The Heiress (10 page)

‘Captain, here!'

‘Did you find me a bed?' Francis asked him.

‘A corner in one of the pavilions down there, Captain. I got some straw; there's not an inch in the place for a gentleman to lie.'

‘Straw will do,' Francis said. It was a fine night and the sky above them glittered with stars, but it was cold and he shivered as he walked across the great open expanse of courtyard towards the balustrade and the steps down to the pavilions in the distance.

‘Did you see the King, Captain?' Boehmer ventured.

‘I saw him, but he did not see me. No matter; we'll gain something here. I'm sure of that.' With his coat collar turned up he began to whistle, half running against the wind. He felt unaccountably happy, as if the King had given him a regiment. and promoted him to Colonel with a handsome pension He fell asleep very quickly, and as he slept he smiled as if his dreams were sweet.

‘That material, my dear Louise! It's exquisite! Where did you find it, I insist on knowing!'

The Comte de Tallieu picked up the skirt of Louise's gown and examined the pale yellow silk. It was cleverly shot through with palest green; it changed colour as she moved and the effect was very elegant.

‘There's a silk merchant in the Rue de Lyons in Paris,' she explained. ‘He had some excellent stuffs; you ought to go there, my dear Comte.'

‘I shall, at the first opportunity. I need some new stuffs for waistcoats and bedgowns. Unless the Dubarry discovers it and buys up everything as usual. The cupidity of that creature grows worse every day!' Louise laughed, and so did the small group of courtiers in the room with her; she was giving a small reception before the supper and a performance in the Trianon Theatre in which the Dauphine and the Duchesses de Gramont and de la Rochfoucauld were among the principal performers. It was to be a gala occasion; the Dauphine Marie Antoinette was a favourite with the King and she was fast making amateur theatricals fashionable. The. Court was perfectly prepared to see the plays of Molière poorly performed by amateurs provided that they were the future Queen of France and Princesses of the Blood. It also amused them to witness the boredom of Madame Dubarry who found the programmes far beyond her understanding and pass the time yawning behind her fan and whispering into the King's ear. Louise might be her protégée but she did not consider it necessary to be loyal when among intimates.

‘You should be careful, Comte,' she admonished the simpering de Tallieu. ‘You know she is a friend of mine.… Besides, I've no intention of revealing the secret of my little merchant to her. There'd be nothing left for me either!'

‘She's like a magpie,' de Tallieu continued spitefully. Nothing aroused his perverted malice more than the favourite's exaggerated femininity; her habit of exposing her breasts in fancy costume made him hysterical with disgust. ‘She has no taste, no discrimination, nothing but her gutter greed. Her apartments here are crammed with ornaments, furniture, valuables of every kind. As for that house at Louveciennes, it's a treasure-store! It makes one weep to see such avarice being indulged.'

‘The King can refuse her nothing,' a certain Madame Lalage interposed. ‘They say she's supplying him with different girls for the Parc au Cerfs, chosen by herself.'

The notorious house within the grounds of the Palace had been the inspiration of the late Madame de Pompadour. Unable to satisfy the inordinate demands of the King herself, the delicate and frigid mistress had encouraged him to install a brothel within reach of the Palace where his appetites might be satisfied by girls who could never rival the supremacy of the Pompadour. She had provided him with a brilliant variety of entertainments in which the Parc au Cerfs had its place in company with the finest productions of opera and the drama seen in France at that time. Dubarry had inherited her management of the house in the grounds, and when Louis showed signs of flagging with her she procured some novelty and made him a present of the woman. His interest never lasted more than a night or two and he returned, content and grateful for the Dubarry's efforts on his behalf.

‘Speaking of wealth,' de Tallieu remarked, ‘I saw your dear friend Charles's wife driving out this afternoon. What a magnificent equippage! What footmen, what horses!' He watched the smile leave Louise's face and he continued, enjoying her discomfort. ‘She's quite a handsome creature too. From your description, my dear, I imagined I should see something big-boned and ugly. You shouldn't be so grudging. She's quite exquisite in her way!' Louise turned towards him, her dark eyes glittered.

‘How you surprise me,' she said sweetly. ‘I never thought a woman's beauty could possibly interest you, dear Comte.… This is a miracle! I must see that Madame Macdonald knows you are an admirer.'

