Daughters of the Storm (39 page)

‘Monsieur le Comte has managed to see her,' replied Sophie carefully. ‘She is as well as can be expected. The situation is still too dangerous for him to arrange matters for the time being.'

‘And...' Héloïse found it difficult to frame the question.

‘And Louis?' Sophie finished for her, stroking Héloïse's hair lovingly back from her face. Héloïse nodded, relieved and glad that the pretence between them was over.

‘I have sent word as discreetly as I could, after I received this.'

Sophie drew a folded piece of paper from the bosom of her dress. Héloïse reached out her hand and noted with interest how transparent it was.

‘Mignonne,'
she read. ‘I am safe. Come when you can. L.D'E.'

Tears trickle down Héloïse's cheeks, tears of thankfulness and relief. Sophie wiped them away.

‘It was his child, you know.'

‘I guessed as much,' replied Sophie.

‘Did I give anything away?'

Sophie hesitated. ‘Not as far as I can tell. But, Héloïse, I must tell you, Monsieur le Comte nursed you so tenderly that I could not help thinking...'

Héloïse turned her face away. ‘Don't,' she said.

Sophie desisted, not wishing to distress Héloïse and bring back her fever.

Sophie fetched more water, dipped a cloth into it and bathed Héloïse's face and wrists. ‘Don't worry,' she said. ‘I won't discuss it further.'

Héloïse considered.

‘Sophie. My father wished you to return to England – for your own safety. I also told you that I wanted to keep you here and you said you would. I don't hold you to that promise. I want you to think very carefully about leaving.'

Sophie knelt down by the bed and bent over so their heads were close together – intimate and connected. ‘Now, more than ever, I will never consider abandoning you,' she said.

Héloïse raised a hand and touched Sophie's cheek. ‘Sophie... Sophie... you heard what that monster said. He would get rid of all the de Guinots. We're a danger to you.'

‘I did. It does not make me change my mind. Listen, Héloïse, I am too much part of it here. I cannot go back to what I was. Ned will argue otherwise, but I don't want to listen to him. I know I'm causing pain to others, but I cannot leave you – or Paris.'

‘Or Mr Jones?' said Héloïse. There was a silence. ‘Will you marry him instead?' she persisted.

Sophie knelt back on her haunches. ‘I don't know, Héloïse. I don't know. Oh Lord, I so confused about my feelings for Mr Jones and concerned about Ned who won't be put off for much longer.' Sophie rose to her feet and her skirts floated around her. ‘I need more time.' She checked herself. ‘No I don't. Yes, I do. Sometimes...' the confession forced out of her was awkward and halting , ‘I feel... I feel that I am incapable of love, otherwise all these questions would be easy to resolve. I thought I loved Ned.'

Turning away, she poured out the cordial specified by the doctor into a fluted glass. Slipping one hand behind Héloïse's head, she helped her to drink it.

‘Oh, I think you know,' said Héloïse catching at Sophie's wrist. ‘I think so.'

They exchanged a long, long look.

‘Yes,' admitted Sophie eventually. ‘Yes.'

Héloïse settled back on to the pillows, holding Louis' letter tightly against her breast.

‘Neuilly, then,' she said, and her lips curved into a happy smile. ‘But first I must rid myself of de Choissy.'

*

De Choissy was uncharacteristically curt over Héloïse's plans when she tried to discuss them. How strange, she thought, with a new intuition which had been born out of her secret happiness, I think he is disappointed that I want to go. He is so difficult to fathom, but, yet, I believe I am beginning to understand him a little.

The count regarded his wife with an inscrutable expression. Héloïse was lying on the day-bed in her bedroom, looking much better. She had made her toilette for the first time in days and Sophie had threaded a blue riband through her hair. Pearl earrings hung in her ears, and her thin fingers were clasped round a porcelain tea-bowl.

‘I suppose I must acquiesce,' he said. ‘I can't stomach ailing females for too long and you are too weak to travel far. You have, if you will forgive me for pointing it out, my dear, quite lost your bloom. I suppose the house is yours to visit how you wish. I shall come when I can,' he added drily.

