The Heiress (31 page)

She always thanked him, but the voice was low and far away as if it was an effort to speak. ‘What waste,' he grumbled, taking the plate away; there was a little meat and some rice on it, the daily ration sent in by the surgeon's wife, and a cup of fresh water. Most days the turnkey ate it himself.

‘You have no pains?' he asked her, staring suspiciously into the sunken, jaundiced face. She shook her head. ‘Call out if you feel anything,' he said. ‘I'll hear you. Call out at once, understand?'

‘I will,' Anne whispered. ‘Will the surgeon come?'

‘If he can,' the turnkey muttered. ‘You're not the only one here, you know. He has other things to do besides deliver you. His wife will be here, anyhow. She's got an interest in you, after all.'

‘She's going to take my child,' Anne said flatly. ‘If it lives.'

‘Aye,' he said. ‘Nobody does anything for nothing in this world … it's all she's waiting for. She'll be in some time today to see you, I daresay.'

He went out, locking the door behind him and shooting the thick bolt into place. He would be sorry when this one died. God knew what kind of trouble-maker would be sent to the West Tower in her place. He settled down on his stool in the dim passage and began to doze.

‘You're going to the King,' Jeanne said. ‘Let me go with you!'

‘No,' Charles said again. ‘No one is going with me.'

‘You think you'll move him,' his sister said. ‘You must be mad … the only chance might be a woman. I'll weep, I'll go on my knees. Let me come with you, I might be able to help!'

‘You will mind your own business,' he answered coldly. ‘Anne is my wife, and she's my affair. It's through me she's in the Bastille, and by God I'll be the one to get her out of it!'

Jeanne turned away from him; her pretty face was pale and there were shadows under the eyes from tears and lack of sleep.

‘What a death that creature de Vitale died,' she said. ‘And all to keep you. She must have been insane. It's a pity you were ever born! Oh my God, when I think of Anne in that place I could go mad! And she was pregnant too, and never said a word!'

‘Don't speak of that,' he told her fiercely. ‘Don't you suppose I'm nearly out of my mind thinking of her, thinking of the child too? I'll get them out in time if I have to tear the walls of the place down with my own hands!'

As the result of Katharine's pleading the Dubarry had done them one last favour; she had managed to find out from the Governor of the Bastille that Anne was still alive, and it had taken all the Duc's influence as well as her own to get him to admit that much.

‘She has probably miscarried,' Jeanne said. ‘In a way I hope she has. What time is it, Charles, isn't it nearly time to go to him?'

‘Five minutes more,' he said. ‘Don't worry, my dear sister, I shan't keep His Majesty waiting.'

The King was in his ante-room in the
petites appartements
, standing by the window with his back to the door when Charles was shown in. He heard the name announced and still he did not move; one of his hunting dogs was beside him and he stroked its head and let it lick his hand. He had not wanted to give this young man an audience, but the Dubarry had wheedled him against his will. She was difficult to resist these days; wicked, laughing, lascivious little enchantress. He had only to think of her to smile, and relent. When he turned round Charles dropped on his knee. He wanted a position, the King supposed wearily, or money, or some favour. He supposed it would be easier to grant it than upset the sunny humour of his mistress. She was in a strangely demanding mood these days, primed by that arch intriguer d'Aiguillon, but the King was too tired and his happiness too precarious to refuse her anything. He had been free of depression for weeks; it was worth a few orders for banishiment, even the loss of two Ministers, to keep the shadows in his mind at bay. Only the day before he had signed an order exiling the Comte de Tallieu to his estates for life and levying an enormous fine upon him because Dubarry said he had offended her.

‘You asked me to receive you privately, Monsieur Macdonald. What do you want of me? You may rise and approach.'

Charles stood up and came towards him; the dark eyes watched him warily with a glint of hostility in them.

‘I have come to ask Your Majesty for justice,' Charles spoke calmly, and he held the King's look without faltering.

‘There is always justice in my kingdom,' Louis said icily. ‘Explain.'

