leading to the central courtyard. As it crossed the courtyard, a major-domo who was standing in the main doorway signalled that a carriage was approaching. Two lackeys came running out to help Emmeline descend.

‘Madame was taken ill,’ the coachman called down. At once, the major-domo looked at a list and called out the number of the Lamberts’ apartment. The lackeys like solicitous nurses led her up the long flights of staircase and into her room. A third servant brought in firewood and laid a fire in the sitting-room grate.

‘Will we summon your maid, Madame?’

‘No, thank you.’

She went into the dark bedroom, shut the door, took off her dress and stays and got into bed. The nausea came back in a wave, then passed. Within minutes, exhausted, she fell asleep.

‘Madame? If you please? Could you drink this?’

She woke to a darkened room lit only by two flickering candles. Standing over her was the old maidservant, offering tisane in an elegant porcelain cup, her hands’ slight tremor causing the cup to jiggle on its saucer.

‘What time is it?’

‘It is eight o’clock, Madame.’

Eight o’clock. They will be finishing dinner
.

‘I didn’t wake you earlier,’ the old maid said. ‘The doctor advised that you be allowed to rest.’

‘Was the doctor here?’

‘Yes, with your husband, Madame. They looked in some time ago. Monsieur is dining now. He said he will come to see you before the concert this evening. How is Madame? Are you feeling better?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. But she did know. The nausea had passed. She no longer felt cold. The sickening sights of that afternoon were now a memory. I’m well, but if I’m to be allowed to go home, I mustn’t say so.

‘Thank you for the tisane, Françoise.’

‘Rest now, Madame.’

When next she woke it was to find her husband kneeling by her bedside, stroking her hand. And at once, looking at his worried face, she saw that side of him she could not ignore: despite his self-absorption, his inability to understand her loneliness, her boredom, despite his inordinate ambition, he loved her.

‘How are you, darling?’

How can I lie to him?

‘Better,’ she said.

‘I can’t forgive myself. I didn’t know what had happened until I came back here after the shooting party. I looked for you at the game tally and when they said you’d already gone back I admit I thought you’d done it to spite me. Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I should have taken better care of you.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t watch those animals being killed.’

‘Well, at least, now, we know what to do,’ he said. ‘They will be having a stag hunt on Saturday and afterwards there’s some sort of hunting ceremony. I’ll speak to Deniau. We will make your excuses.’ He got up from his kneeling position. ‘And I have good news, darling. You and I and Deniau are to be received in private audience by the Emperor on Friday. So we can relax and have a pleasant holiday until then. I hear we’re to have a theatrical evening tomorrow. The Théâtre Français, no less. Let’s hope you’re well enough to enjoy it.’ He bent over her and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep now. Good night.’

Chapter 3

The court theatre, large as any in Paris, was lit by thousands of wax candles, creating a brilliant, romantic glow, which set off the jewels and gowns of the ladies in the audience. The Imperial Loge, designed in the shape of a shell, reached from the first tier of boxes to the last seats of the parquet. Their Majesties’ seats were in the centre of the Loge with lady guests and the most important gentlemen of rank placed beside and behind them. Other gentlemen sat in the parterre and circulated throughout the theatre between the acts. In addition to the Emperor’s guests a large house party from a neighbouring château had been invited to fill out the audience.

Now, in a sudden hush of conversation, the Empress appeared in the Imperial Loge, followed by the Emperor, smiling, his fingers touching the long ends of his waxed moustache. At sight of Their Majesties everyone rose, ladies curtsying, gentlemen bowing. Their Majesties bowed in response. The Master of Ceremonies gave the signal and at once the curtain rose. The scenery had been brought in from Paris. The principal actors were the great Coquelin, Madeleine Brohan, and Madame Favard, all members of the Théâtre Français.

Emmeline, wearing the most beautiful of her West gowns, sat in the second tier of boxes. Looking around her, she was enchanted by the setting, the jewels, the gowns, the sense that, despite her feelings of hostility, this evening would be one of the great occasions of her life. Almost from the moment the play began, she was caught up in the story enacted on stage. Coquelin and Madeleine Brohan became for her the living incarnation of the characters they played. The play itself was moving: she wept, her lace handkerchief wet, as she watched the story unfold. At the
entracte
, her husband and Colonel Deniau joined her in the box. They too seemed transformed by the evening. Even Lambert, to whom a theatrical performance had always been something he judged as a professional, was tonight enthusiastic and delighted as a boy who has just seen his first play.

At half-past ten the performance ended, after which the entire audience followed the Emperor and Empress into the
grande salle des fêtes
. The Emperor then sent for the actors, who, having changed out of their costumes, appeared to a round of applause. Emmeline watched Coquelin talk to the Emperor and saw that he was able to put the Emperor at ease, laughing and chatting with him in a casual way which none of the distinguished guests seemed to have managed in the preceding days. For some reason this comforted her and made her feel more secure than at any time since her arrival in Compiègne. The Emperor was a man, he was human, he wanted to enjoy himself; he who was at the top of the social ladder did not look down on Coquelin who, like her husband, was a person who performed on stage.

At eleven o’clock refreshments were brought in, the carriages were announced and making a ‘reverence’ to Their Majesties the artists took their leave. The Emperor and Empress then withdrew. The guests from the neighbouring château departed in their carriages leaving the guests free to go to their rooms.

On the following morning her changed mood still held. She felt light-headed, free, no longer intimidated by the grandeurs around her. After
déjeuner
when the Master of Ceremonies approached, as usual, to ask what they would like to do and Lambert, as usual, said that he would like to sit and read, she, to her surprise, asked if she could visit some sights in the region.

