There was some explanation. There must be.
‘What?’ asked Aimée.
As for Lance, he shrugged his shoulders. He did not want to dwell on the matter. It was a blow losing the jewellery, he agreed, but when his winnings warranted it, he would buy more for me. It was no use crying over what was done, was his motto.
Jeanne had gone and there was no way we could find her without a great deal of trouble and expense. Besides, what if we did? Should we take the flower-shop away from her?
‘No, let her keep it,’ said Lance. He had a grudging admiration for one who could devise such a plan and carry it out. If his luck held he would buy me bigger and better emeralds.
He was ready to forget Jeanne. He almost wished her well of her ill-gotten gains. He did not understand that her action had wounded me far more deeply than the loss of the jewels. His indifference about the important things in life exasperated me—especially when I compared it with his intense passion for gambling.
It was three or four weeks after Jeanne’s disappearance and we were back in London. The season had begun and although we did not go often to Court it was necessary to do so now and then. The new King was reckoned to be a boor and it was always the King and Queen who set the mode of the Court. This King had no Queen—or rather, he had, but he had put her away years ago on account of her suspected intrigue with Count Königsmarck. His German mistresses reigned in her place and on account of their lack of charm, as well as their rapaciousness, they were not very popular. So there was no great desire to go to a Court which was not in fact the centre of polite society. Queen Anne had called George ‘the German Boor’, and apparently the description fitted him.
Lance said he selected his friends and companions from people who were considered inferior—lacking wit, dignity and good breeding. ‘He feels more at home with them than he does with English gentlefolk. He lacks dignity in mind and manners.’
But Lance admitted that in some respects he served the country well, for although he was a good soldier, he believed that prosperity rested in peace; and he would therefore do his best to preserve it.
‘George is better for the country than the Stuart would have been,’ was Lance’s verdict. ‘Though with a Stuart we might have had someone who looked more like a king. Still, it is actions that count, and we’ll get by with George and at least his mistresses provide some amusement.’
He was right there. They did. They were both elderly and ugly, which perhaps said something for his fidelity. The fact that they did not speak English did not add to their popularity. They might have had the grace to try to learn the language of the country which was giving them so much, commented Lance.
He came in one day to tell us he had seen Mademoiselle Kielmansegge riding near the palace in her carriage. The people were shouting abuse at her as she rumbled past until she put her head out of the window and said in her own brand of English: ‘Why you people, why you hate us? We only come for your goods.’ That amused the crowd, especially when someone shouted: ‘Yes, and for our chattels too!’ and they followed the coach to the palace, shouting after it.
I went on brooding about Jeanne’s disappearance and trying to reconcile it with what I knew of her. I just could not. In spite of all the evidence against her I was sure that one day I must learn the explanation.
Aimée and I were going to Gracechurch Street to buy some material for the children’s clothes. It was rarely that Aimée accompanied me on these expeditions; she was usually content for me to choose for Jean-Louis. The two nannies loved to seize on materials and make them into clothes, for they were both considerable seamstresses. I was thinking sadly as we jolted along of how often Jeanne had accompanied me on these missions.
As we came into the heart of the city, Aimée said to me: ‘Clarissa, I want to tell you something.’
I turned to her, surprised by her downcast look. ‘Yes?’ I said.
She hesitated. ‘It’s my mother,’ she began. ‘She… she’s here… in England.’
‘Aimée! That must be wonderful for you.’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘She is a widow now. Her husband died. I thought she was settled for the rest of her life. Hers is a similar story to mine. Alas, her husband died with debts. My mother is very strict about such things. She always said that a debt was an affaire d’honneur which must be settled at all costs.’
‘That’s right, of course.’
‘When her husband died, she had enough to cover his debts… and little more.’
‘So she is very poor.’
Aimée lifted her shoulders in a typical French gesture. ‘She has… a little… a very little. I feel sad that I cannot look after her as I would wish. I did not have your luck at the time of the Bubble. If I had…’
‘Where is your mother staying? Is she in London?’
‘She is staying at the King’s Head close by St Paul’s, but she will not be able to remain there. I do not know what she plans. But she wanted so much to see me.’
I felt uneasy. I was very much aware that this was my father’s mistress. It had been a little shock for me to discover I had a half-sister, but to meet the woman who had shared my father with my mother was somehow distasteful to me.
I turned to Aimée. I had never seen her look so anxious. I pressed her hand. ‘But of course she must come,’ I said. ‘She must stay with us until she decides what she is going to do.’
‘I thought I would speak to you… before Lance.’
‘But of course. Lance will raise no objections, I assure you.’
‘He is the kindest man in the world,’ said Aimée emphatically, ‘and sometimes, Clarissa, I think you are the luckiest woman.’
‘I know I am fortunate. Lance is good to me.’
‘He is so easygoing… always wanting to make people happy. There are not many husbands like Lance, Clarissa.’
‘I am sure you are right. When will you see your mother?’
Aimée gulped. ‘Well… knowing that we should be shopping this morning, I told her. She wants to meet you. She will be at the mercer’s shop. She said that if you did not want to meet her for any reason, I could give her a sign and she would slip away.’
‘I hope you told her that was an absurd suggestion.’
‘I did, knowing how kind you have always been to me.’
‘I shall look forward to meeting her. Oh Aimée, you must be very happy that she is here.’
‘It is hard to be separated from one’s family.’
I could scarcely wait to get to the shop in Gracechurch Street and as we stepped from the carriage and the mercer came out to hand us in, he said: ‘There is a lady… Madame Legrand… who is waiting to see you.’
As we stepped down into the shop a woman rose from the stool on which she had been sitting. She was of medium height with quantities of red hair; she was quietly but very elegantly dressed in light navy with a touch of delicate pink in the frilly fichu which was all that lightened the severity of her gown. But she wore a large blue hat with an ostrich feather tinged with pink at the edges. Her appearance was distinguished because of its contrast, between something bordering on austerity and the extreme femininity in the fichu and the feather in the hat. She looked at me with an expression of wonder and awe. ‘So,’ she said, ‘you are Clarissa.’