‘My wife disappeared from Versailles six months ago, Sire. I have only just discovered where she is. She is a prisoner, and I need your order for her release.'

‘Where is your wife, Monsieur?' The voice was flat and cold. ‘And what was her crime?'

‘She committed none,' Charles said. ‘She is in the Bastille, under a
lettre de cachet
. You alone can rescind that order, Sire, and right a most terrible wrong. I beg of you, on my knees, have her released at once.'

The King did not answer immediately; he said something under his breath and the dog moved away and lay down, watching him. He took a small pinch of snuff and sneezed into a lace handkerchief.

‘No one is in the Bastille without cause, Monsieur,' he remarked. ‘If your wife is imprisoned there by the means you suggest, then she must deserve to be. You have been misinformed.'

‘My wife is there because of a woman's jealousy. She obtained the order of arrest from you. I know that beyond doubt.'

‘You know a great deal too much.'

Louis said it in the same flat tone, but now the black eyes were narrowed and angry. ‘You contradict me, Monsieur. You say you have come here to ask for justice. Justice has apparently been done. If an order was signed for your wife's arrest then I wished her to be punished. I have not changed my mind. I have no intention of changing it. Your petition is dismissed!'

‘But, Sire, you didn't know … you didn't know who it was for—if you will let me tell you what happened, the injustice and horror of it—'

‘I neither know nor care,' the King's voice cut in. ‘Those who are in the Bastille are there at my orders. I remember nothing about your wife and I advise
you
to forget the whole affair. Do not persist, Monsieur, I warn you! You have gone far enough. Page, show Monsieur out—the audience is over.'

He turned his back on Charles and the double doors were opened for him to back away and leave. For the first time in his life Louis felt the touch of an inferior's hand upon his arm and he was so surprised he jumped.

‘My wife and unborn child are in that prison, Sire,' Charles said it very softly. ‘Now I warn
you
; I'm going to get them out!' He bent his knee again and then backed out towards the door. In the ante-room he came face to face with the Dubarry, the Duc a few paces behind her. She didn't even trouble to ask what had happened.

‘I told you you were wasting your time. I hope to God you didn't anger him!'

‘I told him I'd get her out in spite of him,' Charles said. ‘And I meant it. I'll go further: I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me!'

He pushed past her without a word. For a moment the Dubarry paused and looked after him. Then she smiled at the Duc and shrugged. ‘Arrogant fool,' she said. ‘I'll have to stop the King from having him arrested now. Why do you let me get myself involved with all these people?'

‘I can't stop you,' d'Aiguillon said gently. ‘You're incurably interfering and you have the kindest heart in the world. Go in and pacify him.'

Nine

‘No, I don't think any of those will do; show me something else, something much better.'

The little Jewish jeweller raised his brows and shrugged; the gentry were notoriously difficult to please and he had spread out the finest pieces in his stock for the gentleman to see. But still he and the lady with him shook their heads and asked for something better, always something better. They did not strike the merchant as having the wealth to indulge their taste, but he had done as they asked. Now he had had begun to give up hope of making a sale at all.

‘I have shown you everything, Excellencies,' he said. ‘This necklace'—he picked up a collar of blazing diamonds—‘rings, this magnificent brooch … If you were buying for the King you couldn't ask for better!'

‘We are buying for Madame Dubarry,' Jeanne de Mallot said. ‘And you haven't shown us anything which will please
her.'

The little man's brown eyes opened wide with surprise and then half shut as he began to smile; he reminded Charles and his sister of a monkey. ‘Excellencies, why didn't you say before … the Dubarry! Ah, this must be expensive then, but something different, something unique … One moment! One moment!' He put his jewels away, sweeping them into a black velvet bag and carried them into the back room.

