The Heiress (18 page)

At the open doorway she stepped out on to the top steps; from where he waited, Charles could see the tall, stooped figure of the King walking slowly up towards her, his gentlemen in waiting on either side, and a few paces behind him came Madame Dubarry, glittering like a firefly in a cloak sewn with precious stones. Anne curtsied to the ground and the King paused, offering her his hand to kiss, and murmured something which everyone strained to catch. From the expression on his face he appeared in a good humour. The Dubarry's gay little laugh was clearly heard as she greeted her hostess and Charles's face hardened angrily.

As the King moved into the hall with Anne beside him, he stepped forward and made a deep bow.

‘May I welcome Your Majesty to my house,' he said. ‘This is a great honour.'

The King did not betray surprise; the lined and weary face was like a mask. Charles bent over the hand of the Favourite; his eyes flickered over the Dubarry with insulting indifference.

‘Madame, your servant.'

Then he turned and came face to face with his wife. He offered his arm and when she placed her hand upon it he felt that she was trembling.

‘Let us escort our illustrious guests together, Madame,' he said. ‘As husband and wife should on such a happy occasion.'

Anne did not speak a word; they led the King and the Dubarry up the stairs and into the magnificent reception room, passing between the lines of Courtiers. They were quickly surrounded and the King signalled that his host and hostess might withdraw. Anne turned to Charles, her lovely face flushed. ‘Thank you'; her voice was quite unsteady. ‘Thank you for coming. My heart has been breaking all day, I was so afraid you wouldn't come.' He smiled at her, mockingly, so angry because her beauty had suddenly affected him that he could have struck her.

‘You disobeyed me,' he said softly. ‘You saw your mercenary again, didn't you?… Oh, I know all about it. What a pity he isn't here to support you, but I know he's gone to Metz so I felt I ought to deputize …'

‘Don't,' she whispered. ‘Don't be angry with me now, don't spoil everything now. I can explain what happened. I meant to tell you …'

‘I'm sure you did.' The light eyes glittered back at her. The King had left the room—they would see him next at supper. This was his opportunity. ‘You're so truthful, so obedient … everything a wife should be. Wait here. I have someone I wish you to meet.'

He found Louise below in the hall; she was standing very near where he had left her, and suddenly he despised her for it. He held out his hand.

‘Come,' he said. ‘It's time you were presented to your hostess.'

‘But the King—' she whispered. ‘How can we dare?…'

‘He's not near her,' Charles said. ‘It's unlikely he'll hear of it. Come on!'

Even the arrival of the Dauphin and Marie Antoinette and her haughty ignorance of the Favourite was surpassed by the effect upon the Court assembled there when Charles brought his mistress face to face with his wife in the supper-room and introduced her.

‘My dear,' his voice was heard very clearly by dozens of fascinated onlookers. ‘I don't think you know the Baroness de Vitale. Louise, my charming wife.'

For a moment the room swam before Anne's eyes; the noise and the lights receded and the face of the woman standing before her, holding Charles's arm, was a blur which suddenly came into focus and the moment of faintness passed. She had never fainted in her life; she had never been closer to it than in those few seconds as she saw her husband's mistress smile and for the first time heard her voice.

‘I am enchanted, Madame.'

Everyone in the room was watching them; the Duchesse de Luynes, still smarting with jealousy over the de Bernard emeralds, gave a little laugh. Anne looked at the woman whom the fashionable world knew was Charles's acknowledged mistress.

‘My apologies, Baroness, for not having invited you. As my husband's guest, I hope you will be entertained.' She turned her back on both of them and walked away.

It was dawn before the last guests left the Hôtel de Bernard, and truly everyone agreed that it was one of the best social events of the year; the King had stayed late and even been observed to smile now and then; the feud between Marie Antoinette and the Dubarry was still flourishing, and the hostess had insulted her husband's mistress in such a manner that the Baroness had called for her coach and left immediately with Monsieur Macdonald. It had been a memorable evening and the scandal would keep everyone occupied for days. The rest of the night was like a nightmare to Anne in which she moved and spoke and smiled and went through the motions of entertaining and enjoying herself as if she were one of those mechanical dolls which were so fashionable at that time. Generations of breeding and the code in which she had been brought up gave her the self control to hide the outrage which had been done to her feelings and to face the searching glances which surrounded her, watching for some word or sign to embellish the incident. It was such a small moment in her life, that minute or two when Charles came up to her and his words had been so few: but hours of bitter quarrelling and a flood of brutal insults could never have hurt her as that public insult did, deliberately delivered before a large audience, and with her mortal rival as the chief participant. As soon as the rumour reached them, her mother and father-in-law hurried to her, followed by Jeanne and her husband, and formed a little protective coterie around her. One or other stayed beside her the rest of the evening, and it was Katharine Macdonald who put her arm around Anne's shoulders when the last carriage had turned out of the courtyard, and led her upstairs to her room.

