The Silk Vendetta (33 page)

“This will be a step up for a certain party,” commented the Countess.

I wondered what he was doing. Whether he was finding Julia’s social expertise a compensation for a lack of love.

“But they’ll be out soon,” said the Countess. “It’s Gladstone’s obsession with Ireland that will be their downfall.”

I used to wonder a great deal about the child who had been so casually conceived. I wondered whether it would prove a consolation to Drake. It was some time before I heard that there had never been a child—so the very reason why Drake had married Julia had not existed.

I longed for news. I was thinking of Drake a good deal. I heard that Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill though it had passed through the Commons had been rejected by the Lords.

Another year passed and I was still thinking of Drake. We were so busy that there was time for little else beside the salon.

My father paid periodic visits to Paris. He was a great help to us—not only financially—for he was as eager as any of us to see the business a success.

Katie was a delight to him—especially when she could chatter in his own language. He was constantly urging me to visit his vineyards. Katie would love it, he said. And how right he was.

He had several but his favourite was the one in Villers-Carsonne, which was very close to Villers-Mure. I had an idea that this was the one he loved best because it was close to his old home and the country was the scene of his childhood. His voice softened when he spoke of it; but it was not to it that he took us first, but to one not so far from Paris.

He thought Katie would be interested in the vendange. In fact, she was quite enchanted, and she thoroughly enjoyed those weeks we spent there. She was learning to ride. My father set one of the grooms to teach her and when she was not joining in the harvesting of the grapes, she was riding with the groom. My memory went back to those days when she had ridden round the paddock at Swaddingham with Drake and I was sad watching and thinking of what might have been.

Her happy face was some consolation to me. It was a great occasion when she was let off the leading rein. My father said she was a born horsewoman and as much at home on a horse’s back as on her own two feet. He would ride with her round the vineyard—he on his big black horse, she on her pony while he told her about the grapes, answering her interminable questions with pleasure; and afterwards she would come and tell me everything.

This was one of the more old-fashioned of his vineyards and here they trod the grapes in the ancient manner. I think he had wanted Katie to see this and it was his reason for bringing us here.

He would talk to her as though she were an adult—which won her heart—explaining to her that at most of his vineyards he used a machine to crush the grapes. It had two wooden cylinders turning in opposite directions and in this machine not a single grape escaped. But some liked the old ways best and preferred to do what had been done through the centuries.

What a night that was! The grapes, which had been laid out for ten days on a level floor to take the sun, were put into troughs, and the villagers sang as they danced on them, crushing them while the juice trickled through into the vats which had been placed below to catch it.

It was magic to Katie, and perhaps to all of us. My father’s eyes were sentimental as he watched her—her hair flying loose, her eyes alight with excitement.

“You must always come to the vendange,” he said.

Katie was reluctant to return to Paris, but soon she forgot the regrets and was content again.

I remember the day when one of our English clients came to Paris. She was Lady Bonner, a noted hostess, who was said to know more of other people’s private lives than any other woman in London. She was voluble and always eager to impart the latest scandal.

She knew of my connection with Julia and asked if I had heard from her lately.

I said that we had not.

“Oh dear me! Quite a scandal. Poor Drake, what a mistake he has made! Of course, it was her money. He needed that. He is an ambitious man. Mind you, he comes from a wealthy family, but he has that sort of pride that says No, I will make my way on my own. Making his way meant marrying money … and so he did that. But what a burden the poor man found he had taken on. She drinks … you know.”

All I said was: “Oh?”

“Oh yes, my dear. Surely you knew. It was always a problem with her and now it has become really serious.”

“There was to be a child …” I began. “Perhaps having lost it…”

“A child! Good Heavens, no! That’s not Julia’s line at all. It was this function. She was so intoxicated… . She staggered when she was talking to Lord Rosebery … and if Drake hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have fallen flat on her face. You can imagine the talk. Poor Drake was overcome with embarrassment. This could cost him a post in the government… if there ever is a stable one. He thought her money would help … and so it would if she had been the right sort of wife. They all think they are going to get a Mary Anne Disraeli. He made a big mistake, poor man, and it may well cost him his career.”