‘An excellent idea,’ the Master of Ceremonies said. ‘There is a wonderful castle nearby, the Château de Pierrefonds, a former ruin which the Emperor is renovating. It’s one of his great projects. Well worth a visit.’

At that moment, Emmeline saw that Colonel Deniau had come up and was standing directly behind Henri. ‘The Château de Pierrefonds, did you say? I very much want to see it. Would you allow me to join you, Madame?’

‘Wonderful,’ Henri said, turning to the Colonel. ‘If you go with her it will make me feel less guilty.’

She noticed at once that the Colonel in his usual complicit way managed to ignore her husband’s remark and, instead, kept looking at her, waiting for her answer.

‘I must put on my travelling clothes,’ she told him. ‘But I can be ready in, say, half an hour?’

‘A landau and a picnic hamper will be waiting in the main courtyard, whenever you come down,’ the Master of Ceremonies told her.

She smiled at the Colonel. ‘Will that suit you?’

‘Indeed, Madame.
À bientôt
.’

The forest of Pierrefonds adjoined the royal forest of Compiègne. Sitting side by side in the landau wrapped in furs and rugs, they set out in November mists, down twisting forest roads, dead and dry leaves rustling under the horses’ feet. At first they sat in silence looking around them at vistas of trees and lake, then as the drive continued Deniau made polite conversation about last night’s play and the actors. Suddenly, he said, ‘You seem happier today. I don’t mean because you’re no longer ill. You no longer hate being here. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m glad. Bringing you to Compiègne was my idea, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘But tell me. Why would you want me here?’

‘Because you are part of my plan. I realize it sounds confusing, but when we meet the Emperor on Friday I think it will all become clear. You are very important in this affair. Yes, yes – I made a mistake. I thought you’d be delighted to visit Compiègne. When I saw that wasn’t true, I was alarmed. But now – was it the play last night that made you change your mind? I hope so.’

What did he mean? ‘Why am I part of your plan?’ she said. ‘Tell me.’

‘Not now. But I promise you, I will.’

Their drive through cold November mists ended at an abrupt turn of the road when, suddenly, they saw the enormous fortress-château of Pierrefonds, rising above the little town of that name. Following the road which led up to the château they came to a gateway, then through a second gateway into a court until, finally, their carriage clattered over a drawbridge to pull up at the main entrance.

The Colonel helped her down, saying, ‘Let’s not have a guide, shall we? They talk too much. Let me be your guide. I know a few things about this place. Don’t you think it will be more fun to explore on our own?’

And so, waving aside the servant who waited to conduct them, they passed through a dark vaulted chapel, climbing more than a hundred stone steps to reach a platform which overlooked a view of the little town and the surrounding forest. A cold wind blew through the ramparts as they stood, side by side, looking down. She shivered and turned away. Seeing this, he took off his fur-lined cape and draped it about her shoulders. It was a gesture any gentleman might have made but when he did it he did not release the cape, instead holding it against her body for a long moment.

‘I can see that you were made for warmer climes,’ he said. ‘You need the sun, you need space, you need the desert. The desert has a beauty one can’t imagine until one sees it. You must visit Africa.’

At that, he released his hold on the cape. She pulled it tight about her. ‘Africa? Why would I go to Africa? I don’t understand.’

‘You will.’ He took her arm. ‘Let’s go down and look around. The Count de Vogué visited this castle the other day and he tells me it’s not really interesting. A hundred years ago someone managed to buy it for only eight thousand francs. Imagine! Now, as you know, the Emperor is restoring it. Vogué said there’s one astonishing thing, a huge chimmneypiece in the
salle des gardes
. Let’s find it for our picnic, shall we?’

Their coachman, summoned by a castle servant, brought the picnic hamper up to the
salle des gardes
, a huge deserted hall, furnished only with ancient stone benches and dominated by the fireplace, its hearth large as a stable, its chimney forty feet in height, ornamented with carvings of hundreds of squirrels which peered down on them with stony curiosity. The coachman spreading a carriage rug on the hearth unpacked cold meats, fruit, cakes, wine. The castle servant, aware that they were visitors from the Emperor’s
série
, brought in logs and kindling, lighting a small fire under the great vault of chimney. Servant and coachman then withdrew leaving them alone in the echoing vastness of the hall.

Through the high narrow windows a late afternoon sun, veiled by cold November mists, filled the shadows about them with a cloudy golden light. Emmeline drew back the hood of her cloak, baring her neck, letting the heavy coil of her hair fall down against her cheek. The fire crackled and blazed, smoke rising in swirls up the blackened chimney walls. She leaned towards it, the golden misty light falling on her shoulders and hair.

‘You look like a medieval angel,’ Deniau said. He reached for the wine bottle and sat close to her, handing her a glass. ‘Do you know that German toast, the
Brüderschaft
? No? Let me show you. Hold up your glass.’ He leaned forward, entwining his own glass of wine through her arm in a gesture which brought them almost face to face. ‘Now let’s drink,’ he said. ‘It’s a toast to friendship.’

Embarrassed, for there was something dangerously intimate in this linkage, their bodies touching, his dark, handsome face so close to hers, she drank down the full glass of wine without realizing what she had done. As she withdrew her arm from his he looked at her strangely.

‘Friends? Are we?’

‘Of course.’ She bent her head, avoiding his eyes.

‘Madame,’ he said. ‘You are a mystery.’

‘Why?’

He laughed, and shook his head. ‘I don’t know why. But you are. Your smile is enigmatic as the smile of La Gioconde. Tell me. How did you come to be the wife of a magician?’

It was her turn to laugh. ‘Because he called me up on to the stage during one of his performances.’

‘Cast a spell over you, is that it?’