‘I've sent for James and Jeanne and Paul,' she said. ‘Come, my poor child, you must be undressed at once. Marie-Jeanne!'

It had taken nearly four hours to dress Anne; in half an hour the gorgeous dress was put away, the wig removed and her own hair brushed out. She was dressed in a warm robe lined with fur over her nightgown and at Katharine's insistence she drank a little cognac.

‘I'm quite all right,' she said. ‘I promise you, I'm only tired. It's been a long night.'

‘You look exhausted,' Katherine said. ‘Finish that, it'll restore you a little. Marie-Jeanne, bring Madame a rug for her knees!'

A little later, James Macdonald and Jeanne and her husband came upstairs; Anne's father-in-law came over to the sofa where she was wrapped up and bending down he kissed her.

‘A most wonderful evening, a superb success. You will be the toast of the Court after tonight; I heard someone say the King was delighted.' Anne smiled at him; her control was weakening now, surrounded by the loving solicitude of her relations she felt the tears rising and in the middle of the smile, her mouth began to tremble.

‘Don't you think we should put Anne to bed and leave this till the morning?' Sir James asked his wife.

Katharine shook her head. ‘No, it must be done now. Otherwise she may weaken; I'm not being harsh, my love. This is for Anne's own good. If her mother were here, she would insist upon it. I must insist in her place.'

‘What do you mean, Madame Mama?' Anne said. Jeanne came over and put her arms round her.

‘We managed to have a family conference tonight, while the last guests were leaving,' she explained. ‘Mama, you'd better tell Anne; I don't think she'll listen to me.'

‘After what my son did tonight, I think she'd be well advised to listen to anyone,' Katharine spoke firmly. ‘We proposed this marriage; we forced Charles into it by threats, and I'm afraid we influenced your uncle to influence you. He will agree that now it is entirely our affair. Anne, after what Charles did tonight in front of the whole Court, you have got to separate from him. Officially! You have no alternative!'

For some moments there was silence; the will of the older woman seemed to fill the room; as if to confirm what she had said, her husband reached out and took her hand. ‘We will support you,' Sir James said. ‘We will support the petition in the courts and I will use my influence with the King. You cannot be subjected to this kind of treatment, and I know perfectly well there's no use appealing to my son. He is beyond decency.'

‘He always was,' Jeanne interposed fiercely. ‘There's not a single human feeling in him.'

‘They're right, you know, Anne.' For the first time the Comte de Mallot spoke; he had very kind brown eyes and Anne suddenly thought how wise their expression was and how compassionate. In a flash of instinct she knew that he was well aware of Jeanne's one desperate indiscretion.

‘You cannot ignore what happened tonight. If you do, you will become a laughing stock. Society is very cruel, my dear. It saw your humiliation, in many ways it sympathized, probably because your husband is a foreigner and very much disliked. But it will have no pity for you if you show weakness now. You have nothing to gain by forgiving him and everything to lose.'

‘Paul is right,' Katharine said quickly. ‘Think what this means. If he ever came to you again, would you receive him? Would you submit, after tonight?'

Anne raised her head.

‘No,' she answered. ‘I don't think I will ever speak to him again. I would rather he had killed me than humiliate me with that woman.'

‘I'm glad to hear you say it,' Katharine came over and embraced her.

Anne thought suddenly that they were all overflowing with tenderness towards her because she was agreeing to break up her marriage. She had an hysterical impulse to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead she said wearily: ‘The marriage is finished. I know that.'

She looked from one to the other of them and at last the tears began to flow, silently, down her pale face. ‘I believed that in his way he loved me a little,' she said. ‘When I saw him here tonight, I was sure of it; I was sure that he was cruel over Francis O'Neil because he was jealous. But I was wrong. His pride was hurt; nothing had touched his heart. Nothing I do will ever touch it. So he punished me with that woman, humiliating me before the world. If he had loved me, he'd have taken me up here and broken every bone in my body if he suspected anything. But when he brought that woman here and made me speak to her … I knew then what a fool I'd been. I'll do as you advise. I shall separate from him.'

