The Heiress (17 page)

‘Let me go,' she begged him. ‘Please; I've got to talk to you.'

‘I know what you'll say,' he interrupted. ‘You don't love me, do you?'

‘No,' Anne said. ‘No, I don't love you. I should, God knows, I ought to love you. But I don't.'

‘I knew that too,' Francis answered. ‘Your love will come. Give me the chance.'

‘I can never love you, Francis.' Gently she drew back from him and at last he let her go. ‘I can never love you because I am still in love with him. I told you that a long time ago, when we first met. Nothing he does to me can kill that love; nothing will ever kill it. I shall love him until the day I die. That's why I cannot go with you to Metz. I can only ask you to forgive me. Even a moment ago when you kissed me … I knew it was useless. I still belong to Charles Macdonald, and I always will.'

He did not speak for a moment; they stood looking at each other and Anne made a little helpless gesture.

‘Forgive me,' she whispered. ‘Please forgive me.'

‘No,' he came back to her and took her hands. ‘There's nothing to forgive. I should be asking you to pardon me; Anne, if I've distressed you … if I've taken advantage of you—I didn't mean it. You may love him for the rest of your life—I don't believe it. I know I shall always love you. Don't cry, my love. I'm going now and I don't want to remember you in tears. Take this; it belonged to my mother and it's all I have to give you. If ever you need me, send it back and I promise I'll come to you. Even out of the grave.'

He took the sapphire pin out of his cravat and fastened it to her dress. Gently Anne reached up and kissed him.

‘I'll keep it always. May God go with you.'

‘Remember,' he said, and his voice shook. ‘If ever you need me …' The door shut after him and she was alone in the room; she waited and the tears she had held back while he was with her began to flow at last, but they were for him and his disappointed love, not for herself.

‘I can't understand how you could be such a fool,' Jeanne said. ‘He asked you to run away with him and you refused because you loved my
brother
! Truly, Anne, I think you're mad!'

‘I don't love him,' Anne repeated. ‘Not in the way he loves me. I can't; Charles has taken it all. He gave me this, Jeanne.' She took off the pin. ‘It was his mother's and the only thing of value he had.' The small blue stone flashed in the light. Jeanne examined it and gave it back.

‘How could you have sent him away?' she said slowly. ‘How ‘could you have refused him everything like that, even if you wouldn't go to Metz?…'

‘Have you been unfaithful to Paul?' Anne demanded. ‘Why should you expect me …?'

‘You asked a question,' Jeanne said calmly. ‘Wait for the answer. Yes, I have. The last child isn't his; but it's all over now. He's dead. He was a soldier too.'

‘I'm sorry,' Anne said slowly. ‘I had no idea … I thought you and Paul were so happy.'

‘We are,' Jeanne smiled at her. ‘He knows nothing about it, and he's too good a man to hurt. It won't ever happen again; I made up my mind to that. Don't let's discuss it any more. Sit down and tell me about this splendid ball; I can't wait to wear my new dress for it!'

‘You'll look lovely,' Anne said. ‘I know what an extravagant minx you are when it comes to clothes. I've spent a fortune on my own and now I don't know whether I like it or not.'

‘What colour?' Jeanne asked. Her voice was normal, even gay, but her cheeks were pale and there was a drawn look about her pretty face which Anne had never seen before. Her last child was only two years old, a plump, brown-haired little girl with her mother's hazel eyes.

‘It's a secret,' Anne said. ‘You must wait till tomorrow.'

‘I suppose it's tactless to enquire, but is your husband dining with Mother and us tomorrow at the Hôtel? I shall have to try and be civil to him, but I don't know how I'm going to manage it!'

‘I don't know,' Anne said slowly. ‘I don't know if he is even coming to the ball. I haven't heard a word or seen him since he burst into my house in the middle of the night.'

‘He'll have to—if the King's coming. He daren't do otherwise, and more's the pity.' Jeanne's eyes narrowed angrily, but she smiled. ‘It would be far pleasanter without him.'