‘Can you organise the papers?' asked Héloïse. ‘I would like to go as soon as I can. The doctor says I may travel in three weeks' time.'

‘I shall get the papers for you on one condition.' De Choissy made a calculated pause. Héloïse waited. ‘That you agree to leave France with me as soon as you are fit to travel. And, if I were you, madame, I would see to it that it is soon. I can't answer for what will happen otherwise.'

Héloïse traced a pattern in the embroidered cushion by her side.

‘I never thought you would take the émigré road,' she remarked. ‘But I was wrong.'

‘Don't be flippant Héloïse. This is not the time.'

Heloise took a sip of tea.

‘I was merely remarking that I considered you to be the last person to abandon your king, despite the fact you would like to pretend otherwise,' she said.

De Choissy got up from his chair.

‘The king will die.'

‘Are you sure of that?'

‘Don't be a fool, Héloïse. You know what is happening. You have experienced the mob. I could accuse you of several things, but never of stupidity.'

Héloïse changed her tack.

‘Where does your loyalty lie?' she asked, curious to know.

‘Primarily to myself. And to you,' he added disconcertingly.

Héloïse raised her eyebrows.

‘But, of course, Héloïse, my concerns lie with you.' De Choissy was impatient with her unspoken implication.

‘Do you not consider it your duty to remain here as long as His Majesty is alive?' she asked.

De Choissy moved to the window.

‘The king, my dear,' he said from over his shoulder, ‘is a fool. And so is his very dear consort.'

‘Perhaps,' Héloïse countered. Yet, a question hovered on the tip on her tongue.

De Choissy turned round to face her and leant back against the window-sill. His fingers played with the tassels that trimmed the drapes. ‘You want to ask me something?'

‘Do ever have doubts', she asked. ‘About how we live... how we govern? Shouldn't we listen to what is going on and learn from it?'

To her surprise, he smiled. ‘I like you the better for having a mind,' he said. ‘Unfortunately, it is too late. We are what we are. Even though... as I mentioned... the king is a fool and we, my dear wife, are on the run.'

‘But they are still entitled to your loyalty and we should be here.'

‘Does it not occur to you', he said, ‘that I can serve him just as well outside France?'

‘Or yourself.'

Héloïse set down the tea-bowl on a black japanned tray on the table by the bed.

‘And myself,' he acknowledged.

‘Let me understand this correctly,' said Héloïse. ‘Are you leaving France to serve the king better there, or to ensure your neck is saved?'

‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, Héloïse?'

De Choissy moved over towards her. He bent over and grasped her face none too gently, forcing her to look up at him. Héloïse took in his elegant suit and the handsome, dissipated countenance.

‘Listen to me,' he said. ‘The situation is worse, much worse. You know that. You have seen it and suffered. The old order is doomed. It vanished when the king left Versailles. The harpies of the new so-called republic can't wait to get their hands on people like you and me, and, let it be said, my dear, on our possessions. Strange things are happening to France. And we should take note of when the odds are stacked against us.'

‘Spoken like a gambling man,' said Héloïse, removing herself from his grasp. ‘Nevertheless, I shall not come with you.'

De Choissy sat down on a chair facing her.

‘Now why?' he asked. ‘What can possibly keep you when your duty lies with me?'

Héloïse lifted a blank face towards him.

‘How can you understand?' she said.

His eyes narrowed and she wondered if she had gone too far. He was unpredictable and she was operating on new territory. Was he, she wondered, enjoying this encounter and did it arouse the cruelty in him that she so often had cause to know? The victim of his sexual cruelities, she had by default become wiser as to what provoked them. She ran the risk of provoking him now and, as her husband, he could assert what rights he chose to do.

‘You may be right, Hervé,' she said smoothly, surprised at her capacity for duplicity. ‘But I do need time to rest. I shall go to Neuilly and, of course, you are welcome there. But the doctor did say...' She paused delicately. ‘I would hate to think your journeys were in vain,' she finished.

De Choissy rose to his feet and smoothed down his tail-coat. He was not pleased.