“But he is an able politician,” I protested.

“Only half of the battle, my dear.”

She went on talking of the London scene but I was only half listening. I was thinking of Drake who had blundered into such a disaster.

Poor Drake, he was no happier than I was—in fact he had not the consolations which I was so grateful for.

Cassie came to Paris now and then and often the Countess went to London. We were now making a profit in Paris and business was flourishing in London where our name had been greatly enhanced. We were a big name in the world of fashion.

Three years had passed since Drake’s marriage to Julia and Katie was now eleven years old.

One day my father said: “I am going to take you to Villers-Carsonne.”

He had often seemed a little secretive when he mentioned it and I had the feeling that there was some reason why he was not eager to talk of the place, let alone take us there.

Now he seemed to have come to the conclusion that the time was ripe. He sought an opportunity, when we were alone, to talk to me.

“You may have wondered,” he said, “why I have not suggested you come to Villers-Carsonne before.”

I admitted that I had.

“It is near the place where I was brought up. It is my favourite vineyard. There we produce our best wines. I am there frequently, but I have never taken you there. Why? you asked.”

“I did not,” I said, “but I will.”

He hesitated for a while and then he said: “This is because I have much to tell you. Your grandfather, Alphonse St. Allen-gere, is well known throughout that part of the country. They say that he is Villers-Mure. It may be difficult for you to understand but Villers-Mure resembles a feudal community. In Villers-Mure my father is the lord of all, the grand seigneur. Monsieur le Patron. He is as powerful as a medieval king. It is a restricted community. Almost everyone depends on the silk manufactory; he owns that manufactory; and therefore they owe their livelihoods to him.”

”He sounds formidable.”

He nodded gravely. “He would not receive you, Lenore.”

“I realize that he does not accept me as his granddaughter. But should that prevent my going to your vineyard? That does not belong to him, does it?”

“It is mine. He does see me when I am there. Because I have done well and not through his help he has a certain respect for me. I am an undutiful son, he implies, but grudgingly, he allows me to call on him.”

”I think I should be inclined to refrain from calling.”

“One does not. He has a certain quality … and as much as one resents his attitude one finds oneself obeying.”

“I am quite prepared not to be received.”

“My sister Ursule will be delighted to meet you.”

”Will she be allowed to? “

“Ursule does not live at the house in Villers-Mure. She lives in Villers-Carsonne. She was disowned long ago. She defied him, you see.”

“Forgive me, mon pere, but your father seems to be a man it is better not to have to meet.”

He nodded. “Ursule was disowned shortly after I was. Louis Sagon, her husband now, came to the house to restore my father’s pictures. He painted a portrait of Ursule and fell in love with her—and she with him. My father had other plans for her. He forbade the match. They eloped and as a result she was cut off from the house. She married Louis Sagon and they settled in Villers-Carsonne. My father has never seen her since. She was more courageous than I was.”

“And she is happily married?”

“Yes. She has a son and a daughter. She will want to meet you. We see a great deal of each other when I go to the vineyard.”

“So that was two of you who were disowned.”

“Yes. Two of us disappointed him. My elder brother, Rene, however was a comfort to him. He is taking over a great deal of the work at the manufactory, although of course my father is still head of affairs there. Rene is a good son. And he has produced two sons … and there were two daughters … twins… . One of them, Heloise, died.”

“Long ago?”

”Twelve years or so.”

“She must have been young to die.”

“Just seventeen. She … drowned herself. It was a great blow to us all… and especially to Adele, her twin sister. They had always been close.”

“Why did she do this?”

“Some love affair. It was all rather mysterious.”

“It seems to me to be a very sad household, but then I suppose it would be with a man like your father ruling over it.”

He agreed sombrely. ”I want you to be prepared before you come.”