‘There's no necessity,' he said smoothly. ‘She has one already and she seems very content with him. I almost thrashed the creature a week ago in the Salon d'Appollon. He was insufferably rude to me on her behalf. I remember snubbing her a little for a ridiculously gauche remark she addressed to me; not knowing who I was, of course. As a matter of fact, the admirer was riding beside this splendid coach I was describing. Looking a great deal poorer than her footmen. It might be amusing to know who he is!'

‘It might,' Louise said casually. ‘But I doubt if Charles would be interested; he's completely indifferent to her.'

‘Of course,' the Comte agreed. ‘I'm surprised he isn't here by now—does he often keep you waiting, Louise? You should insist on punctuality, it's the least tribute he can pay you.…'

Louise turned away from him without answering. She detested the malicious, painted creature when his capricious spite was directed at her, but at other times she found him amusing and a source of useful scandal. He was also a persistent and vindictive enemy. Charles was late; she had been expecting him for the past half an hour; they had agreed to go to the play at the Trianon together. She had manœuvred this arrangement very carefully, for nothing would humilitae Anne Macdonald more than his appearance at such a function publicly escorting his mistress. If she remained at Versailles after that she would be a laughing stock. She had hardly expected the unwanted wife to present herself at Court; she had even enjoyed her humiliation and made as much a parade of Charles as he would let her. But she was still uneasy at Anne's presence. Incidents like that unpleasant exchange with the Comte always irritated her and undermined her feeling of security. And there had been many like it; remarks made in her hearing about the beauty and wealth of the lady and the number of people who were seeking her company. Louise had many enemies, and Charles had more. There were always those eager to inflict a little wound when they could, and her jealousy of her lover's wife made her painfully vulnerable. If one wish could have been granted Louise, she would have asked that Anne Macdonald be removed out of her sight and that she need never hear of her again. Perhaps after this evening that wish would be granted. ‘It is late,' she said. ‘I have only two hours in which to dress. I must beg you to excuse me, my dear friends. We will meet again at the play this evening!'

‘I look forward to it,' the Comte bowed over her hand and made a pretence of kissing it. He detested physical contact with women. ‘I believe the charming Dauphine has more enthusiasm than talent. However, we shall see!
Au revoir
, my dear Louise!'

Marie was waiting to dress her; the yellow dress was hung away and Louise stepped into a petticoat stiffened on each side with whalebone; her waist was pulled in by a corset so tight that she gasped for breath as her maid pulled on the laces. Petticoats trimmed with lace and ribbons went on over the boned hoops, and an underpetticoat of cerise brocade, heavily embroidered with silver. The over-dress, which opened at the skirt to reveal the cerise petticoat, was plum-coloured velvet, silver lace cascading from the sleeves and round the low neck. Louise had spent a great deal more than she could afford on this dress; even the dark red shoes with silver heels and diamond buckles had cost a fortune. But tonight was significant; she must look more beautiful, more richly dressed than she had ever done before, when so many important people's eyes would be upon her, and she would inflict such a brutal defeat upon her lover's wife. Anne's diamonds would profit her nothing; she would be alone at the Trianon, escorted by friends or even by the mysterious admirer that poisonous de Tallieu had mentioned, though if he were really poor he was unlikely to have been invited. The great heiress of Charantaise might have rooms at Versailles and rival the Dubarry with her jewels and carriages, but she could not command the attentions of her own husband, and the entire Court would be able to dismiss her with contempt.

‘Marie, go and look down the corridor; see if you can see Monsieur Charles coming!'

‘There's no need, Monsieur Charles is here in person!' He was standing in the door, and she ran to him with an exclamation and held out her arms. To her surprise he ignored them and stepped past her into the room. He spoke one word to the maid. ‘Go!' With a curtsy she fled, closing the door behind her.

‘Charles, you missed my reception,' Louise said. ‘I was so disappointed. Come, my love, what do you think of my costume?'

‘Magnificent; you have exquisite taste. I regret the reception, but I was with my wife.'

‘Oh?' She turned round quickly, her displeasure showing on her face.

‘Don't scowl,' Charles remarked. ‘It doesn't suit you. What is so surprising about what I said?'

‘Nothing,' Louise retorted. ‘Nothing except that you have seen her once or twice since she came here and tonight we had a special arrangement because of the play. I gave the reception to please you.'

‘I forgot,' he said; ‘and I haven't time to argue with you, my dear Louise. I only came to tell you that I cannot escort you to the Trianon tonight; I'm taking my wife!'

