Season of Light (4 page)

‘I suspect he thought it best that I should know the worst.’ He gave her a quick, sideways glance. ‘I wonder; how did you come to be so radical?’

‘My closest friend is a woman named Caroline Lambert. Since a young age, we have spent many hours in each other’s company. Her father is a brilliant teacher and a minister. She and I have been guided by him.’

‘And the rest of your family, are they sympathetic?’

She was irritated by the hint of irony in his smile. ‘The rest of my family are glad that I have received, through Mr Lambert, an exceptional education, considering I am merely a girl. My father, as you may know, is a widower and was too preoccupied to see to my education beyond what my sisters could teach me. In any case, he has no money to spare. Neither has Mr Lambert, for that matter, but most of what he earns is devoted either to providing us with books or to charitable causes.’

‘Such as abolition.’

‘Not just abolition. Mr Lambert encourages us to confront injustice of all kinds. I have seen things, Mr Shackleford, that have made me unable to sleep at night. But you call abolition a charitable cause. To define it as such is to diminish it. I believe it is absolutely wrong for one human being to own another, and therefore an absolute necessity that slaving should be abolished.’

‘I admire your clarity, Miss Ardleigh, especially as I assume you haven’t encountered the iniquity of slavery yourself.’

She stopped walking. ‘You mean it’s much more comfortable not even to try to imagine the source of our tea and coffee. Mr Lambert would never allow such evasion.’

Shackleford’s enthralled gaze was fixed on her face. ‘Some evils, I fear, are easier to correct than others. I used to know a chap called Brissot in London. Met up with him again here, last week. He’s very hot on the idea of abolition. But he won’t find it easy, I suspect, to convince his fellow radicals at this point in time.’

‘Of course it won’t be easy.’

‘So I told Brissot. Nonetheless, he has persisted in setting up a society called Les Amis des Noirs, which happens to meet a stone’s throw from this very spot. It seems to me, most people will think abolition is a step too far. They’ll say that the French should concentrate on arranging some kind of elected parliament, then feed themselves, then free their slaves.’

‘Perhaps if you were a slave, Mr Shackleford, you would not be quite so eager for everyone to take their time.’

‘That’s certainly true. But I struggle, Miss Ardleigh, with how it might be done sooner. If we can’t achieve abolition in England, where the situation is relatively stable and most of the population isn’t starving, how can Brissot, in France? Fact is I’ve never seen so many hungry people.’

‘Then both evils must be cured, don’t you think? The starving in France and the enslaved abroad?’

‘You ask me what I think. I don’t have any answers. All too tricky.’

Asa bit back a scathing comment and walked on. He remained close to her shoulder.

‘We’ve been beating about the bush, you and I, Miss Ardleigh, but I’m sure you know my family wealth is built on slavery. I can’t help it, I’m afraid. My father and brother run the family business, I run myself, that’s how it goes.’

Asa gazed at him fiercely, her heart beating a little faster. ‘But don’t you see, now you’re in Paris and have listened to all the arguments, that you must act?’

He cocked his head and smiled at her devotedly. ‘Miss Ardeigh, it’s true, I’ve felt more purposeful of late. But the question remains, what should I do?’

‘Anything can be done, where there is a will,’ she replied sharply.

‘It’s all so straightforward to you, Miss Ardleigh.’

‘And is it so difficult for you, Mr Shackleford?’

‘It is, if you did but know it. Much simpler to stay on the move, turn a blind eye and get on with spending my father’s money.’

‘Yes, that’s certainly the easiest choice.’

‘But I’ve begun to feel that my ambition, or lack of it, has been transformed during the last few weeks. Oh, it’s not just Brissot and your friend Paulin. It’s you, Miss Ardleigh.’ He raised his hand as if to take hers. ‘I never imagined that I would meet a relative – even a distant one – such as you.’

‘Whereas I,’ she said, ‘would rather not be reminded of a connection that will one day leave me destitute, thanks to the entail on my father’s estates.’

‘Oh, my brother would never allow that to happen, I’m sure. And it need not be so. Miss Ardleigh, there is a way forward that is advantageous to us all. I have dared to think that with you at my side I could achieve anything.’

