‘Please come with me,’ said Sophie.
‘Thank you,’ I replied and was glad that Jean-Louis had taught me French. His mother had been French and although he was very young when she left him, he had a natural aptitude and had kept it by reading in that language; and he taught me to speak and write it. My mother had been eager for this. I saw now that it was because my real father was French. This now enabled me to converse easily with Sophie.
I followed her up the staircase and finally we came to my room. It was very grand, with a four-poster bed, the curtains of which were moss green with a tracery of gold thread; they matched those at the windows and the colours were brought out in the Aubusson carpets which added such luxury to the room.
‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ said Sophie formally. ‘Here is the ruelle where you will make your toilette.’
This was a curtained-off alcove in which was all that was needed for my comfort.
‘The saddle horses had already come with your baggage. It has been put here.’
I had an idea that she was trying to act as normally as possible to hide her astonishment at the revelation of our relationship.
I wanted to know how she felt and I couldn’t resist asking: ‘What did you think when your father told you who I was?’
She lowered her eyes and fumbled for words, and I was suddenly sorry for her because she seemed afraid of life—something I promised myself I would never be—and she was also afraid of her father with whom I had quickly become on easy terms.
I tried to help her. ‘It must have been a great shock to you.’
‘That you should exist?’ she said. ‘Well … no … These things happen. That he should bring you to the castle and introduce you like that’ she lifted her shoulders ‘well, yes. I was a little surprised because …’
‘Because I have only come on a short visit?’
‘That’s what I mean. If you had been going to live here with us …’
She paused. She had an irritating habit of not finishing her sentences; but perhaps that was due to the shock she had received. She was right. As I was merely a visitor I could have been introduced as such at first and then if the Comte wanted to break the news of our relationship he might have done so less abruptly.
‘I find it all wonderfully exciting,’ I said. ‘To find I have a sister is so thrilling.’
She looked at me rather bashfully and said: ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
At that moment the door opened and a face appeared.
‘Oh, it’s you, Lisette,’ said Sophie. ‘I might have guessed.
A girl came into the room. She could not have been much older than I—a year or two at the most. She was very pretty with fair curling hair and sparkling blue eyes.
‘So she is here …’ Lisette tiptoed into the room and surveyed me.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I am delighted to be able to return the compliment.’
‘You speak … prettily. Doesn’t she, Sophie? Not quite French but none the worse for that. Is that your first visit to France?’
‘Yes.’ I looked from her to Sophie. ‘Who are you?’
The girl answered: ‘Lisette. I live here. I am the niece of Madame la Gouvernante, the Femme de Charge. La Tante Berthe is a very important lady, is she not, Sophie?’
Sophie nodded.
‘I have been here since I was six years old,’ went on Lisette. ‘I am now fourteen. The Comte is very fond of me. I take lessons with Sophie and although I am merely the niece of La Gouvernante I am an honoured member of the household.’
‘I am delighted to meet you.’
‘You are very young to be a friend of the Comte. But they say the King sets the fashion and we all know how it is at Versailles.’
‘Hush, Lisette,’ said Sophie, flushing hotly. ‘I must tell you what Papa has just told me. Lottie is … his daughter. She is my sister …’
Lisette stared at me; the colour flooded her cheeks and her eyes shone like sapphires.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Whether you do or not, it makes no difference. He has told me and that is why she is here.’
‘And … your mother?’ Lisette was looking at me questioningly.
‘My mother is in England,’ I told her. ‘I have just come for a visit.’
Lisette continued to look at me as though she saw me in a new light.
‘Did the Comte visit her often?’
I shook my head. ‘They hadn’t seen each other for years. I only knew he was my father when he visited us a short time ago.’
‘It is all so odd,’ said Lisette. ‘I don’t mean your being a bastard. Heaven knows there are plenty of them about. But not to see you all those years and then to bring you here and make no secret about it.’
‘My father feels he does not have to keep secrets,’ said Sophie.
‘No,’ said Lisette quietly. ‘He acts as he wishes and everyone must accept that.’
‘Lottie wants to wash and change. I think we should leave her now.’
With that she took Lisette’s arm and led her out of the room and Lisette seemed to have been so overcome by the news of my identity that she went docilely.
‘Thank you, Sophie,’ I said.
I found a dress in my baggage—hardly suitable to the grandeur of the château but it was of a deep blue shade which matched my eyes and I knew was becoming. In due course Sophie arrived to take me down. She had changed, but her dress did no more for her than the one in which I had first seen her.
She said: ‘I don’t know what you thought of Lisette. She had no right to come in as she did.’
‘I thought her interesting, and she is very pretty.’
‘Yes.’ Sophie looked rueful as though regretting her lack of claim to that asset. ‘But she does give herself airs. She is only the housekeeper’s niece.’
‘I gather the housekeeper is a very important person in the château.’
‘Oh yes. She looks after the domestic side … the kitchens and the maids and the running of the whole place. There is a good deal of rivalry between her and Jacques, who is the major-domo. But my father has been very good to Lisette, having her educated here. I think it is part of the bargain he made when Tante Berthe came. I always call her Tante Berthe because Lisette does. Actually she is Madame Clavel. I don’t think she is really Madame but she calls herself that because it is better for a position of authority than Mademoiselle. She is very stern and prim and no one could imagine her ever having a husband. Even Lisette is in awe of her.’
‘Lisette is not the least bit reserved.’
‘Indeed no. She pushes herself forward on every occasion. She would love to join us at table but Armand would never have that. He has strong ideas about the servants and that is all Lisette is … in a way. I think she has to do quite a lot of things for Tante Berthe. But it was just like her … pushing in as she did. She was astounded to hear you were …’
‘Yes, I gathered that. But I suppose a great many people would be.’
She was thoughtful. ‘My father does exactly what he wants, and quite clearly he is proud of you and wants everyone to know he is your father. You are very good-looking.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t need thanks for saying it. I always notice people’s looks. I suppose it is because I am so plain myself.’
‘But indeed you are not,’ I lied.
But she just smiled at me. ‘We should go down,’ she said.
The first meal in the château was rather a ceremonious occasion. I don’t remember what we ate. I was too excited to notice. The candles on the table gave a touch of mystery to the room—tapestried like the hall—and I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched by ghosts who would appear at any moment. Everything was so elegant: cutlery, silver goblets, and silent-footed servants in their blue and green livery gliding back and forth, whisking away dishes and replacing them with a speed which was like magic. What a contrast to Eversleigh, with the servants trudging in and out with their tureens of soup and platters of beef and mutton and pies!