Bribery was the last resort, but nothing was left to Charles now except the hope that he could please or tempt the Favourite into helping him once more. Her intervention had averted his immediate arrest, but none of his parents' powerful friends at Court not even his own Minister, to whom he went for help, offered the slightest hope that the King would change his mind and order Anne's release. Everyone gave the same advice. Accept the inevitable; it may just be possible to get the child if it is born alive and save that. But for Anne herself there was no hope. Even his mother gave up at the end of fruitless pleadings and enquiries; she broke down and wept and the sight shocked him; even she, so indomitable in her efforts, believed that all was lost. But Charles would not accept it; there was one hope, One last link with the King which could give him all he needed to rescue his wife. And that link, that hope, was the Dubarry. No, he interrupted his parents when they interposed, no, she wouldn't ask for Anne's release. He wouldn't expect that of her. All he needed was one thing, and she alone could get it for him. He needed a letter to the Governor so that he could get into the Fortress. That was all. The rest he must accomplish alone.

He had sold everything he possessed, his jewels, his horses, he had borrowed under promissory note on his estates in Scotland from everyone who would consent to lend him money, and he had collected nearly a hundred and fifty thousand livres with which to buy a present for the Dubarry.

‘He won't have anything,' Jeanne whispered. ‘We've seen the best. My God, Charles, we've been to every jeweller in Paris! Are you sure we shouldn't compromise and take the necklace?'

‘No,' he said obstinately. ‘She has a dozen better. Wait and see what he brings out. De Renouille said he always does this until he knows the buyer is determined on the best … Ah, at last!'

The merchant folded up the black cloth on which he displayed his jewels and in its place he spread a white one. He looked up into the worried face of the young woman with red hair, and from her to the dark man. They were very anxious; they would perhaps pay more than he judged they could afford. Indeed they'd have to, if they were going to find anything beautiful and rare enough to tempt the richest woman in France. He took out a small box and opened it between his hands, and laid what was in it in the middle of the white display cloth.

‘There, Excellencies,' he said softy. ‘There is something Madame Dubarry will appreciate.'

After a moment Charles picked up the single jewel that lay like a gleaming coal upon the dazzling white. It was a pearl, a pearl as large as a pullet's egg, shaped into a perfect pear and absolutely black. It hung on the end of a plain chain connected by a single black diamond as a mount. It was incredibly beautiful. Its dusky surface gleamed with a flawless patina, its sides were smooth and without the slightest crudity or bubble. Charles passed it to his sister; Jeanne held it swinging to and fro for a moment in the light.

‘A week ago I was approached by a gentleman acting as agent for the Dauphine,' the merchant said. ‘But the price was too high. If you can buy it, I think Madame Dubarry will appreciate it even more when she knows that Marie Antoinette wasn't able to afford it.…'

Charles put it back on the table. ‘How much?' he said.

‘One hundred and seventy thousand livres, Excellency. There isn't another pearl like that in the world. That came from Constantinople, from the collection of the Sultan. I'm not even making a profit at that price!'

‘Too much,' Charles said. ‘I have only one hundred and fifty thousand livres to spend. I'm not haggling with you; if you asked me a million and I had it, I should take the pearl and pay you. But I have only that much money and no more. One hundred and fifty thousand.'

The merchant shook his head. ‘My regrets, Excellency. If I were to rob myself, and say that I would take a hundred and sixty-five, what good would it do?'

‘Say a hundred and sixty,' Jeanne said suddenly. ‘And we'll take it. I'll raise the ten thousand,' she said to her brother, ‘but I can't do more. Here,' she unfastened the diamond and ruby brooch she wore and a fine matching bracelet and laid them down beside the pearl. ‘These will make up the price. But if you don't take it, we're not going to haggle over another sou!'

The little man took up the brooch and examined the stones in it; he did the same with Jeanne's bracelet. Both pieces were part of the de Mallot heirlooms, and the rubies were of superb colour.

‘Why should you do this?' Charles asked her. ‘He'd have taken my offer …'

‘No he wouldn't!' his sister snapped. It was impossible to be in her brother's company without quarrelling with him, even when she was trying to help. It would always be so, even though they were closer than they had ever been because of their efforts to rescue Anne.

‘I'm not doing it for you anyway,' she added. ‘I'd sell the clothes off my back to help Anne.'