‘I am only giving it to please him,' Anne explained. ‘I don't want all this expense and trouble for myself; I'm not interested in impressing these creatures at Versailles or living the life at Court at all! But I told your mother; it's what Charles wants. He's always sneered at me for being a country simpleton. He won't be able to say that after tomorrow!'

‘No, he won't,' Jeanne agreed. ‘You'll be one of the first ladies in France, hostess to the King and the Royal family. My dear, you'll be so sought after he won't be able to get near you! And I hope someone will succeed where that poor young Captain failed!'

‘I doubt it,' Anne smiled. ‘I must go now; there's still so much to be done. God bless you, Jeanne, you're the most understanding woman in the world.'

They kissed and the little Comtesse squeezed her affectionately. ‘Bah, I did nothing. As you've discovered, I'm not such a country simpleton either. Good night, my dear sister. Take good care of that little pin; it's worth more than all your diamonds.'

‘Did you find him?' Louise demanded.

‘No,' Charles said. ‘He left for Metz this morning; that's all I could find out. Stop asking questions, you're, beginning to bore me!' She shrugged and smiled. Louise was not hurt by his insults or frightened by his bad temper. She had never seen him so angry since she gave him that letter the night before; his dark skin had turned grey as she watched him reading it.

‘I beg you to meet me; the time has come when I can ask my favour of you. Send word where we can meet in privacy, or if you wish, I'll come to you. Ever your devoted O'Neil of Clonmere.'

He had folded it up very carefully, and this surprised her, until she saw that his hands were trembling.

‘You damned spying whore,' he had shouted at her. ‘Where did you find this?'

‘In your wife's desk,' she answered him. ‘Why call me a whore—it's not written to me!' Even when he slapped her hard across the face she did not really mind. And the next day he sought her out before she had time to seek him, and she knew at last that she was very near to winning him for good. She came up to him then and put her arm through his.

‘Don't trouble about it,' she murmured. ‘If he's gone, then that's all that matters. The affair must be over for the moment. Forget it, Charles. Ignore it.'

He looked down at her and smiled unpleasantly. ‘Is that why you went to so much trouble to collect the evidence?' he asked. ‘Because it's not important? You're being very obvious, my dear, not your subtle self at all!'

‘It was important to prove to you what she was worth,' Louise said quickly. ‘That was all I wanted. Now you know, you can forget about her.'

‘Oh, I shall,' he said softly. ‘But only after I've taught her not to disobey me. I warned her what I would do …'

She twisted round until she was facing him, and she locked her arms around his waist. She reached up and began to kiss his mouth; it was a particular trick which always excited him and she performed it with consummate skill and subtle variations.

‘Forget her,' she whispered. ‘Think what you'll do later. Come to bed now—there's plenty of time.'

He looked down at her, mocking and half smiling, and began to caress her shoulders; only the pale green eyes were cold with rage.

‘You're a great comfort to me in many ways,' he said. ‘Perhaps I don't appreciate you. I struck you last night, didn't I? Let me make it up to you, my dear Louise. I feel I should start playing the gentleman with you for a change.'

‘Make it up to me now,' she whispered, leaning against him, her eyes closed.

‘Oh, I shall,' Charles said. ‘And I'll do more. I'll take you to my wife's Hôtel this evening. You know how you enjoy these affairs. It would amuse you, my love, wouldn't it, to make an entrance with me.'

‘Charles!' She began to exclaim in her excitement, but he took her into the inner room and her cries of triumph were soon silenced. When he turned away from her he lay very still looking upwards at the canopy above their heads. She was too happy to speak.

‘If she's been unfaithful to me,' Charles said suddenly, ‘I shall kill her.'