“I shall not think of my grandfather. If he does not wish to see me, then I have no desire to see him.”

“Ursule has expressed her eagerness to meet you. She is always urging me to bring you.”

“Then I shall look forward to meeting her. She is, of course, my aunt.”

“You will like her, and Louis Sagon. He is immersed in his work and appears to have little interest in anything else, but you will like him. He is a quiet, gentle, kindly man.”

”I shall be content with meeting them—and forget all about my ogre of a grandfather.”

In spite of the fact that he had prepared me in a way for what I must expect, my father seemed to view the proposed visit with some trepidation.

I said goodbye to Grand’mere and the Countess, and Katie and I set off with my father.

We travelled by train and it was a long journey from Paris. Katie was in a state of high excitement. She kept to the window, my father beside her, pointing out the landmarks as we went along. We passed through towns and farmlands, past rivers and hills. There was great interest when we saw vineyards and my father would cast a knowledgeable eye over them; we glimpsed several ancient castles—grey-stoned with the pepper-pot towers which were such a feature of the country. My father was growing a little subdued as we drew nearer and nearer to his birthplace. I fancied he was suffering a certain uneasiness and I wondered whether he was asking himself whether his father would hear of my presence and what his reaction would be.

They were to send a carriage to the station of Carsonne to take us to the house. He told me that they would know exactly when we should arrive as there was only one train a day.

It was a small station.

”We are lucky to have it,” he said. ”The Comte de Carsonne insisted on it. He is a very influential man. It was something of a fight, I believe, but the Comte usually gets his way in such matters.”

As we came into the station my father waved his hand towards a man in dark blue livery who was standing there.

“Alfredo!” he called. He turned to me. “He is Italian. Some of the servants are. We are very close to the borders and that makes us somewhat Italianate in certain ways.”

Alfredo was at the door taking the luggage.

“This is my daughter, Madame Sallonger,” said my father, “and my granddaughter, Mademoiselle Katie Sallonger.”

Alfredo bowed. We smiled at him and he took our bags.

My father was evidently a man of some importance in the neighbourhood if the respect which was shown him was any indication. Caps were touched and welcomes offered.

Then we were in the carriage driving along.

The vineyard was spread out before us. People were already gathering the grapes and we saw the labourers with their oziers, so carefully poised as not to damage the grapes with too much motion.

My father said: “We are in good time for the vendange. “At which Katie expressed her pleasure.

Ahead I saw the chateau. It stood on what looked like a square platform surrounded by deep dykes.

“How grand!” I exclaimed.

“Chateau Carsonne,” said my father.

“And does this Comte … the one who insisted on bringing the railway to Carsonne … live here?”

“The very same.”

“Does he actually reside there?”

“Oh yes. I believe he has a house in Paris … and probably in other places, but this is the ancestral home of the Carsonnes.”

“Shall we meet them, these Carsonnes?”

“It is hardly likely. Our families are not on the best of terms.”

“Is there some sort of feud?”

“Hardly that. My father’s land borders on theirs. There is a sort of armed neutrality … not open warfare … but both sides ready to go into action at the least offence from the other.”

“It sounds very warlike to me.”

“It is hard for you with your English upbringing to understand the fierce nature of the people here. It is the Latin blood … and although you were born with it, your upbringing has evidently brought down its boiling point.”

I laughed. “It all sounds very interesting.”

“We shall soon see my place. Oh, look. Ahead of you.”

Katie leaped up and down with excitement. My father put an arm about her and held her against him.

It was like a miniature chateau with the now familiar pepper-pot towers. It was of grey stone and there were green shutters at the windows, several of which had wrought-iron balconies. It was charming.

As we drew up I saw a man and a woman standing at the door as though to receive us.

“There is Ursule,” said my father. “Ursule, my dear, how good of you to come over to greet us. And you, Louis.” He turned to me. ”This is your aunt Ursule. And this is her husband Louis.” He smiled at them. “Lenore,” he said, “and her daughter, Katie.”