The Drop of the Dice (Will You Love Me in September?) (12 page)

I lay still while my feet grew warmer and I went over every detail of my arrival at the castle, particularly my talks with Uncle Paul and Aimée. Such revelations as she had made were enough to create insomnia in anyone, I assured myself, and as I slept so well normally I could easily cope with the very occasional bad night when it came along. Moreover, it was understandable as it was the first night in a new bed. One had to grow accustomed to beds.

I was thinking how complicated life was, and how the actions of the past created the future and their effects could be felt through the generations.

Then suddenly I heard voices… low, sibilant voices. I got out of bed and went to the window. Men were coming out of the castle; they had come through the gatehouse. I saw my Uncle Matthew and Ralph with them, and there were three other men. One of these three was vaguely familiar to me. He wore a brown frieze coat and black stockings; on his head was a three-cornered hat. I was trying to think where I had seen him before. The men were out of sight and I guessed they were going to the stables where they would have left their horses. I was right. After a short while they emerged on horseback. The man in the brown frieze coat was with them.

I watched them ride away, standing at the window until they were out of sight. Then, cold and shivering a little, I went back to bed. I lay there for a long time wondering why I should feel there was something strange going on. Why shouldn’t my uncle and cousin, with friends who had arrived after I had left the company, leave in the early hours of the morning? There was no reason why they should retire early because I did. But there were the three other visitors. They must have come very late. Well, why should they not do so?

I was imagining all sorts of strange happenings. Why? Because I had just discovered that I had a sister, and had left the quiet world of my mother’s family. I had escaped from the cocoon and perhaps was looking for adventure. I had come into the orbit of the bold Hessenfields. Already I was learning a little more about my exciting father and discovering that there was still much to learn.

The dawn was now in the sky. I got out of bed again and unbolted the door. I did not want someone to bring up hot water and find that I had shut myself in. I did not want to betray my uneasiness.

I lay waiting for morning, and suddenly the realization came to me.

The man I had seen below was the same one whom I had noticed in the inn.

How strange! He had seemed to take an interest in our party. And now he had turned up at the castle. What did it mean?

The comforting daylight was creeping into my room, dispelling the imaginings of the night.

How many men in England wore brown frieze coats, black stockings and three-cornered hats? The answer was: thousands.

I was going to laugh at myself in the morning.

For a long time I was to remember those first days at Hessenfield Castle. There were the conversations with Aimée—light-hearted, frivolous chatter—which enthralled me because with them came an aura of the past and they brought memories which I had long forgotten. Then there were my sessions with my Uncle Paul, my interest in the castle, and the strange atmosphere of tension which I did not understand at the time. It was a suppressed excitement, and uneasiness which seemed to affect them all except Aimée. I believed she was aware of it and that it both amused and exasperated her.

She had made herself mistress of the castle and it was quite clear that my Uncle Paul was fond of her. She would make him laugh and I suppose anyone who could do that would be a favourite of his.

He talked about her to me. ‘She has the true Gallic charm,’ he said. ‘That comes from her mother. I must say we have been more lively in the castle since she came.’

I got him to tell me how she came.

‘When the war was over and there was free traffic between the two countries, she arrived. She is a resourceful young lady. One summer’s morning she presented herself at the Castle, announcing who she was. She gave me the ring which she said your father had wished to be returned to me and she brought his watch too which he had presumably left to her mother and there was a letter from my brother.’

‘When did he write it?’ I asked.

‘It must have been before he died. He must have given it to Aimée’s mother as a sort of guarantee that the child would be cared for. He died suddenly, but living was precarious for him. He never knew from one day to the next when he would run into an ambush or someone would assassinate him. There was a price on his head, you know.’

‘Could I see my father’s letter? I have never seen anything he wrote.’

‘Certainly you may. It clearly states that his daughter shall have a share of his estate.’

‘Does he mention me?’

