The Heiress (3 page)

‘Get out!'

Marie curtsied and vanished through the door in the wall; she slept in a small closet where she could hear the Baroness's bell if she needed her. It wouldn't ring tonight.

‘You're so late,' Louise whispered, avoiding his mouth for a moment. ‘I have supper prepared for you … Darling beloved, you're tearing my dress … come and sit down for a moment.'

‘I don't want supper and I'm not going to sit down. Come to bed, Louise; to hell with the dress. I'll buy you another one!'

‘What with,' she whispered. He picked her up and kicked open the bedroom door. A table was laid for supper in one corner of the room; there were candles and flowers and the bed was turned down. The rooms were very small and in the upper regions of an outer wing, far from the main Palace buildings. It took almost an hour to walk to the
Grands apartements
. But Louise was lucky to have secured them. ‘How can you buy me a new dress when you're always in debt?' She looked up at him from the bed. He had flung off his wig and stripped off his coat.

‘I'll be a rich man soon. No more questions now!'

Louise held out her arms to him.

‘Silence me, then,' she said.

Louis XV was sixty-one years old and he had been King of France for fifty-six years. Those who wished to see him privately knew that the quickest means of entry was through the rooms of Madame Dubarry, and the best way of ensuring a sympathetic audience was to talk to her first.

In spite of her reputation Sir James Macdonald found it impossible to dislike the King's mistress. She was common and feather-headed; more than one disdainful nobleman and many haughty women had felt the sting of the Comtesse's urchin sense of humour, but in a Court where morals were a scandal, and the inhumanities practised as a matter of course, the Dubarry was no more vicious than anyone else and far better natured than most. She injured nobody and tried to help many; her greatest wish was to be liked and accepted. Her extravagance and lewdity were part of the day-to-day life at Versailles, and those who wished for the King's favour accepted both without comment. She was sitting in her boudoir when Sir James came in, looking exquisitely pretty in a loose gown of pale blue, sewed with pink and silver lovers' knots, and a fortune in pink pearls shining on her neck and breast. Her famous hair was gathered up by more pink and silver bows and an enormous pink diamond winked and blazed out of the mass of curls. The Comtesse was ready for His Majesty; she had found a street-juggler in Paris and, being delighted by his tricks, she brought him to Versailles to perform before the King. A select group of Dubarry's friends had been invited; after the juggler there was a singer and some musicians. The King was growing old so rapidly that it was necessary to stimulate him with songs and plays of such lasciviousness that even the Court was shocked. But the gay and pretty little courtesan knew better. She was no prude and they made her laugh. If they made the King affectionate and he wanted to sit and fondle her in public, and recapture some of his old vigour afterwards, why should a few sour faces grudge it to him.…

She gave her hand to Sir James to kiss and asked him at once what he wanted.

‘I know you want something, Monsieur, you have the look … I've been here long enough now to recognize it a mile off. What can I do for you—or what can the King do?'

‘Something very simple, Madame,' he answered, and in spite of himself he smiled into the lovely, impudent little face. ‘Something very simple which won't cost His Majesty a sou.'

‘By God, that'll be a change!' Dubarry giggled. ‘Everyone who comes in here has their hand out; it hardly leaves enough for me. How do you like my pearls, Monsieur? I've told your dear wife before that I really can't pronounce your name; it's quite impossible for a Parisienne. How is she, by the way? I wish she'd come and see me, but I know it's no use inviting her to one of my evenings.…'

‘She'll wait on you tomorrow,' he promised.

Dubarry winked at him. ‘Very skilfully avoided, Monsieur. Don't worry. I won't embarrass her or you by inviting you to see my little play tomorrow. I think it's so amusing I almost split my stays the first time I saw it.… Now, what is this favour that isn't going to cost the King any money?'

‘His permission for the marriage of my son Charles.'

Dubarry glanced up at him and made a face.