Louis went so white that the rouge on her face stood out in livid relief. She stared at Charles for a moment unable to speak, and a mad impulse came over her to slap her open hand across the mocking face.

‘You are taking your wife …' She repeated it slowly. ‘You agreed to escort me, and now you humiliate me in this way, leaving me no time to find another escort or join a party, telling me half an hour before we leave for the Grand Canal that you are taking your wife instead! It's unbelievable; I won't allow you to do this!'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' he snapped. ‘Why must you always forget that you're only my mistress? I didn't realize the Dauphine was performing tonight when I said I'd take you. Control yourself, Louise, before you choke with all that temper. If I choose to insult my wife that's my affair and I'll do it in my own way. But, by God, I'll not have you putting your claws into her! I should send a note to some of your odious friends to come and join you. Perhaps that nasty little pederast de Tallieu will oblige. Good night!'

As he left her he heard the crash of something striking the door and smashing in pieces, and he laughed. She was lucky he had no time to waste with her; his first impulse had been to go to her rooms and box her ears for what she had dared to try and do to Anne. His wife had come unwanted to Versailles and Charles could not order her to leave or employ force to make her, because the King himself had welcomed her. He began to hurry up the side staircase towards her apartments. He had sent her a message, peremptory enough, telling her to be ready to embark in one of the barges on the Grand Canal at six o'clock. When he came into her small room she was ready; Marie-Jeanne from Charantaise had come to Versailles with her, and as soon as she saw Charles she backed out of his way and shut herself in the tiny ante-room where she slept on the floor near her mistress. Anne was dressed from head to foot in brilliant turquoise; a cockade of white and turquoise ostrich plumes was fastened in her hair by an ornament blazing with diamonds; her throat was on fire with the same stones, and they were festooned over the bodice of her dress. He stood where he was and considered her. Not a word had been spoken.

‘Turn round,' he said.

She did so, moving slowly because her panniers were very wide and there was little space.

‘Very good,' he said at last. ‘A harsh colour, but you carry it well. Your taste improves every time I see you. Come, we shall be late.'

‘I had made other arrangements,' Anne said quietly. ‘I had no reason to suppose you would take me to the play.'

‘What a pleasant surprise it must have been for you,' he mocked. ‘I imagine you have cancelled your other arrangements and will not refuse to come with me?'

‘I have never refused you anything,' she said quietly.

‘Perhaps you should,' Charles said. ‘Try one day, and see what happens. Hurry now.'

She fastened a long velvet cloak of the same vivid colour over her dress, and together they joined the growing stream of people making their way to the coaches for the drive to the Grand Canal. The crowd was very gay; people called and waved to each other, and the atmosphere on the deck of the richly ornamented barge was as informal as it could ever be at Versailles. They took their places near the prow, Anne with her hand in his arm, holding on to him as the boat began to move away from the bank into the middle of the artificial canal, the oars dipping and rising in the water. It was a cool spring evening, and the barges were lit by torches; a small fleet of them was moving down towards the Trianon, glittering like fireflies in the dusk, led by the splendid State barge, carved and gilded and hung with silken awnings, where the King sat on a dais on the poop deck, with the Dubarry wrapped in ermine and silver lace beside him.

It was an anxious evening for the Favourite; even she, the spoilt indulged darling of the most powerful monarch in the world, was subject to worries and distresses, albeit of the most trivial kind. The Dubarry was constantly hurt by the refusal of the Austrian Dauphine to recognize her existence by speaking a single word. Marie Antoinette was very young; she was also very proud and inclined to display her moral rectitude at the expense of the old King and his disreputable mistress. And the mistress yearned for one friendly word from the young princess, one nod of the head, one passing sentence which would relieve the tension which arose whenever the two women chanced to be in the same room. A little gesture from the Dauphine could still the spiteful tongues and malicious laughter of all Dubarry's enemies. On this trifle a whole conspiracy was built; those who sought the mistress's patronage promised to intercede with Marie Antoinette, ambassadors and Ministers approached the intractable Princess with angry messages from the King himself, and still she made no sign that the Comtesse Dubarry inhabited the same planet. And on the opposite side, those who hated the Favourite encouraged and lectured the Princess on her duty to ignore her and give a good example to the Court. Sitting beside her lover, the Dubarry fidgeted with her fan and sighed and wondered if that night, perhaps, her enemy might relent and even smile at her after the performance. She had already determined to send her a gift of jewels and see if greed could succeed where diplomacy had failed.