‘You have no need to worry, Héloïse. I have plenty of business to occupy me in Paris.'

He looked down at her, an odd little smile stretching his thin lips.

‘Go to Neuilly to, er... rest. I shall allow you that. But not for long. The situation changes daily. As soon as you return, we shall go.'

*

While Héloïse was talking to de Choissy, Sophie was out riding with Ned. This was the first time since his sudden arrival back in Paris because she had avoided him. This had been relatively easy for there had been visits from friends in abandoned Versailles, the marquis' funeral, condolence correspondence to answer on behalf of Héloïse, and Héloïse's illness to take up her time. Ned himself had ridden to Neuilly on an errand for Héloïse, and while there he had been taken ill. When he returned he had spent day after day trying to obtain visas to return to England. But now she could no longer avoid him. Nor should she.

The situation she now found herself in was convoluted, and Sophie was weary. Reflecting on their recent experiences, she knew her fears, and her subterfuges, to be shallow and unworthy compared to what she had recently seen and heard, she understood it was time to abandon the luxuries of indecision.

The choices may have seemed so but they were not straightforward – would that they were. Ned or William? England and all that she loved, or America and a country she did not know? It would have helped if she had been clearer as to her feelings for Mr Jones. Her heart told her she loved him – her unruly heart that leapt in anticipation of his visits and cherished the things that he said. But the rational part of Sophie wasn't convinced that her heart should be trusted. William came from a different country and, to marry him Sophie would have to become a different persona and to acknowledge that the ties that bound her to those whom she cared for most would be cut.

At night, she found herself racked with anxiety. She rose the next morning fully determined to refuse William and to marry Ned, only to find as the day progressed that she couldn't actually bring herself to say anything. Ned had brought her messages from High Mullions which included a blistering missive from Sir Brinsley ordering her to return at once, and a tear-streaked document from her mother which gave her the greatest anguish of all.

‘Ma fille,'
it read. ‘Come home. We can resolve things better when we see you. We cannot force you into a marriage that you do not want. Nor will we. But to marry without us approving the gentleman is neither wise nor right. You must come.'

On reading this, Sophie felt her cup was full. To humiliate Ned was a sour entry on her slate. To leave Héloïse at this point unthinkable. To say goodbye to William worse – but to ignore her duty at the express pain and disappointment of others was a burden that almost strangled her.

She found she could not even talk to William. Angry, but not surprised, by Ned's return, William had tried to understand, but he was preoccupied with his own work. Jacobin spies were everywhere, and counter-revolutionaries were forcing up the price of information by scattering money all over the city and, thus, undermining his own network. He had also received an overdue message from General Washington, ordering him to return to America as soon as he could put his affairs in order. The directive plunged him into anxiety. Leaving France was no easy matter and he was dubious as to how Sophie would react. The situation was certainly not helped by the presence of Ned. So he remained, keeping himself deliberately in the background while he considered his options.

How calm life at High Mullions now seemed compared to the quicksands that lay ahead. Sophie often reflected on just how far she had travelled from her previous state of innocence. Now that she no longer could lay claim to being in that condition, she could see just how innocent she had been. How could she be - having seen sights she had seen. Violence and death altered how one percieved the world and she was no longer ignorant of complicated feelings. No longer so impetuous. She had been tried severely by what she saw as her own inconstancy and unable to resolve a situation that should have been simple to deal with. How was she to make sense of it all?

Thus it was with a heavy heart that she had consented to go riding with Ned after he had cornered her in the salon that morning and suggested a picnic outside the city walls. Sophie had agreed because she knew she must.

De Choissy had lent them his horses and his groom. The day was fair and, despite herself, Sophie's spirits rose as she swung up into the saddle. It had been a long time since she had been on such an expedition. She knew she was looking her best in one of Mile Bertin's exquisitely cut riding habits which was trimmed with steel buttons. Perched on her head was a black high-crowned hat with a curving plume. Her gloves were made of the finest leather and her boots shone. Ned leaned over in his saddle and caught at her reins.