The Emperor (81 page)

Cartoons appeared in the newspapers of a French army
crossing the Channel by a variety of ingenious contrivances,
such as air balloons, tunnels under the sea and giant cata
pults. But everyone was weary of war, and while England
was invincible at sea, France was invincible on land. At the
end of August, the news that Addington had sent envoys to
France to negotiate an armistice was greeted everywhere
with relief.

*

The armistice was signed on the first of October, 1801.
Marie brought the news to Héloïse as she sat at her desk in
her study, working on her history of the revolution. She had
not been getting on very fast that day. The long windows were open onto the garden, and the sweet autumn air was
stirring memories in her. Under the desk, at her feet, Kithra
slept, head on paws, snoring a little, and in a patch of
sunlight on the carpet sat Sophie, dressing and undressing the wooden baby Stephen had made for her, and croodling
to it like a pigeon.

From the walled garden came the distant sound of voices,
echoing flat and high in the warm air, where Flon, Barnard and the maids were picking apples. Within the house there
was the halting sound of Mathilde's lesson with Father
Jerome on the cabinet piano, a new acquisition. A domestic
peace was over everything. Héloïse looked out into the
garden where the autumn colours lay warm under the
hesitant, gauzy sunlight, smelled the ripening sweetness of
the air, and wondered why beauty was so sad. She was
surrounded with love; child, dog, ward, friend and servants
all poured it out on her every day, and yet she felt lonely
and full of pain. The love hurt her as much as the beauty.

She sighed deeply, and Kithra groaned in his sleep in
answer, and Sophie looked up at her and smiled the smile that happy children reserve for their parents; and Héloïse laughed, and rebuked herself for feeling anything but pro
found gratitude for her lot. She picked up her pen again
determinedly, and had just dipped it into the ink, when
Marie came running into the house calling out for her.

‘
In here, Marie,' she called back. Marie appeared in the
doorway, her face red and her eyes brilliant with some
excitement. She looked unusually ruffled, as though she had
been running. She had been down to the village for one or
two things, but the basket on her arm was still empty.

‘Oh madame! Oh madame!' she cried breathlessly.

‘Be calm, Marie. Catch your breath, and tell me what has
happened,' Héloïse said gently. Behind Marie she saw
Father Jerome and Mathilde appear in the passage,
attracted by the commotion.

‘
It is news, madame,' Marie babbled. 'In the village, I
heard it in the village. They are all talking about it. Every
one is so happy, and there is free ale at the Fauconburg
Arms for everyone. The armistice, madame, they have
signed it! It is peace, madame! We can go home!’

Héloïse could not speak. Kithra had got up and was circ
ling Marie, wagging his tail, and Sophie was tugging her
mother's arm to be lifted up. Héloïse picked her up
absently. Father Jerome and Marie were chattering excitedly
in French and Mathilde was asking questions in English.
Home! The peace did indeed mean they could go home,
and Héloïse could not begin to think what she felt about
that. What sort of France would it be, after eight years of war, and numerous changes of government? So many had died under the blade, or before the firing squad, so many
others had fled; whole families wiped out, houses pillaged,
destroyed. Would she recognize it? Would it welcome her?
Yet it was home — that very English word, which
embodied a longing all hearts knew, and which in French
could be felt only wordlessly. Her own country, her own
people — Paris, her own city! And somewhere in Paris, she
hoped still alive, was her friend Marie-France, and the son
she had borne to Héloïse's father. Héloïse herself had helped
to bring Marie-France's son into the world, and though she
had not seen him since, she often thought about him. He
was, after all, her brother.

She looked from one excited face to another, and knew
she must say something. ‘Tell the others,' she said with an
effort. 'Tell Flon and Barnard.' Mathilde dashed away on
the errand; Father Jerome kissed Marie, who shrieked with
laughter; and then took Sophie from Héloïse's arms and
hugged her and jigged around the room with her, with
Kithra circling her like a mad thing, his yellow wolf-eyes
shining with his own secret delight.

Father Jerome took Héloïse's hands and pressed them,
and she saw his lips moving, but she didn't seem to be able
to understand what he was saying. She became aware thather face was aching, and realized that it was because a most
ridiculous smile was stretching her mouth as wide as it
would go, which was odd, because at the same time there
were definitely tears on her cheeks.

*

At Morland Place, they gave an Armistice Party for the
leading families of the neighbourhood. It was Sir Arthur
Fussell who first mentioned the new craze for visiting Paris.

‘
Lord, yes, goin' over by scores,' he said. 'Visit the
Tuileries, see the little Corsican at home, take a look at the
place where the French King was made a head shorter.'

‘Please, my dear,' Lady Fussell protested.

‘
It's true,' said Lady Anstey. 'John says there are hand
bills all over London, advertising the services of couriers,
and places on ships making the crossing. It's quite the
fashionable thing to do.'

‘
Well, why not?' Lord Anstey replied to a quizzical look
from James. 'After eight years of war, people are eager for a
little diversion. There's a whole generation grown up who
have never set foot outside these shores.'

