They were winning me over.
A few days later Dickon was called to London.
‘I shall be away for a week at most,’ he said.
I asked Sabrina what sort of business he had in London.
She was vague. ‘Oh, he inherited a lot of property through Isabel.’
‘I knew she was very rich and that was the reason for the marriage.’
She looked at me sharply. ‘Isabel’s father was very eager for the marriage. So was Isabel herself. There was a very big settlement and when her father died a great deal came to Isabel.’
‘And now to Dickon,’ I said. ‘Is it something to do with banking?’
‘Something like that,’ said Sabrina. ‘He goes often. Not so much of late because you are here, I expect. But he travels a good deal normally. He was very concerned in all that about the American War.’
‘Yes, I gathered that. He came to France because the French were helping the Colonists.’
‘He came to France to see you,’ said Sabrina fondly.
It was only two days after Dickon had left when the messenger came bringing a letter from Lisette, and I knew that something was wrong before I opened it.
‘You should leave at once,’ she had written. ‘Your father is very ill indeed. He was calling for you when he was delirious. He has said that we are not to send for you but we thought you would want to know. I think, if you want to see him before he dies, you should return at once.’
Sabrina had seen the messenger arrive and came down to see what it was all about.
‘It’s my father,’ I said. ‘He is dangerously ill.’
‘Oh, my dear Lottie!’
‘I must go to him at once,’ I said.
‘Yes … yes, of course. Dickon will be back soon. Wait and hear what he has to say.’
‘I must leave at once,’ I said firmly.
The messenger was standing by. Sabrina pointed out that he looked exhausted and called one of the servants to take him to the kitchens and give him food. He would want to rest too.
When they had gone she turned to me.
‘I don’t think Dickon would want you to go back. He has talked to me about the state of France and was so glad that you had left at last.’
‘This has nothing to do with Dickon,’ I said. ‘I am going and I shall leave tomorrow.’
‘Lottie, you can’t!’
‘I can and I must. Oh Sabrina, I am sorry but you must understand. This is my father. He needs me. I should never have left him.’
‘You said that he wanted you to come, didn’t you?’
‘He did because … ’
‘I dare say he thought you were safer here. He would know … as Dickon did.’
I wanted to stop her talking about Dickon. I was going and that was it. I could not possibly stay here while I knew my father was ill …dying, perhaps, and calling for me.
‘I am going to get ready immediately,’ I said.
She caught my arm. ‘Wait, Lottie. Don’t be so hasty. Suppose I sent someone to London to tell Dickon.’
‘It would take too long and this has nothing to do with Dickon.’
‘He will be upset if you go.’
‘Then he must be upset because I am going.’
‘The children … ’ she said.
I hesitated. Then I made up my mind. ‘They can stay here if you will allow it. They can come home later. I will go alone and as quickly as I can.’
‘My dear Lottie, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Dickon … ’
‘I will go and see the messenger. He can have a good night’s rest and I will go back with him. He will start first thing in the morning.’
‘If only Dickon were here!’
‘Nothing would stop me, Sabrina. The children will be happy here. They must stay?’
‘Of course. Of course.’
‘Perhaps Dickon and you, too, will come back with them and stay for a while at the château.’
She looked at me fearfully. ‘If you are intent on going you must take two grooms with you. There are certain things you will want to take for a journey … and it will be safer. You must do that. I insist.’
‘Thank you, Sabrina,’ I said, and I went to the kitchens to find the messenger.
Farewell France
I HALF HOPED THAT Dickon would come back that night. I knew he would attempt to persuade me not to leave but when he saw that I was adamant, it might well be that he would come with me.
I longed for him to do that. I was terrified of what I would find when I returned to France and kept reproaching myself for leaving my father even though it was he himself who had insisted that I should do so.
Eversleigh was not far from Dover and the journey was quickly accomplished. The crossing was smooth, for the weather was good. It was when we reached the other side of the Channel that everything seemed different.
The July sun beat down on us; there seemed to be a stillness in the air, a breathlessness as though the country was waiting for some tremendous event. It was something in the atmosphere of the towns through which we passed. Sometimes we saw little knots of people standing together in the streets. They watched us furtively as we rode through; they seemed to be whispering together. Some of the towns were deserted and I imagined that people were peeping at us through their windows.
‘Everything seems to have changed in an odd sort of way,’ I said to one of the grooms.
He said that he noticed nothing.
We came to the town of Evreux and I remembered how, when I had first come to France with my father, we had stayed there. It seemed very different now. There was that same air of brooding menace which I had noticed in the towns and villages through which we had passed.
I was very relieved when the château came into sight. I spurred up my horse and rode into the courtyard. One of the grooms took the horse and I hurried into the castle. Lisette, who must have been watching from one of the windows came running into the hall.
‘Lisette!’ I cried.
‘So you have come, Lottie.’
‘I want to see my father at once.’
She looked at me and shook her head.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked quickly.
‘He was buried nearly a week ago. He died the day after I sent the message to you.’
‘Dead! My father! It is not possible.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was very ill. The doctors had told him.’
‘When?’ I cried. ‘When did the doctors tell him?’
‘Weeks ago. Before you went away.’
‘Then why … ?’
‘He must have wanted you to go.’
I sat down at the big oak table and stared at the long narrow windows without seeing them. I understood now. He had known how ill he had been and he had sent me to England because of that. He had never had any intention of coming with me, but he had said he would just to make me plan to leave and then when we were on the point of departure he had said he could not accompany us.
‘I should never have gone,’ I said.
Lisette lifted her shoulders and leaned against the table looking at me. If I had not been so stricken I might have noticed the change in her attitude. But I was too shocked, too immersed in my grief.
I went to his bedroom. She followed me there. The curtains were drawn back showing the empty bed. I knelt beside it and buried my face in my hands.
Lisette was still there. ‘It’s no use,’ she said. ‘He has gone.’
I went through his rooms. Empty. Then I went to the chapel and the mausoleum beyond. There was his tomb.
‘Gerard, Comte d’Aubigné’ and the date 1727 to 1789.
‘It was so quick,’ I murmured and I saw that Lisette was behind me.
‘You have been away a long time,’ she reminded me.
‘I should have been told.’
‘He wouldn’t have it. It was only when he was unable to give orders to prevent anyone’s sending for you that I acted as I thought was right.’
I went to my room. She was still with me. Then I saw that she was different and had been since my arrival. Everything had changed. I could not understand Lisette. She was not unhappy. There was something secretive in her manner. I did not know how to describe it. It was as though she was amused in some mysterious way.