‘Thank God.' Katharine kissed her. ‘Sir James will see him tomorrow and tell him he is forbidden to enter this house or molest you in any way; if he does so, his own father will lodge a complaint against him. The best possible thing would be for him to go to Scotland and not return. After all,' she added bitterly, ‘the whole marriage was proposed to make that possible. Thanks to your settlement, our estates are saved. Oh, my poor Anne, can you ever forgive us?'

‘Of course she can,' Jeanne said quickly. ‘Just so long as she never forgives him.' She bent very close to Anne and whispered: ‘You need a change. Go down to Metz!'

‘I'm tired,' Anne said. ‘I beg of you, excuse me now. I'll do exactly what you think I should. And I'd be very grateful to you, Monsieur Papa, if you will see him …' Her voice faltered. ‘And make sure he doesn't come near me … I don't think I could bear it.'

‘You can be sure of that,' Sir James promised. ‘Come, Katharine, and let Anne go to bed now. Jeanne, you will come back later today when she is rested?'

‘I shall stay here, instead of the Hôtel if Anne wants me,' Jeanne said. ‘But I'll talk about that later on. Good night, my poor sister. God bless you. And think over what I've suggested, it might be exactly what you need.'

When they had left and she was at last in bed, tucked in by Marie-Jeanne, the curtains drawn to shut out the daylight, Anne lay very still. She was no longer able to cry; she felt unspeakably empty, almost as if she had been drugged and the pain which she knew was raging in her had not come through. It was all over. The poor fantasy that he cared for her, the hopes she had bred out of his selfish lust and brutal pride were dissipated like smoke. He had never loved her; he had abused her and neglected her and then tortured her by moments of happiness, like the evening at the Trianon when they saw the Molière comedy and he had come back to her later that night. He had used her too, casually, as if she were a possession, and because she loved him so, she had submitted. She had spent a fortune trying to compete in the fashionable world which was naturally alien to her, abjuring the simple life at Charantaise she loved, all in the attempt to win him from the woman who had looked into her face with dark, triumphant eyes that night, holding tightly to her lover's arm. And while he lived openly with his mistress, she had sent away the fine and honourable man who loved her, a man a thousand times more worthy than Charles Macdonald could ever be. ‘Go down to Metz.' Jeanne's words came back to her in the dark room, and she repeated them aloud. Abandon the hopeless quest for the love of her husband, and find what consolation she could with Francis O'Neil. It was not a temptation; it was a decision, made with the coldness that comes from absolute despair when only pride is left. It would take a little time to close up the Hôtel; she felt a sense of loathing for the great house. Once that was done and she had obtained permission to retire from Versailles, she would take Jeanne's advice and go to Francis. There was nothing left for her but that. At last she fell asleep, and when she woke it was late afternoon and her pillows were quite wet with tears.

Three days later the signs of the great ball had all been cleared away and the reception rooms were being closed up once more, the furniture and pictures stacked away and shrouded in dust sheets. Some of the staff had been dismissed and Anne was already supervising the removal of her clothes and valuables. She had written, begging the King's permission to retire for a time from Versailles; she gave her health as the excuse. She received permission by messenger to absent herself from His Majesty's presence. Now nothing prevented her from making the final arrangements to shut up the Hôtel and go to Metz. Nothing but her own disinclination and the letter to Francis which she had not yet written. There was no reason to delay it now. She had only to go to her writing table and begin; a short note, avoiding explanations, just telling him that she had changed her mind and was coming to him after all. She could imagine his joy; she could imagine the scene when they met and how he would run forward and take her in his arms. She could imagine further still to the moment when she became his mistress. It would be different from the night Charles came drunk into her room and took her virginity with such violence. Francis would be gentle, tender. The thought of it made her feel oddly light-headed, as if it were all a dream and would never become reality. Anne put the writing paper away and got up. She decided to write that evening; she was tired out and the room was suddenly stifling hot. As she went to open the window, her legs began to tremble; waves of heat flowed over her to be followed immediately by a sense of being icy cold. She made a last effort to get to the window but the floor slid from under her as if the whole house were a ship rolling at sea. She fell unconscious to the floor and that was how Marie-Jeanne found her a few minutes later.