There was a large crowd outside the gates of the Hôtel de Bernard; word soon spread through Paris that the King himself, the Dauphin and the Dauphine Marie Antoinette were coming to attend a ball in the de Bernard mansion, and several hundred people collected round the entrance and the surrounding streets. A great many beggars had taken up their station by the gates very early, and though Anne's porters drove them off with sticks, they crept back, dragging their stumps of limbs, their frightful deformities of face and body illumined by the torches flaring at the gates, until it seemed as if the entrance were a glimpse of hell, peopled by the whining, cursing, pushing monstrosities, some of whom carried blind or mutilated children as part of their trade. For a trade it was, run by the strongest and cruellest in the community of beggar brethren, and many of those, particularly the weak, the children and the very old, had been sold to the community, deliberately mutilated and then hired out to beg. The ordinary citizens of Paris kept a little apart, and the cutpurses moved stealthily among them, picking pockets and snipping the strings of the women's bags. Prostitutes too joined the crowd, some of them pitifully young, offering themselves for a few sous. A sweetmeat-seller and a woman with a tray of little cakes and rolls did quite a trade among the hungry watchers, and when the first carriages began to roll up to the gates there was a fearful outcry from the beggars who clutched at the horses' heads and tried to climb the carriage steps, yelling for alms. Sometimes a window opened and a few coins were flung out; fierce fighting broke out on the stones below and the coach passed through the gates and into the inner courtyard. More often the postilions and running footmen cleared a way for the carriages with sticks and whips. Inside the gates the great façade of the Hôtel was blazing with torches and there were lights pouring out of the windows. It was separated from the gates by a large courtyard, but some swore they could hear distant sounds of music, and there were many who insisted they could smell the rich food, their senses sharpened by hunger.

Anne stood at the head of the staircase welcoming her guests. The long stream of them crept up the stairs like a glittering, many-coloured snake, the women's wide skirts brushing against the walls, swaying like ships as they took a step upward, and above them their hostess sparkled and shone in the many lights in a dress of cloth of silver, the skirt and bodice encrusted with embroidered silver flowers and leaves, the hearts and stems of which glittered with tiny emeralds and diamonds. A short train of silver lace fell from her shoulders, and she carried a fan decorated to match her dress. The wig maker had surpassed himself with a creation so elaborate that Anne was afraid to move her head. Pure white ospreys flared out from the centre of a mass of grey powdered curls, and the hair rose high above them, falling in more curls down her back and across one bare shoulder. Strings of pearls and diamonds were festooned in the headdress, and a single enormous emerald blazed from the heart of the delicate ospreys. There were emeralds and diamonds round her neck and glittering on her wrists and fingers; their size and colour caused much comment and a good deal of envy. Their magnificence obviously annoyed the Duchesse de Luynes, who greeted her hostess with coolness and whispered angrily to the Duke that she would have worn her own famous sapphires had she expected such an ostentatious display. Anne's face was very pale, and the pallor was accentuated by a single heart-shaped patch she wore high on one cheek. When Charles first came in sight of her beneath the staircase, he hardly recognized the lovely, fresh-complexioned girl who had married him in Charantaise in the sophisticated beauty, gowned and painted in the extreme of fashion, wearing the fantastic emeralds which she had always sworn she hated. He felt a pressure on his arm; Louise had seen her too. And in spite of her preparations and her beauty, the mistress could not compete with the wife. Her scarlet velvet gown was cut with elegance and flair, its skirts enormously wide, her bosom as white as the lace which fell in delicate fronds around it, and she wore no jewels but diamonds, and they were the best she had. A single scarlet plume drooped in her jet black hair, and a narrow chain of diamonds hung in a point to her brow, ending in a single pear-shaped stone. Beauty and elegance she had, and for his purpose he was pleased with her. But there was no comparison.

Charles snapped his fingers and one of the lackeys on duty in the hall came running to him.

‘I am Monsieur Macdonald. Tell Madame to come down.' The lackey bowed.

‘Your pardon, Monsieur, but we have just had word that His Majesty's carriage is at the gates. Madame will be coming down to receive him now.'

There was an excited buzz breaking out among the crowds in the hall and those who had been waiting on the stairs were already turning back to line up for the King's arrival.

‘Come,' Charles said. ‘We will stand here.' He could see Anne making her way down the staircase and the shouts of the crowd outside rose to a roar of cheers as the Royal carriage turned into the inner courtyard. Lackeys with torches were stationed at the lower steps and Anne's comptroller and major domo were on either side of the entrance. She passed so close to him that the edge of her skirts brushed him, but she did not see him or the woman by his side.