Cassie came to Paris now and then and often the Countess went to London. We were now making a profit in Paris and business was flourishing in London where our name had been greatly enhanced. We were a big name in the world of fashion.
Three years had passed since Drake’s marriage to Julia and Katie was now eleven years old.
One day my father said: “I am going to take you to Villers-Carsonne.”
He had often seemed a little secretive when he mentioned it and I had the feeling that there was some reason why he was not eager to talk of the place, let alone take us there.
Now he seemed to have come to the conclusion that the time was ripe. He sought an opportunity, when we were alone, to talk to me.
“You may have wondered,” he said, “why I have not suggested you come to Villers-Carsonne before.”
I admitted that I had.
“It is near the place where I was brought up. It is my favourite vineyard. There we produce our best wines. I am there frequently, but I have never taken you there. Why? you asked.”
“I did not,” I said, “but I will.”
He hesitated for a while and then he said: “This is because I have much to tell you. Your grandfather, Alphonse St. Allen-gere, is well known throughout that part of the country. They say that he is Villers-Mure. It may be difficult for you to understand but Villers-Mure resembles a feudal community. In Villers-Mure my father is the lord of all, the grand seigneur. Monsieur le Patron. He is as powerful as a medieval king. It is a restricted community. Almost everyone depends on the silk manufactory; he owns that manufactory; and therefore they owe their livelihoods to him.”
”He sounds formidable.”
He nodded gravely. “He would not receive you, Lenore.”
“I realize that he does not accept me as his granddaughter. But should that prevent my going to your vineyard? That does not belong to him, does it?”
“It is mine. He does see me when I am there. Because I have done well and not through his help he has a certain respect for me. I am an undutiful son, he implies, but grudgingly, he allows me to call on him.”
”I think I should be inclined to refrain from calling.”
“One does not. He has a certain quality … and as much as one resents his attitude one finds oneself obeying.”
“I am quite prepared not to be received.”
“My sister Ursule will be delighted to meet you.”
”Will she be allowed to? “
“Ursule does not live at the house in Villers-Mure. She lives in Villers-Carsonne. She was disowned long ago. She defied him, you see.”
“Forgive me, mon pere, but your father seems to be a man it is better not to have to meet.”
He nodded. “Ursule was disowned shortly after I was. Louis Sagon, her husband now, came to the house to restore my father’s pictures. He painted a portrait of Ursule and fell in love with her—and she with him. My father had other plans for her. He forbade the match. They eloped and as a result she was cut off from the house. She married Louis Sagon and they settled in Villers-Carsonne. My father has never seen her since. She was more courageous than I was.”
“And she is happily married?”
“Yes. She has a son and a daughter. She will want to meet you. We see a great deal of each other when I go to the vineyard.”
“So that was two of you who were disowned.”
“Yes. Two of us disappointed him. My elder brother, Rene, however was a comfort to him. He is taking over a great deal of the work at the manufactory, although of course my father is still head of affairs there. Rene is a good son. And he has produced two sons … and there were two daughters … twins… . One of them, Heloise, died.”
“Long ago?”
”Twelve years or so.”
“She must have been young to die.”
“Just seventeen. She … drowned herself. It was a great blow to us all… and especially to Adele, her twin sister. They had always been close.”
“Why did she do this?”
“Some love affair. It was all rather mysterious.”
“It seems to me to be a very sad household, but then I suppose it would be with a man like your father ruling over it.”
He agreed sombrely. ”I want you to be prepared before you come.”
“I shall not think of my grandfather. If he does not wish to see me, then I have no desire to see him.”
“Ursule has expressed her eagerness to meet you. She is always urging me to bring you.”
“Then I shall look forward to meeting her. She is, of course, my aunt.”
“You will like her, and Louis Sagon. He is immersed in his work and appears to have little interest in anything else, but you will like him. He is a quiet, gentle, kindly man.”
”I shall be content with meeting them—and forget all about my ogre of a grandfather.”
In spite of the fact that he had prepared me in a way for what I must expect, my father seemed to view the proposed visit with some trepidation.
I said goodbye to Grand’mere and the Countess, and Katie and I set off with my father.
We travelled by train and it was a long journey from Paris. Katie was in a state of high excitement. She kept to the window, my father beside her, pointing out the landmarks as we went along. We passed through towns and farmlands, past rivers and hills. There was great interest when we saw vineyards and my father would cast a knowledgeable eye over them; we glimpsed several ancient castles—grey-stoned with the pepper-pot towers which were such a feature of the country. My father was growing a little subdued as we drew nearer and nearer to his birthplace. I fancied he was suffering a certain uneasiness and I wondered whether he was asking himself whether his father would hear of my presence and what his reaction would be.
They were to send a carriage to the station of Carsonne to take us to the house. He told me that they would know exactly when we should arrive as there was only one train a day.
It was a small station.
”We are lucky to have it,” he said. ”The Comte de Carsonne insisted on it. He is a very influential man. It was something of a fight, I believe, but the Comte usually gets his way in such matters.”
As we came into the station my father waved his hand towards a man in dark blue livery who was standing there.
“Alfredo!” he called. He turned to me. “He is Italian. Some of the servants are. We are very close to the borders and that makes us somewhat Italianate in certain ways.”
Alfredo was at the door taking the luggage.
“This is my daughter, Madame Sallonger,” said my father, “and my granddaughter, Mademoiselle Katie Sallonger.”
Alfredo bowed. We smiled at him and he took our bags.
My father was evidently a man of some importance in the neighbourhood if the respect which was shown him was any indication. Caps were touched and welcomes offered.
Then we were in the carriage driving along.
The vineyard was spread out before us. People were already gathering the grapes and we saw the labourers with their oziers, so carefully poised as not to damage the grapes with too much motion.
My father said: “We are in good time for the vendange. “At which Katie expressed her pleasure.
Ahead I saw the chateau. It stood on what looked like a square platform surrounded by deep dykes.
“How grand!” I exclaimed.
“Chateau Carsonne,” said my father.
“And does this Comte … the one who insisted on bringing the railway to Carsonne … live here?”
“The very same.”
“Does he actually reside there?”
“Oh yes. I believe he has a house in Paris … and probably in other places, but this is the ancestral home of the Carsonnes.”
“Shall we meet them, these Carsonnes?”
“It is hardly likely. Our families are not on the best of terms.”
“Is there some sort of feud?”