‘Not in this letter. He had already written to me about you when your mother joined him in France. He said then that you should be his heiress.’

‘And he wrote later about Aimée?’

‘He had evidently given the letter to Aimée’s mother to bring to me in the event of his death.’ He took some keys from his pocket and gave them to me. ‘Go and open that desk,’ he said. ‘You will see some papers there… just inside. Will you please bring them to me?’

I did as he bade and came back with the papers. He turned them over and brought out a letter which he handed to me. It had the address of the
hôtel
embossed on the top right-hand corner.

I read:

Dear Paul,

We had an unpleasant scare today. It made me realize that I could be a dead man at any time. I know that applies to us all but to some more than others—and I am one of those to whom it could happen suddenly.

I have involved myself in certain responsibilities and I want this daughter of mine to have a share in my fortune. Her mother will get the letter to you somehow. I will write in detail later but just in case something should happen before I have an opportunity to do so, I want to make sure this girl is cared for along with my other liabilities.

‘I’ll be setting it all out clearly later. This child is one of us, Paul, and I know I can trust you. I’ll send this over when I can work out how the money should be arranged.

Your affectionate brother

John.

‘And he gave this letter to Aimée’s mother?’ I said.

‘Yes. That was how it was done, I imagine.’

‘It is undated,’ I pointed out.

‘Aimée said it was written a few days before his death, it seems as though he had a premonition of it… or perhaps he was then feeling ill.’

‘Then he must have been seeing Aimée’s mother right up to the time of his death.’

‘My dear,’ said Uncle Paul, ‘you must not be shocked. He was like that… polygamous. There were always women… although your mother was the one he cared for in a very special way… and for you too… as her daughter. But he had clearly been fond of Aimée’s mother and he certainly was of Aimée. He was a philanderer but there was a very sentimental side to his nature. He had a strong sense of honour and would never shirk his responsibilities.’

I looked at the letter in his handwriting. Bold and flowing, typical of the man.

‘You can imagine how moved I was when Aimée arrived,’ went on Uncle Paul. ‘She told me that her mother had preserved that letter with the ring and watch and that she had planned to come to England herself as soon as she could do so. But when the opportunity came, Aimée was of an age to travel and her mother had married. It was only natural that she would not want to involve her new husband in a past love affair, so Aimée came alone. I trust you are pleased to have a sister. She is a charming girl, full of vitality. One would expect that from a daughter of my brother. You have the same quality, my dear. You must always keep it. I hope you two are going to be friends, as sisters should be.’

I was getting very fond of my uncle.

Aimée and I rode a good deal and she undertook to show me the countryside. Uncle Paul insisted that we take a groom with us when we rode out. These were troublous times, he said. But Aimée usually contrived to arrange it so that we rode ahead of the groom and she tried to lose him. I refused to do this as the groom would be reprimanded if he did not keep guard over us, but I did all I could to keep a distance between him and us so that we could indulge freely in one of those conversations which were so fascinating to me.

They took place partly in French, partly in English and they taught me a great deal about life in Paris and quite a bit about the household in which I had lived in those early years.

She reawakened memories in me. I could almost smell the Paris streets. ‘Hot bread,’ she said. ‘It is one of the most delicious smells on earth. It filled the streets when the bakers came in the Rue Gonesse with their baskets full of hot bread. Then there were the peasants with their farm produce… chickens, eggs, fruit and flowers.’

I did remember the barbers, covered from head to foot in flour, with wigs and tongs in their hands… and the stalls of fish and apples in the market place.

‘I would go into Les Halles with my basket on my arm,’ said Aimée. ‘Maman said I could drive a better bargain than she could herself. I was quick… I was… how you say?

‘Ruthless?’ I suggested.

‘Ruthless,’ she repeated. ‘I was the one to get the price less and come home with the
bon marché.’

‘I can well imagine it.’

‘So you think I am…
adroit…
little sister?’