‘I know of your son, Monsieur, and if you don't mind my saying so, I don't envy the bride, whoever she is. There's a dear friend of mine who's attached to him. I think she's mad and I've told her so. But never mind, never mind. Go and wait in the ante-room; the King will be here in a minute. I'll call for you as soon as he's ready and before he sees my juggler. Don't worry, he'll give his permission. He adores to think of women being made to suffer. Poor little wretch. Until a little later, Monsieur.'

‘I knew the girl's mother very well,' the King said. ‘One of the biggest mischief-makers in France. From what I remember of Anne de Bernard she doesn't resemble her mother in the least. Is she agreeable to this marriage?'

James nodded. ‘Her guardian assures me that she will follow his advice, Sire. If you consent to the match the engagement will be announced next month after my son's return from Charantaise.'

‘She's very rich,' the old King said. His very black eyes looked past Sir James towards Madame Dubarry. She blew him a kiss, and for a moment the long, melancholy face softened and he smiled.

‘Very rich and well born; a quiet and modest creature, if I recall her properly.' He frowned, trying to remember. ‘Ah yes, delightful, very pretty. Your son is lucky, Monsieur. Very well, your arguments about your estates have decided me. You have my permission. You may go, Monsieur Macdonald.'

As Sir James bowed, he saw Louis yawn and hold out his hand to the Dubarry. He hurried out of the second-floor apartments which were the official quarters of the mistress, and went back to tell his wife that now the marriage could take place. He was also in a hurry to arrange the payment of Charles's debt.

‘There's no need for you to marry this woman! Why didn't you come to me? I would have mortgaged my estates, done anything—I would have found the money for you somehow!'

‘I told you,' Charles said. ‘There's more to it than the debt. I'm going to inherit my family's lands in Scotland—I need a rich wife; besides, my dear Louise, by the time you gathered the money together de Charlot would have had me sent to the Bastille, and you know how easy it is to get out of there!' He closed his eyes for a moment; he felt sleepy and relaxed and rather hungry. He wished that she would stop harassing him about his marriage. He reached out and brought her close beside him; he had only to touch her to feel his strength and his desire surging back. He kissed her shoulder and began to pull her down to him, caressing her; to his surprise she struck his hands away and sprang off the bed. He opened his eyes and looked at her and laughed.

‘You look very beautiful when you're jealous. Jealous and naked; both suit you to perfection. Stop being such a damned fool, Louise! If you won't make love with me, then at least give me some supper. I'm hungry now.'

‘You weren't when you came in,' she said. She covered herself with a long satin robe; her hands were shaking. Lying beside him, drowsing and whispering, he had suddenly told her that he was going to marry one of the richest young women in France. She hardly listened to his account of his interview with his parents, or the cynical way in which he spoke of the match itself. All Louise knew was that another woman would have a legal title to him, a woman she had never seen, a woman who was young and a great heiress.

‘How can you expect me to be anything but jealous?' she demanded. She came over and began tying the laces of his shirt; her eyes were full of tears. ‘You know I love you more than anything in the world. Don't do it, Charles, don't, I beg of you! I'll go to the Dubarry, she'll help me, she'll intercede with the King. He won't listen to de Charlot. And I'll find the ten thousand louis for you! You've no need to marry her!'

Charles took her hands away and finished fastening the shirt himself. He looked down at her with an expression she had seen once or twice before, a look of irritated boredom that frightened her more than his anger.

‘If you think that being your lover is more important to me than inheriting my rights in my own country then you're a very stupid woman. Do you suppose I'm going to be an exile, living on French charity all my life, just because my mistress doesn't want me to take a wife.…'

‘Don't be angry with me,' she said quickly. She turned away to arrange her hair before the dressing-table and control herself. One more tactless word and he would walk out of the room, perhaps never enter it again. She had often amused herself by teasing and provoking her lovers for the pleasure of seeing them come crawling back. Now it was her turn to abase herself, and she wanted him so much that she had long since lost all sense of shame. She pulled out the chair for him and without speaking he sat down in it and began to help himself to the cold meats and pastry dishes. She poured out two glasses of wine and sat opposite to him.

‘I won't mention it again,' she said softly. ‘You know what's best.'

