The Song of the Siren (37 page)

I went out. They were talking about it in the streets, in the shops. Those who knew me looked at me oddly as though they were speculating about me.

Good heavens, I thought, they cannot think I had anything to do with it!

I came back to the house. That same hush, that whispering. As I went up the stairs I heard two of the servants talking together in one of the rooms.

“Crime passionnel,” I heard. “That is it. ... It is love.”

“Fancy having someone killed for love of you.”

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“Well, that’s what a crime passionnel is all about, silly.”

I fled up to my room.

What were they saying? What were they hinting?

Hessenfield came in late that night. I was waiting for him.

He looked unruffled. I wondered if he had heard of the body which iad been brought out of the Seine and the rumour that it was Matt ‘ilkington’s.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

I told him.

“Matt Pilkington,” I cried. “Murdered! There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake,” he said.

I cried: “You ... you did it.”

“Not personally,” he said. “It was decided on and carried out. The man was a spy.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“My dear Carlotta, you are new to all this. I blame myself for not seeing it earlier.”

I stared at him. Matt a spy. I thought back quickly. He had stayed at Grasslands for a long time when he was courting Damaris. He had talked of estates in Dorset and a post in the army. He was in the army in a way, I supposed, and was available when he was needed. He must have been having a long leave of absence when he was at Grasslands. Then I remembered. ... On the night when I had left England he had been near Eyot Abbass. Then events seemed to fall into place. He had known that Hessenfield was there. He was looking for him when he came to Eyot Abbass; and I had been vain enough to think he came for me! I was the excuse ... and a good one. It was because of him that we had narrowly escaped being taken. They must have been close to have shot at us as we rowed out to the boat.

“Matt was a spy. Suppose he and Mary Marton had been working together.”

Hessenfield nodded. “She got the information. She must have been hiding in the next room when we discussed it.”

“And,” I said, “she passed it on to Matt Pilkington. That was why she went out to meet him.”

“So I believe. It was fortunate that you saw them meet after she ‘eft. That put me on to him. He was caught ... red-handed, one

270might say. There were letters on him which exposed him absolutely.”

“And you killed him.”

“We could not afford to let him live. He was shot and his body dumped in the river.”

“And now he has been found.”

“And people are looking towards me,” said Hessenfield. “Do you know why? They

suspect

that Pilkington either was or was attempting to be your lover. They think I killed him out of jealousy.”

“That must be stopped.”

“On the contrary, no. That is what I wish to be generally believed.”

“But they will brand you as a murderer.”

“That does not worry me.”

“What of the law?”

“It is inclined to turn a blind eye here on crimes of passion. Besides, I can prove he was a spy. His was the fate spies must expect.”

“So they are saying that ...”

“Yes, and I want them to go on saying it. They know my devotion to you. They know Pilkington called often at the house. You are an outstandingly attractive woman.

It is for our enemies to believe that he was killed through jealousy, not because we know that he was one of their spies.”

I shivered.

Hessenfield put his arms about me.

“Dearest Carlotta,” he said, “this is not an amusing game, you know. This is a matter of life and death. We are facing death all the time, all of us. Pilkington knew it.

Mary Marton knew it. We live dangerously, Carlotta. And you’re one of us now. We die for the cause. We accept all that fortune throws at us if it is all for the cause.

I don’t forget that, ever. Death is always there ... leering round the corners waiting to catch me unawares. He is often at my heels. If you are afraid I could send you home. It would not be very difficult.”

“You would send me away? Then you are tired of me.”

“You are a fool if you think that. Don’t you know that it is because I love you that I would send you back ... away from our plots .. ? away from danger.”

I threw myself into his arms and clung to him. “I will never leave you,” I said.

272He stroked my hair. “Somehow I knew you would say that.” He laughed. “That was why I offered to send you back.”

We were wildly passionate that night; but I could not feel lighthearted. I wondered if I ever could again. There was so much to come between me and peace of mind. There was Damaris, there was Benjie, and now I could not get out of my mind the thought of Matt’s murdered body lying on the banks of the Seine.

271

I

273Two PAIRS OF GLOVES

It was not my good fortune to meet Louis XIV, the Sun King, until he had passed into the last phase of his life. He was an old man then and had been married for some twenty years to the pious Madame de Maintenon and was more concerned with the glories of heaven than of earth. He must have been about sixty-seven years old then and in that case he could have been on the throne for sixty-two years. He was indeed the Grand Monarque.

He was all that one would expect of a king and a King of France at that. Protocol was far more rigid at the court of France than ever it was in England. One little slip and a man could lose all hope of favour. I remarked that the life of the courtier must be a very hazardous one.

Hessenfield had primed me again and again on what I must do. He was perfectly at ease and like all friends of James received graciously by the King of France, for there was no doubt that at this time Louis must have been growing very anxious on account of Marlborough’s persistent victories.

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I was to be presented at the most magnificent palace in EuropeLouis’s own creation, equalling him in splendour: Versailles.

I had a special gown for the occasion. Madame Panton had been beside herself with excitement. She had fussed and chattered, gesticulated, despaired and rejoiced, and once or twice came near to fainting because she thought the cut or flare in my voluminous skirt was not what she called quite true.

But at last I was ready-splendid in diaphanous blue and discreetly scintillating with jewels, for as Hessenfield said, Louis’s susceptibilities must not be offended and he had been influenced by Madame de Maintenon for twenty years and she had subdued his tastes considerably.

“At one time,” said Hessenfield, “I should have been afraid to show you to him. He will admire your beauty. He is a lover of beauty in all things but now of course Madame de Maintenon has persuaded him that beauty lies in heaven not on earth. In any case he is an old man now. I wonder if I shall be pious when I grow old?”

