The Emperor (73 page)

‘
Never mind, my pigeon, we can make it all right again.
Don't cry. Papa will mend her, and Mama will make some
new clothes for her, and she'll be as good as new. Now, my
darling, why don't you let Sarah wash your face and brush
your hair, and put on a clean frock, and then I'll come up
and have supper with you. How would you like that?’

Fanny nodded dumbly, her face still pressed against him.

‘
And afterwards I'll read you a story,' he added, setting
her down gently and nodding to the nursery-maid. Fanny
allowed herself to be led away, but stopped after a few paces
to look at her father doubtfully.

‘
Papa, you won't love the new baby more than me, will
you?’

James smiled painfully, ‘No, chicken, I won't. I promise.’

*

Mathilde, perched on a stool, wriggled, and Héloïse,
kneeling at her feet, felt the hem of the dress which she was
attempting to pin up twitched out of her hands for the
fourth time.

‘
Oh, Mathilde!' she cried despairingly. Mathilde looked
down in surprise.

‘Did I move?' she asked innocently.

‘
You wriggled,' Héloïse affirmed, searching on the floor
for the pin she had dropped.

‘
I didn't know. I'm sorry,' Mathilde said humbly. Héloïse
smiled up at her.

‘
It's partly my fault. I'm so slow. I'll never make a dress
maker,' she said thoughtlessly. Madam Chouflon, sitting by,
her swollen fingers twitching in her lap with the desire to
take over the bungled business, groaned.

‘
Oh, my useless hands!' she said. 'I should be doing that,
and all I can do is sit here and watch.'

‘
You are not just watching,' Héloïse said. ‘Do you think I
could do this without your instructions?’

Flon was not to be comforted. 'I'm nothing but a burden
to you.'

‘
Nonsense,' Héloïse said, but a fraction wearily. Plain
sewing she had learned as a child, and practised all her life,
but dressmaking was another matter, especially working
with soft muslins like this fine jaconet. It was Mathilde's first
grown-up dress, and when an attack of her old trouble
disabled Madame Chouflon, Héloïse did not want to
disappoint her ward, and offered to complete the work
under Hon's direction. But she worked inexpertly, and it
made Flon feel useless.

‘
I don't know what I would do without you,' she went on,
but Hon shook her head, making her long earrings rattle.

‘
A burden,' she said. 'We all are, one way and another.
There's Barnard, cooking as though for a Court banquet, in
spite of all you say to him, and weeping when you order
only one course. Three-colour soup and Florence oranges !
Goose stuffed with capons and Paradise tart!'

‘
He has just learned to make the lemon curd which I
like,' Héloïse offered in defence of her cook.

‘
Aye, but twenty pounds at a time,' Flon retorted, 'and it
doesn't keep. He won't learn that he is not cook to a great
household any more. And then there's Father Jerome,
wanting to say Mass three times a day, and for you to build
a chapel onto the house instead of a new drawing-room.'

‘
But he is of the greatest help to me,' Héloïse said. 'He
teaches Mathilde, and he has got her to speak grammatical
French, which was more than I ever managed. Perhaps you
had better get down now, my love,' she smiled up at her
ward apologetically. 'I'll finish the hem later. I'm sure you
need a rest, after standing still for so long.'

‘
He ought to teach her grammatical English, that would
be more to the point,' Flon went on relentlessly. 'But you
don't need a chaplain any more than you need a cook like Barnard — or a tame dressmaker, especially one who can't
hold a needle for three months out of four. We're just
burdens, child, and you know it, for all that you like to
pretend we pay our way.’

Héloïse, still kneeling, moved over and put her arms
round her old friend. 'Well, call yourself a burden if you like!
What do you think I would do without you all? Live alone
with my great wealth? Spend my days counting my money?
Don't you think I am paid fourfold in love for any little
trouble I might go to?’

Flon patted the dark curly head fondly. 'I know you are a great deal too good for us, and next thing to an angel, as Marie says. God will reward you in Heaven, dearest child.’

Kithra, lying on his side in a patch of sunlight from the window, lifted his head suddenly, whined, and beat his tail against the carpet.

‘That must be Marie returning,' Héloïse said, though she could not yet hear the sound of Kexby's mare or the rattling of his cart. 'Mathilde, my love, run upstairs and put on your
frock. I expect Marie will want some tea,' she said to
Madame. 'Would you ask Alice, dear Flon, while I go and get Sophie up from. her nap? I think it's cool enough now
for us to take it in the garden, under the mulberry tree.’

Sophie-Marie still slept in Héloïse's own room, though
she had long outgrown the elm-wood crib, and had a low truckle, which Stephen had also made for her. Héloïse went in quietly and found her asleep, lying on her side with her cheek nestled in her hand. The muslin curtains had been drawn across the open window, and a little breeze had got
up at last, and was blowing them softly above Sophie's head.

She would be two years old next month. Héloïse, gazing down at her sleeping daughter, thought that every passing
month made her only more beautiful. She seemed the image
of James, to Héloïse's partial eyes: she had his features, his
fine, silky, dark brown hair, with the hint of fox when the
sun shone on it, and when she smiled, it was James's smile,
and fit to melt one's heart. Her eyes were his in shape,
though in colour they were as black as midnight, and her
skin was not lily-fair like James's, but Stuart-dark.

Héloïse loved her with a passion which was humble,
grateful, and astonished. Sophie-Marie was a gift from God, His sign of forgiveness, His blessing on Héloïse. She could
not view it any other way, for the child was too lovely
simply to be the sum of her parents, and her sweet and
loving nature could surely only come from the kindly and all-forgiving Father.

