“I see.”
We had both received large sums of money on our marriages. It was all part of some settlement. I think the sums had been equal. Mine was invested and Edward never suggested touching it. The interest came to me and remained mine.
“All I have to do is sign the documents when they come along,” said Amaryllis.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know. Papers about money and all that. You see, I’m a shareholder. Peter manages all that.”
“So your fortune is in his business?”
“It’s a joint affair … only Peter does all the work.”
“And you supply the money?”
“My dear Jessica, Peter did not become rich only when he married me. He was far more wealthy than I before that. He is just allowing me to share in what he has. I do nothing. I don’t understand it. Really, Jessica, what should I know about importing rum and sugar and distributing it to people who want to buy it?”
“Nothing at all, I should imagine.”
She changed the subject, but it set me thinking. He was using her money for this big business in London. Was that why he had married her—so that he could use her money?
I suppose I was really trying to find an excuse for his turning to her. But it did not make sense. I was equally well endowed. There was absolutely no reason why he should have switched his attentions to her except that he found her more attractive.
It was natural. She was sweet and gentle and very pretty. I was abrasive, questioning everything, asserting myself, rather conceited. There was every reason why he should have preferred her.
She was more amenable, of course. Had I been involved in this business with rum and sugar, I should have wanted to know more about it. I should have wanted to see the warehouses; I should have wanted to see the accounts. Not that I was particularly interested in money; I just liked to be aware of all that was happening.
Why should I seek reasons? It did not matter. He had chosen her. I had not been in love with him … just flattered by his attentions and perhaps finding in him a certain sensuality which kindled something in myself. No, I had not been in love with Peter Lansdon, but sometimes I think I might have begun to be … a little.
I would stop thinking about him, The real source of my envy was the baby. She had brought home to me that while I remained Edward’s wife I could not have a child.
There was a sense of euphoria across the whole country now that the ogre who had haunted our lives for so long was in exile. We could go about our peaceful existences without fears of invasion.
“The French should never allow such a man to arise again,” commented my father.
“I think,” replied my mother, “that the French nation adored that man. They looked upon him as a sort of god.”
“What I meant was that we must never allow the French to produce such a man again.”
“Or any nation for that matter,” added my mother. “Why can’t people see how much happier we should all be living peacefully with our families … not hankering after great conquests.”
“Unfortunately,” said David, “it is not the people who decide. It is the so-called great men.”
“They may gain glory for themselves but they certainly bring misery to millions. I wonder what he is thinking of grinding his teeth on Elba.”
“Thinking of escape no doubt,” said my father.
“That must never happen,” added my mother.
Napoleon was finished, everyone said. He was not the first man who had dreamed of conquering the world and doubtless would not be the last. But eventually he had been brought to defeat and we could sleep in peace.
It was a lovely May afternoon when we had visitors. I was at Eversleigh sitting in the garden with my mother, Claudine and Amaryllis, when one of the maids came out to say that two gentlemen had called to see my mother. “Foreigners,” she added.
“Did they give their names?” asked my mother.
“No, Madam. They just said to see you.”
“Bring them out,” said my mother.
And they came.
My mother stared; then she grew pale and I thought she was going to faint. Claudine had risen; she gave a little cry.
Then my mother said faintly: “Is it really … ?” And with a little cry she flung herself into the arms of the elder of the men. The younger stood by, looking on in a bewilderment which was shared by Amaryllis and myself.
“Charlot… Charlot…” cried my mother.
Claudine stammered: “Oh Charlot, is it really you?”
And she embraced him too.
Charlot! My mother’s son—my half brother, who had left England before I was born.
“My dear dear son,” my mother kept murmuring. “To think … after all these years …”
“I came as soon as it was possible,” he said. “It seems so long … You recognized me.”
“My dear boy, as if I should fail to do so.”
“This is Pierre, my son.”
My mother took the hands of the younger one and stared at him. Then she kissed him on both cheeks. “Just think, you are my grandson. And this is your Aunt Claudine … Charlot, Jessica is my daughter … your half sister … and Amaryllis, she is David and Claudine’s daughter.”
“Much has happened since I left.”
“All those years …” said my mother. “It has been a long time to wait. Now tell me … You will stay with us for a while. This is not to be a brief visit. There is so much to talk of. All those years to account for …”
“I should have been here before only travelling was out of the question.”
“Thank God it is over and the tyrant is in exile.”
“We have a king on the throne of France now, Maman.”
There were tears in her eyes as she said: “You were always such a royalist, dear Charlot.” She went on briskly: “Amaryllis, will you go and tell them to prepare rooms. See what’s going on in the kitchens. Tell them my son and grandson have come home!”
My mother had eyes only for him. I realized how saddened she had been by his departure. It must have been more than twenty years since she had seen him. Wars! Revolutions! They did not only ruin states, they brought havoc into the lives of countless families. How we had suffered through them!
Now there was rejoicing. The prodigal had come home.
When my mother had recovered from her emotion a little, we sat in the garden and Charlot told us about his vineyard in Burgundy. Louis Charles would have liked to come with him but they had thought it would be unwise for the two of them to be away together.
Pierre was his eldest son. He was sixteen years of age and was learning about the production of wine. There were two other sons, Jacques and Jean-Christophe; and two daughters, Monique and Andree.
“What a family man you have become!”
My father came to join us. He expressed amazement to see Charlot. He liked the look of young Pierre and was quite interested in the talk about the vineyards; and in any case, he was pleased to see my mother so happy.
I had never seen her so completely content. All through the years she must have felt this nagging sense of loss, as I suppose one must if one lost a son. The thought that he was there just across the water must have been with her for a long time. Death is irrevocable and one can do no good by remembering, but when a loved one is alive, and separated by a devastating war there must always be the fear, the longing for reunion, the continual doubts, the question as to whether one will see that loved one again.
I said goodbye and left them on the lawn. I went back and told Edward all about it.
There would be great rejoicing at Eversleigh that night. I wished I could have been there to share in it.
Charlot stayed at Eversleigh for two weeks and when he left it was with assurances that he would come back, bringing other members of his family with him; and Louis Charles would come with his two sons.