“Many people become so,” I reminded him. “And the more sinful they have been the more vigorously they must wash away their sins. You will need to be very pious.”

“You too?” he asked.

“As vigorous as you, I fear.”

“We will scrub together, sweetheart,” he said. “In the meantime let as think of your presentation to the Setting Sun.”

Versailles! How beautiful it was. How impressive! I had never seen anything like it, nor have I since. We rode out in the carriage. It was some eleven miles or so from Paris. There was little that was memorable about the town itself. Perhaps that was why Louis had decided to build this most magnificent of all palaces there so that the contrast might be more striking. We drove past the cathedral of St. Louis and the church of Notre Dame in the quarter of Satory and swept round to the west where a gilded iron gate and stone balustrade shut off the main palace from the Place D’Armes.

I gazed at the allegorical groups on either side and the statues of France’s great statesmen and the enormous one of Louis himself on horseback. It was a most overwhelming sight. To the right and the left were the long wings of the palace, and as breathtaking as the

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palace itself were those magnificent gardens which had been laid out by Le Notre-the flowers, the ornamental basins, the groups and statues, the great avenue, the mighty trees and the green grass of the Tapis Vert.

Hessenfield said: “Come on. Don’t gape like a country woman. The best view is from one of the windows of the Galerie des Glaces.”

Faced with so many glories it is difficult to remember them all. I came away from Versailles with a jumbled memory of wide staircases, of rooms each more elaborate than the last, of pictures, sculptures, tapestries-a storehouse of treasure, a setting suited to the King who believed himself far above ordinary mortals, a god. The king of the sun.

It was not to be expected that we should be received here as we had been at St. Germain-en-Laye.

This was a very different court from that of the exile who was perhaps tolerated here largely because the Queen he wished to replace was the greatest enemy of the Sun King himself. It was the English and the Duke of Marlborough who were giving Louis cause for concern such as he had rarely known before. It was unthinkable that he should be forced to sue for peace and it seemed that was what Marlborough was attempting to force him to do. Therefore any who could cause the smallest trouble to the enemy was welcome and to be helped. So Jacobites were most graciously received at Versailles.

It was not to be imagined however that the great King of France would concern himself with those who were eager to be presented to him. It was necessary for the supplicants to present themselves in an anteroom close to the royal lodging through which he would have to pass on his way to other parts of the palace. There patiently every day those who hoped to catch his eye waited. Of course he might not come, in which case they would have waited in vain. They would come again the next day.

It was a great achievement, however, to get to this antechamber. “The first step,”

said Hessenfield. “But until the King has acknowledged you, you cannot go to Court.”

So we made our way to that part of the palace behind the Galerie des Glaces to that side of the court where Louis’s rooms were situated and found ourselves in the antechamber which was known as the Oeil de Eoeuf-so called from the shape of its window.

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Here were assembled a group of people, all elaborately dressed, all, like ourselves, waiting to catch the eyes of the King should he pass through that morning.

It was a long wait. I looked around the room at these people, all very serious, all intent on one thing, and some spirit of mischief within me wanted to laugh outright.

I wanted to say, Why should we all stand here so humble, so servile and await the pleasure of one man? I don’t care if he is the Sun King; I don’t care if his wealth has built this palace. Why should I? For what purpose? I thought: I will take the matter up with Hessenfield tonight.

I knew what his answer would be. “We have to keep Louis’s goodwill. We could get nowhere without his help. We have to keep him willing to help put James on the throne.

Yes, that was a good enough reason. And these others, what did they want? Promotion of some sort. So it was after all ambition which prompted them to stand there, ready at any moment to kneel in adoration when the scintillating presence was before them.

I was aware of a woman watching me. She was an extremely handsome woman with masses of dark hair elaborately dressed. She wore a silver grey gown and pearls in her ears and about her neck. She was very elegant. I thought something about her face was familiar and wondered if I could possibly have met her somewhere before.

She half smiled at me. I returned the smile.

A few minutes later she had edged a little nearer to me. “It is weary waiting,” she said in a low voice speaking in English with a marked French accent.

“Yes,” I said.

“I have waited yesterday. He did not come. Let us hope he comes today.”

I said: “You speak English well.”

She lifted her shoulders. “My grandmother was English.”

Conversation was not considered to be in the best of taste. One spoke in whispers while one kept one’s eyes on that spot where the King might at any moment make his entry.

“You are Lady Hessenfield?” she murmured.

I nodded.

“You are doing such good work ... such excellent work.”

277”Thank you. I am afraid I do very little.”

“You support your husband. That is good.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Elisse de Partiere. My husband was killed at Blenheim.”

“Oh ... I am so sorry....”

Silence fell between us. All eyes were on the door, for at that moment there was a stir of excitement.

The great moment had come. The presence was about to shine upon us.

With what dignity he walked! Of course he was an old man now, but the splendour of his garments dazzled the eyes so that one did not notice the lined and wrinkled face beneath the luxuriant wig. The dark eyes were shrewd and alert. There was something about him which set him apart. Was it assurance? He was so confident that he was above all other men that he convinced them that he was.

He stopped here and there to exchange a brief word with one or two of the elect and so briefly covered them with the glory of the reflected sun.

Hessenfield stepped forward, holding my hand.

“Sire, may I present my wife.”

The dark eyes, alive among the wrinkles, were regarding me steadily. I flushed slightly and sank to the floor in the required obeisance. The eyes brightened. He smiled faintly.

His eyes travelled from my face to my neck and bosom.

“Very pretty,” he said. “Congratulations, my lord.”

Then he passed on. It was triumph.

He had gone. The morning in the Oeil de Boeuf was at an end.

“What an honour,” said Hessenfield. “I might have known you would make your mark.

It’s not often he sees a woman as pretty as you.”