‘I not only think. I know.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked rather sharply.

‘It is just something of which I have become aware.’

She was ready to take offence over some matters. I think it was because she was not quite at home in the English idiom. I had thought she would be pleased because I had noticed her cleverness.

‘We were poor,’ she defensively. ‘We had to watch every sou. When our father died it made a difference.’

‘It did to all of us,’ I reminded her. I knew something of poverty in the streets of Paris.

I told her about the cellar, and the horror of it all came flooding back as I talked.

‘But you had the good Aunt Damaris to rescue you.’

‘You had your mother.’

‘But we lived through the hard times. Is it not comforting to live in a rich household when you have been so poor as to wonder where your next meal will come from? If you have been poor like that once… you never forget it.’

‘You are right,’ I answered.

‘You appreciate… You find it good. Money brings comfort. You would do a great deal to get it… and keep it.’

‘I should be terrified to go back and live as I did in the cellar.’

‘Jeanne took you and cared for you, did she not?’

‘What I should have done without her I cannot imagine. I should still be there… Or perhaps I should have died of the cold or something by now.’

‘It has taught you what poverty is… and that is the good lesson. It will make you understand those others who have suffered it.’

‘Oh yes, I agree. Tell me about my father. Did you often see him?’

‘Yes. He came to us often.’

‘My mother did not know…’

‘My dear sister, a man does not tell one mistress when he is visiting another.’

‘I am sure my mother had no idea.’

‘No. But we knew he was living with her. We could not help knowing. She was the
maîtresse en titre.
You see, Hessenfield was like a king. He could do these things as he willed.’

I tried to remember my mother and even though the pictures were hazy I could not believe she would ever have knowingly accepted such a situation.

Aimée seemed to think it was something of a joke.

‘I am four years older than you,’ she said. ‘There is much I can remember. He used to look a little… how you say it?… out of place… in our rooms in the Rue Saint-Jacques. We lived there many years over the shop of a bookseller.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I can still smell the books. Some of them not very nice… not savoury. He filled our little room when he was there. He looked so grand; he used to make us feel shabby… but he did not seem to notice. He was so happy to see us. He used to take me on his knee and say I was a little beauty. I was so…
désolée
when he died. Those were the unhappy years. We were poor then. The bookseller was good to us, though. My mother worked in his shop and I helped. We could have sold the watch and the ring but my mother said “No. Never.” She say, “One day, you go to England. When war is over…” Then she marry and I come to England. She did not want me when she married. She have the new family. Well, I found mine, did I not? Uncle Paul is good to me. If I was not his niece I would marry him. Then I have found my little sister.’

She liked to shock me. She was constantly reminding me that I was a bastard; so was she, for that matter.

‘Love-children are the children of love,’ she said once. ‘That sounds romantic, does it not? I do not mind at all being a love-child… as long as I am cared for by my family.’

She did admit that when she had seen the lords and ladies riding in their carriages she had been overcome with envy. Then there were the old dowagers in the sedan chairs in the mornings—usually going to Mass. She did not envy them so much because they were old and it was a fearful thing to be old. But always she had wanted to be a lady in a carriage, patched, powdered, bewigged and perfumed, riding through the streets, splashing the Paris mud on passers-by and attracting the attention of equally elegant young men in their carriages, pulling up, slyly making assignations, visiting the theatre and being admired by the male audience and envied by the female. Life in Paris had been very much more exciting than it was at Hessenfield, but Paris had meant poverty, and Hessenfield affluence.

I felt as though I had been at Hessenfield a long time but it was only a week or so since I had arrived. My talks with both my Uncle Paul and with Aimée had made me feel I was part of the place. Uncle Matthew and Ralph were frequent visitors, and there were other people, mostly men, who came to the castle. Sometimes they dined with us and when they did I noticed there was a wariness about the conversation and I could not help realizing that the tension I had observed when I arrived increased rather than diminished.