Appalled to realise that this was almost a declaration and that some kind of deal must have been struck between Morton and Shackleford, Asa said slowly and distinctly: ‘I will ask my friend Mr Lambert to send you pamphlets on your return to England. You could join the Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade if you wish. But I wonder if you’re serious? It seems to me that, for the last half-hour, you have simply been using the subject to form a bond between us.’ She looked about for Morton and, there being no sign of him, sat at the end of a bench and turned her face away.

‘Miss Ardleigh, if you would just hear me out. Left to my own devices I’m a fool, rather weak, I admit it. I don’t know which way to turn. With you …’

He had dared to sit beside her, was craning forward to see her face, but she held up a hand. ‘Don’t you see, even so much as an acquaintance with you is a betrayal of all the values I hold dear. I cannot believe in the integrity of anything you say when every stitch you wear is bought by slavery. In my view you are irredeemable. I beg you, never attempt to raise this matter again.’

She was actually shaking as she registered the shock in his eyes. He got up and stood a little distance away, turning his modish, flat-brimmed hat in his hands and looking up at the sky until Morton came back.

It was arranged that Professor Paulin and Beatrice would escort Asa to Madame de Genlis’s next salon. Having spent an hour dressing for the occasion, Asa presented herself to Philippa for inspection.

‘Well,’ her sister pronounced, ‘at least Paris has achieved what I never could: a well-turned-out young lady.’

This was a rare compliment and perhaps, Asa thought hopefully, something of an understatement. Georgina, by far the best needlewoman of the three sisters, though bitterly frustrated by Philippa’s marriage to Morton, had not allowed pique to get in the way of her love of fashion as she prepared her sisters’ travelling clothes. Asa’s gown was of dainty light blue muslin, the perfect backdrop to her mother’s sapphire ring.

‘Are you sure you’re not well enough to come with me?’ Asa pleaded. ‘I should so love you to meet Beatrice.’

‘Good Lord, Asa, she’d terrify me if she’s anything like your Caroline Lambert. I’ve been confined to these four walls for so long I’d have nothing to say.’

‘You always have something appropriate to say. You taught me all I know about how to behave in company.’

‘Nonsense. I don’t think any of us had enough practice at being in society, which is precisely why I’m so worried about what Georgina might be getting up to in London. Asa, you must make the most of every opportunity here in Paris. Perhaps Mr Shackleford will attend this salon and introduce you to his friends.’

‘I’ve never wanted any company other than that of you and Georgina, and Caroline,’ Asa protested, kneeling by her sister’s bed and burying her face in the quilt. ‘I feel so sad for you now; you are never able to go out even though all of Paris is waiting to be explored. How do you bear it?’

‘Asa, why these tears? I’m confined here for the best of reasons. Can’t you see how the prospect of becoming a mother means more to me than a few trips to a Parisian salon? Dry your eyes or you’ll have me weeping too, and what would Mr Morton say to that? It’s your job to have a marvellous time on behalf of both of us, and to tell me about it afterwards.’

Professor Paulin, who wore an old-fashioned black frock coat and whose eyes were a more faded blue than his children’s, smiled kindly at Asa. ‘My daughter has spoken highly of you,’ he said, ‘and I, of course, am delighted to meet any friend of Charles Lambert. Tell me how you came to meet him.’

In the presence of Didier’s father, Asa could scarcely utter a coherent sentence. ‘The Lambert family used to live in London but Mrs Lambert, as I expect you know, died of typhus and since Caroline, the only child, had also been dangerously ill, Mr Lambert brought her to Littlehampton, a seaside town within a few miles of my village. It’s typical of him that his first concern was to enquire about finding a suitable friend for her. He and Caroline simply called at our house – I was seven at the time and I remember these pale, sad strangers being received by my sister Philippa with great kindness. I had no idea then that they would come to mean so much to me.’

‘You were fortunate indeed if Lambert became your teacher. I spent time with him in Geneva and England as well as France and believe him to be a first-rate scholar.’

‘And yet so patient, even though we were only girls. He taught us Latin and Greek, as well as French.’

‘And, I don’t doubt, you learnt a fair degree of strong-mindedness, which is a common trait among young women these days, I find. If Beatrice is with her school fellows, the likes of Charlotte and Estelle, I hardly dare go near them for fear of being dubbed reactionary.’