He put down his glass and smiled at her. ‘You've no reason to worry,' he said. ‘She's my
cousin
… nothing will change between us. She'll learn to do what she's told.'

The Château of Charantaise de La Haye had been built in the fifteenth century by the Sieur de Bernard, who designed it as a fortress in command of his vast lands. Little of the original building remained; his descendants, notably the fifth Marquis, rebuilt it on the scale of an elegant palace, inspired by the splendours being carried out by King Louis XIV in his Palace at Versailles. The beautiful stone building was set in a valley; behind the park of more than a hundred acres, including woods, formal gardens, fountain walks and a fine orangery, land stretched out as far as the eye could see. Every farm, every field of grain, every tree, stream and bush, and every living creature belonged to the Seigneur of Charantaise.

For the last twelve years the great estates had been owned by a woman. There were two hundred rooms in the. Château and one hundred and fifty indoor servants, excluding gardeners, grooms, messengers, woodsmen and gamekeepers. There was a banqueting hall with a ceiling painted by Vernit, a library containing over a thousand books and a magnificent private chapel. The woods were full of game, for the de Bernards were great hunters; unlike most of the nobility of the period, they preferred to live on their splendid estates and make only token appearances at Court. Apart from her formal presentation at Versailles, Anne de Bernard had stayed at Charantaise.

A group of horses raced across the green parkland, and the sound of a huntsman's horn sang through the autumn air. Ahead of them a deer fled for its life, bounding over the ground pursued by a dozen hunting dogs in full cry. One horse galloped faster and jumped more recklessly than the rest and it was ridden by a woman in a green riding dress. As she had said to her uncle, Anne de Bernard saw no reason why she should miss an afternoon's hunting even if her future husband was coming to Charantaise that day.

When the riders came back to the Château the light was beginning to fail; the deer had reached the shelter of the woods where the horses could not follow it and the hounds were called off, yelping and barking with disappointment. Their mistress stopped at the foot of the entrance stairs and patted them, laughing. She adored the excitement and the danger of the chase, but she was always glad when the quarry escaped after a good run. A footman came to take her gloves and whip; the enormous doors of the Château were opened wide and inside the marble entrance hall, with its palisades and statues, servants were carrying boxes up the staircase, and her own steward of the household came running down the steps to meet her.

‘Madame, your guests have arrived!'

‘So I see—have they been here long?'

‘About an hour, Madame; Monsieur your uncle asked you to come to him as soon as you returned.'

‘Where is my uncle?' Anne asked him. She paused in the entrance and looked round. There were faces that she did not know, wearing strange livery, and a very thin, grey-haired little woman in a brown cloak shouting directions about the luggage in such a bad accent that even Anne could hardly understand her. But she recognized her; it was her cousin Lady Katharine's maid, Annie, and Annie was very much a part of their extraordinary story. She had been found a year after their escape from Scotland, the only survivor of the massacre which killed all her mistress's family, and brought over to France to join her.

‘Your uncle is in the Long Salon,' her steward said. ‘With your guests, Madame.'

‘Very good, I'll join them there.' She walked over to the little Scotswoman and touched her on the shoulder.

‘Good day, Annie. Do you recognize me after all this time?'

‘Madame Marquise!' Annie's reply was made in purest Scots. ‘Och, how ye've grown; I'd hardly know ye now from the tiny lassie I used to play with down here!' She curtsied, and her sharp, lined face turned pink. She would never have recognized the shy, ordinary child of years ago in this tall, beautiful girl with her dazzling smile. The change was unbelievable.

‘Have you brought my future husband with you?' Anne asked her.

The old woman's smile disappeared. ‘Aye,' she said shortly. ‘But don't hurry now—it'll do him no harm to be kept waiting! I can't believe my eyes, Madame, ye're so much altered.'

Anne laughed. ‘I always knew I was an ugly child. I'd best go and change my dress.' She looked down at her skirt; it was streaked with dirt where the dogs had leaped at her affectionately. ‘If there is anything you need for your master and mistress, or yourself, go to my steward Jean; only don't speak to him in English. He doesn't understand it. Good afternoon, Annie. And welcome.'