‘
And another generation — of soldiers and sailors —
who've done nothing but,' Edward put in.

‘
I suppose you will be expecting to have your brothers
home?' said Lady Fussell, turning the subject gracefully.

The seed, however, lodged itself in Mary Ann's brain,
and flowered into a strange fascination with the idea, which
she brought up with her husband at breakfast the next day.

‘
Why on earth should you want to go to Paris?' James
asked in astonishment.

‘
Why shouldn't I want to?' she retorted, nettled. 'Doesn't
everyone want to travel?’

James remembered his father's diatribes on that point,
and said, 'No, not everyone. What is it you want to see in
Paris?'

‘
What everyone sees,' she said. 'Don't pretend not to
understand. It's all very well for you,' she added as James
gave a sideways smile and went back to his toast, 'you've
always gone wherever you wanted to. But I've never been
anywhere but home — I mean, Manchester — and here. And
since we married, I've never been further than five miles
from Morland Place. I should dearly love to take a journey
to Paris,' she went on cajolingly. ‘To go on a boat across the
Channel! I've never even
seen
the sea. Oh James, do say we
can go!'

‘
My dear ma'am, there's nothing I can do to stop you,'
James said, buttering another slice. 'If you want to take tea
in the Tuileries with the Corsican and Madame Josephine,
by all means do!'

‘
Don't be odious,' Mary Ann said. 'You know perfectly
well I can't go without you.'

‘Ah, now we come to the nub of it.'

‘
Oh please, James, you'd like it of all things, I'm
persuaded! A vacation would do us both so much good, and
improve our minds, too. Edward wouldn't mind. There's
nothing very much to do at the moment, and he could well
spare you.'

‘
Do you know what a Channel crossing would be like at
this time of year?' James said.

‘
But everyone says the weather is very settled at the
moment! It's September when there are gales.'

‘
My dear, once the peace is concluded, you'll have the
rest of your life to visit Paris if you want to. There's no
hurry. Why not wait until next year, or the year after, and go
in the summer, when the weather's good?’

But Mary Ann was firm in wanting to go immediately.
For one thing, she was restless, and longing for change. For
another, if one was going to do the fashionable thing, one must do it
before
everyone else, not after them. And for a
third, she had a wonderful new set of Russian sables her
father had given her, which she wanted to wear, and which
deserved a wider audience than the Fussells and the
Ansteys.

The following day Birkin brought her further ammu
nition which she did not hesitate to put to use.

‘
There's a man staying at the Hare and Heather,' she told
James, 'a very respectable man called Climthorpe, who's
arranging passages on a boat, the
Magpie.
It's to be a very
select party — only a few people from the very best families.
He arranges the passage from Dover to Boulogne, and the
journey post from Boulogne to Paris, and there's a courier
to accompany the party all the way, who speaks French, and
another who goes ahead and arranges the accommodation
at the best inns. So you see,' she finished eagerly, 'you.
wouldn't be put to any trouble at all, James. It would all be
done for you. All you would have to do would be to step
into a carriage at one end of the journey, and step out of
another in Paris.'

‘
I've never heard of Climthorpe,' James protested feebly,
but his resistance was weakening. For one thing, there was
no good reason he could give for denying his wife this
pleasure except his own indolence, and for another, he was
beginning to experience faint stirrings of curiosity himself. Edward, appealed to by Mary Ann, gave his opinion mildly
on her side, that James could be spared, and there was no
reason why they shouldn't go if they wished. Further
enquiry established that Climthorpe was perfectly respect
able, the accredited agent of a merchant who owned three
well-founded privateers. James gave in, and Climthorpe was
sent for.

He spoke well, assuring them that their journey would be
attended by every luxury, and that they would share the
crossing in the
Magpie
or one of her sister ships with a small
number of the very best people. 'Only such people, I assure
you, dear Mrs Morland, as you would be happy to receive into your own house. The journey from Boulogne to Paris
will be accomplished in two days, spending the night in a very respectable posting-house, the Lion d'Or at Amiens.
Would you desire our courier to arrange accommodation
in Paris for you? Very good, ma'am. And how many of
you will be travelling? Yourself and your husband, and
your maid and man. Just so. Now, as to the length of
your stay —
Fanny's rage was ungovernable when she discovered that
she was not to be included in the treat, and not all her
father's promises of presents brought back from Paris would
mollify her. Edward looked forward gloomily to days of
sulks and tantrums, but cheered considerably when Father
Aislaby hinted at the improvement that might be wrought in
Fanny once her father and mother were out of reach of
appeal. He hastened to assure James that there was not the
least need in the world for him to hurry back.

*

The
Magpie
was certainly a handsome vessel, and shewed
signs of having been recently refitted, presumably to suit her
for her new business, and repainted. She was gay with flags
when the chaise carrying James and Mary Ann drew up
beside her gangplank, and there appeared to be a large
number of smartly-dressed sailors moving about her deck,
whose grey jackets piped with red, red waistcoats, and grey
trousers made a favourable impression on Mary Ann.