When they arrived at the salon on the rue de Belle Chasse they were drawn at once into the clever, seditious talk.

‘We are in the absurd situation,’ said Madame de Genlis, ‘of being up in arms against the king because he wishes to reform our legal system – which is, of course, corrupt. We all know the
parlements
, our highest courts, are full of the richest and most privileged men instead of the most able. The
parlements
must be reformed. Unfortunately the king cannot see that, because
he
hates them, we find ourselves forced, through our antagonism to him, to love them.’

‘Madame speaks well.’ A voice by Asa’s ear, so close that her cheek was warmed by his breath. Didier. She had steeled herself for a long wait but here he was already. He drew her aside; his eyes were bright with joy. ‘You are here, Mademoiselle Ardleigh. That is all I ask. But there are wheels within wheels here. Madame de Genlis is on the side of her lover, the Duc d’Orléans, and he, gambler and womaniser that he is, makes a strange champion of the poor.’

‘Why strange?’ Asa was amazed that she could conduct a lucid conversation when it was as if a soft, thick cloak had been thrown over her.

‘The Duc d’Orléans is a philanderer. He loves the good life and possesses a fortune of seven and a half million
livres
. Yet he claims to be on the side of the people and has even been living in exile for the last year because of his radical views. Can one trust such a man not to be acting for the sake of expedience? It’s no secret that he thinks he would make a better job of ruling France than his cousin.’

‘And yet, if he were on the side of the king, you wouldn’t trust him either. What is the poor man to do?’

Didier smiled. ‘You’re right. In my eyes, he can’t win. Besides, we need all the friends we can get. But mademoiselle,’ again he lowered his voice, ‘later, if we can find a little privacy, may I have a moment of your time? I must speak with you.’

He was called away and for another half-hour they were apart, though not for a second was Asa unaware of him as he circulated through the crowded salon; his dark unruly hair, that mischievous smile, the sudden shout of laughter.

Eventually she came to rest by a window, ostensibly to watch the spinet player. Partially obscured by ornate drapery, she pretended to herself that she was not waiting for Didier. But soon he had worked his way across the room and was beside her, sitting shoulder to shoulder, so that both appeared to be intent on the music. The scent of him, an indefinable blend of soap and the musk of his skin, drew her closer.

‘My sister tells me you will be here in Paris only a short while longer,’ he said. ‘What are we to do?’

‘About what, monsieur?’

‘You are far too honest to pretend you don’t understand.’

She remained silent.

‘What are we to do? Even at the most unexpected moments, in the midst of a court case, my thoughts stray to you. There, I have said it.’

She ached with the wonder of his words but lifted her chin higher, staring blindly at the musician.

‘Will you meet me?’

Astonished, Asa turned her head and saw that he was very pale.

‘Please. If you don’t understand me,’ he said, ‘move away from me now. But when you look at me in that way … All I ask is that you will walk with me; that we should have time to talk to each other properly.’

‘A walk? Why, yes. That should be possible.’

‘Tomorrow, then. Four o’clock. I’ll come for you.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth.

This time he did not kiss her hand as he bowed abruptly and left her side, and it was that lack of a kiss, even more than the prospect of being alone with him, which ensnared her.

That night Asa was tormented by doubt. If she asked Philippa’s permission to go for a walk alone with Didier Paulin it would certainly be refused. If he simply visited her, they might perhaps sit together in the hotel parlour – that, surely, would be allowed. But it was impossible to imagine meeting Didier in that public space, choked by all they would be unable to say. And to walk with him on the Parisian streets, to see Paris through his eyes; how could she resist?

If only Caroline were available. Caroline, unequivocally radical in her politics, was equally clear in her principles.

Rousseau, Goethe, Shakespeare, all urge us to follow the dictates of our heart. Have we not always argued, Caroline, that we must love? cried Asa inwardly.

Not at the cost of duty, said the absent Caroline. You may meet Didier, of course, but why be so secretive?

Because we’re not like other people. We have no time for a slow declaration of our feelings. Already, I am sure that I love him.

Then tell Philippa.

She won’t understand. There’s no time. We’ll be leaving soon.