Philippa Carr - Zipporah's Daughter

I looked at the others. Did they feel the same? Armand was too ill to care. He had suffered so much already. His companion was in the same condition. Sophie? I did not think she cared very much. Life was not very precious to her, though she had changed since Armand’s return.

Lisette? I could not understand Lisette. All those years when I had believed her to be my friend she had harboured a hatred of me. I would never forget the triumphant look in her eyes when she considered how I should be made to suffer. I could not believe that she had really hated me all those years because I was recognized as the Comte’s daughter and she thought she should be.

What did I know of Lisette? What did I know of anyone, even myself? People were made up of contradictions and when one nurtures a great grievance through life that must have a lasting effect. Least of all I understood Lisette. Why did she care so much for birth? She was on the side of the revolutionaries. She hated the aristocrats and yet she insisted she was one of them.

The sound of a bee buzzing at the window caught my attention. I thought how wonderful it was to see living creatures, to look at the blue sky, to hear the gentle lap of the water of the moat against the green earth. All that I had taken for granted until I was confronted by the thought that I should never see or hear them again.

Tante Berthe said she thought we should all be together. She would bring the men to my bedroom if we would help her. They could both lie on my bed while we waited.

I nodded and with the help of Sophie and Jeanne we brought the men in.

They looked very ill.

I told Armand what was happening. He nodded and said: ‘You should get away. You shouldn’t stay here. Leave us.’

‘There is nowhere we can go, Armand,’ I told him. ‘And in any case we wouldn’t leave you.’

‘No,’ said Sophie firmly, ‘we should not leave you.’

Armand became animated then. ‘You must,’ he cried. ‘I have seen the mob. That day in Paris. You have no idea what they are like. They cease to be men and women. They are wild animals … ’

I said: ‘Armand, we are not going to leave you.’

‘You … ’ he insisted. ‘You should go. The servants could stay. They might be safe.’

‘Lie back,’ I commanded. ‘Rest while you can. The servants have already gone and we are staying.’

It was a long afternoon.

Sophie sat at my feet on a footstool. Jeanne was close to her. I knew that Jeanne would never leave her as long as they both lived.

I said: ‘Sophie, you have a wonderful friend in Jeanne. Have you ever thought how lucky you are to have her?’

She nodded.

‘She loves you,’ I went on.

‘Yes, she loves me. The others … ’

‘It is over. They would never have been faithful. Charles wasn’t to me, and Léon Blanchard is only faithful to a cause.’

‘They will take us, Lottie … you, Armand and me because of our father.’

Lisette was listening and she said: ‘And they will take me, but I shall be safe because Léon will not let them hurt me.’

Sophie flinched and Jeanne whispered: ‘I should never let you be hurt, Mademoiselle Sophie.’

There was a long silence. We were all listening intently. We must all have been thinking that they might not wait until evening.

‘I wish I could go back,’ said Sophie. ‘I’d be different. I would say, I lost so much—’ she touched her face beneath her hood ‘—but it showed me how truly fortunate I was in Jeanne.’

Jeanne said: ‘Don’t, my precious one. Don’t upset yourself. It’s bad for your face when you cry.’

We were silent again and I thought: If I could have foreseen … if I could go back … how differently I should act. I could see Sabrina’s face. ‘Don’t go,’ she had said. ‘Wait till Dickon comes back.’ I should have waited for Dickon. He had not really been out of my thoughts although I had tried to prevent his intruding on them. Of what use was it to think of him now? It only meant bitter recriminations against myself for my folly.

I should have married him. Heaven knew, I had wanted to. I should have taken what I could get. I should have forgotten my doubts … my determination to accept nothing but perfection.

If I could only turn to him now … if I could shut out my thoughts of the perfidy of Lisette, the unfaithfulness of Charles, of death, if I could forget the wasted years, I would be content. But it was now too late.

‘Too late,’ Sophie whispered it. I laid my hand on her shoulder and she leaned against my knee.

I said: ‘But we know now. I am glad we came to an understanding while there was still time.’

It would be dark soon. The danger hour was near.

Lisette left and did not return until the darkness deepened. I gasped when I saw her. She was wearing one of my gowns—one which I had had made some time ago for a ball. It was one of the most elaborate gowns I had ever possessed. The skirt was of plum-coloured velvet and chiffon of a lighter shade; the tightly fitted bodice was studded with pearls. About her neck was the diamond necklace which the Comte had given my mother on their wedding-day and which was now mine.

‘Lisette!’ I cried as she entered.

‘Are you mad?’ said Tante Berthe.

Lisette laughed at us. ‘ I should have had these things,’ she said. ‘I have as much right to them as Lottie has—more, because I am older. My father treated me badly but now he is dead.’

‘Lisette,’ I said, ‘when the mob see you like that what do you think they will do?’

‘I will tell them, “Yes, I am an aristocrat but I have always been for the people I have worked with Léon Blanchard. Ask him. He will tell you I speak the truth.” I shall come to no harm then.’

‘You foolish girl!’ cried Tante Berthe.

Lisette shook her head and laughed. She came and stood close to me, her hands on her hips, taunting, and I thought: Her obsession has driven her mad.

‘I always wanted this dress,’ she said, ‘and the necklace goes with it so well. It belongs to me now. Everything here belongs to me. It is my right and Léon will see that it is given to me.’

I turned away from her. I could not bear the look in her eyes. I thought: Truly she is mad.

They were coming. I could hear the shouts in the distance. I went to the window. There was a strange light out there. It came from the torches they were carrying.

I heard their chanting voices. ‘Au château! À bas les aristocrats! À la lanterne!’

I thought of the lifeless body of the merchant hanging from the lamp-post and I felt sick with fear.

They were coming nearer and nearer.

Tante Berthe said: ‘The drawbridge will stop them.’

‘Not for long,’ I answered.

We looked at each other fearfully and Lisette glided from the room.

‘Where has she gone?’ asked Sophie.

‘To take off that finery if she has any sense,’ retorted Tante Berthe.

I said: ‘I am going to find her. I am going to talk to her.’

I found her mounting the spiral staircase to the tower. I saw her standing on the battlements. The light from the torches had thrown a fierce glow over the scene for the mob was very close … right at the castle gates.

She stood there on the battlements. She looked magnificent with the diamonds sparkling at her throat.

The mob shouted when they saw her.

‘Lisette,’ I called. ‘Come down. Come down.’

She held up her hand and there was silence. She called out to the mob: ‘I am the daughter of the Comte d’Aubigné … an aristocrat by birth.’

The mob started to shout. ‘À bas les aristocrats. À la lanterne!’

She shouted above the noise and eventually they were quiet, listening.