Héloïse bent over the bed and kissed the rose-velvet
cheek, savouring the innocent smell of her skin and hair,
and Sophie-Marie woke and smiled.

‘Time to get up, my darling,' Héloïse said. 'Marie is back from Thirsk, and we shall go into the garden and have some tea.’

When she came downstairs, with the baby, still a little sleepy, on her hip, she found Flon and Marie waiting for her in the drawing room. Marie still had on her bonnet, and they both looked anxious.

‘Ah, here's my little sweetheart,' Flon said, too quickly, holding out her arms for Sophie. 'Come to Flon, my darling! let me take her out into the garden, my dear. Marie wants to speak to you.’

She took Sophie and hurried away. Héloïse went forward
to untie Marie's bonnet-strings. 'What is it, Marie? Don't
you wish for some tea? Have you asked Kexby to stay? Did you have an agreeable day?’

Marie, made nervous by the attention, tried to push
Héloïse's hands away, and only succeeded in creating a
knot. Kithra, sensing the atmosphere, came up and whined and thrust his muzzle up at them. Héloïse desisted and regarded her maid with her head slightly tilted.

‘Well, then, what is it? You look upset, Marie. Has someone spoken unkindly to you?'

‘Oh, madame, I have heard some news. I did not know
whether to tell you, but Flon says I should, for you would
hear it sooner or later. Only now I don't know how.’

Héloïse stood very still. 'If it is so very bad,' she said
carefully, 'you had certainly better tell me at once.’

Marie clasped her hands together, her face creased with
sympathy. 'It is not bad news, madame, at least, not really,
only I'm afraid you will not like it.' She gathered her
courage, and said baldly, 'They have got a son, madame, at
Morland Place. A son named Henry.’

She watched as the news sank slowly in. Héloïse said
nothing for a long time. She stared at Marie as though she hoped to be told it was a mistake, or a jest. Then she said,
'A son named Henry. I think they must be very happy.'

‘Oh, madame - '

‘
Please, Marie, please don't,' Héloïse said gently. 'Your
strings are all in a tangle. You had better go and ask Alice to
undo it for you. Yes, please go,' she forestalled a protest. 'I
wish to be alone.’

Some time later Father Jerome went to look for her, and
found her in her bedchamber, sitting on the bed, staring at
nothing. Kithra was sitting at her feet, his head laid helpfully
in her lap, and she was stroking his ears absently.

‘
My child,' said the priest, and Héloïse looked up. He sat
beside her on the bed and said gently, 'Whatever your
trouble, it will be eased by sharing it with God.'

‘
Oh Father,' she said, 'I don't know. I think I must be
very wicked. It is a great and good thing to have a child, and
one ought to rejoice for them.' Her voice sank to a whisper.
'But it
hurts,
Father, it hurts so much.’

He captured one of her hands and stroked it. know,' he
said.

‘
It's foolish,' she went on. 'Why should this make
any
difference? I told him to go back, I wanted him to, because
it was the right thing. And yet - and yet, I suppose I always thought that he would go on loving me, and that it would be
a marriage only in name. Oh, that was wicked, wasn't it?'

‘Yes, my child, that was wicked.'

‘
Then I am punished,' she said, her mouth turned down in pain. She looked down at Kithra, gazing anxiously into
her face, and her eyes filled with tears. She tried to swallow them back. 'Oh Father, what can I do? I love him so, and he
loves me, and yet we cannot be together. How can such love
be a wrong thing? We might so easily have been married.
Why are we punished for what was never our fault? I don't
understand,' she burst out passionately. 'I don't understand
any of it!’

Father Jerome stroked her hand gently. 'God has His
reasons for everything. It would be a poor thing, would it
not, if God were not wiser than men?’

She bowed her head. 'But what am I to do?' she asked
again.

‘
Trust Him. It is not for us to understand all things, only
to trust and obey. Our Father loves us, child. He sees even
the sparrow fall - do you think He would let you out of His
sight? He has His plan for you as for everyone.’

She said nothing, and after a moment the priest stood up
and went away, hoping his words would work on her good sense. Héloïse smoothed Kithra's head and said, 'Yes, you
love me, I know.' He beat his tail in agreement. 'Am I
ungrateful? I am surrounded by love.' Kithra shuffled a
fraction of an inch closer to her. 'Oh, but it isn't the same!'
-She looked across his head at the window and the bright day beyond, remembered James here with her in this very room;
and then thought of Sophie-Marie sleeping below the
blowing curtains. A boy. He and his wife had a boy. She had
gone full circle. The tears held back were making her throat
ache. 'Henry,' she said. 'I wish I did not know his name.’

 
Contrary to her expectations, Lucy enjoyed her quiet spell
at Wolvercote with Roberta and the children. The hunting
was virtually over by the time they went down, but the
weather was perfect for riding, fresh and sunny and not too hot, and Lucy exercised her restless spirit by arranging and
competing in a number of private cross-country races, riding
Mimosa, and a big, strong, ground-eater of a colt called Minstrel, which Chetwyn had bought as a second hunter
from 'Cheerful Charlie' Rutland, but couldn't get on with.

Roberta's maid, Sands, was much scandalized that Lucy
rode cross-saddle in these races, and complained so fre
quently to her mistress that a bad example was being set to the children, that Roberta felt obliged at last to mention the
matter as delicately as possible to Lucy.