Marianne

She stopped abruptly and a deep blush spread over her plain features. Marianne understood her feelings and knew a moment's anxiety. She was discovering that this woman who, a moment ago had been no more than a vague name to her, had suddenly become someone almost dear. Perhaps it was the fact that the same blood ran in both their veins, but more probably because of the strange life which Adelaide herself had lead, an unconventional life which had even taken her to prison. The two of them ought to understand one another. And so Marianne decided to have done with half truths once and for all.

'I am not an actress,' she said gently. 'Indeed I have never sung in public yet, except in a few private houses. The reason I have chosen to be a singer, is because I want to be free to live my life. I make my first appearance in a few day's time. Does that shock you dreadfully?'

Adelaide thought for a moment, though the cloud which had come over her face did not lift.

'No,' she said at last. 'I think I can understand that. But it is also said that the new owner of this house is a special favourite of the Emperor's and—'

'I love him,' Marianne interrupted her firmly. 'And I am his mistress. That too, you must understand. Unless it is to difficult—'

'Well, one can at least say that you do not mince your words,' Adelaide said when she had recovered from the shock of Marianne's announcement. 'That you should love him does not surprise me. I did myself until this senseless divorce! I cannot forgive him his arch-duchess.'

'I have been forced to forgive him. He must have an heir.'

'There were other ways he could get one. The Hapsburg blood is worthless. They should know that in France. But this fool has let it go to his head! What can he hope to gain in the way of offspring by mingling his own good Corsican blood, that is pure and rich and noble, with an old strain thinned by intermarriage and hereditary weakness? What Marie-Louise brings him is the inheritance of Mad Jeanne and of Philip II. Much cause for rejoicing there is there! And, by the way, tell me how it is that you, a Frenchwoman, with English blood in you, are passed off as an Italian?'

Marianne sighed and poured another glass of wine for herself. She felt she needed it, if only to recover from hearing Adelaide abusing Napoleon so freely.

'It's a long story.'

'Bah!' the old maid retorted, settling herself more comfortably. 'I've plenty of time. And if I may have a little of this pate—I'm always hungry!' she finished up triumphantly. 'And I'm passionately fond of stories.'

As though they had known one another all their lives, the two of them sat one either side of the little table and attacked the food and Marianne's story with equal relish. Marianne herself had never felt so comfortable. She could not wait, now, to tell the whole story to this quaint old spinster whose twinkling blue eyes regarded her with such a spontaneous sympathy. The words seemed to come of their own accord and in telling Adelaide of all that she had been through, she felt as though she were telling it to the spirits of her house as well. She was making her confession to all the past members of her family and she discovered at the same time that all the hatred and resentment she had built up suddenly left her, as though she were recovering from an illness. She had only one fear, that Adelaide would think that she was mad. But the old lady was not without experience. When Marianne had finished she merely patted her young cousin's hand as it lay on the table and sighed.

'And to think I thought that I had led an exciting life! If you go on at this rate, my dear child, I don't know where you might not end up! But it will be interesting to watch.'

Marianne looked up almost timidly and asked:

'You are not shocked? You do not blame me? I am afraid I may have my honour too cheap!'

'You had no choice! Besides, in all justice, it was Lady Cranmere's honour which suffered. Marianne d'Asselnat has merely followed her heart. You would not have me weep for an English honour? Especially one of such melancholy origin—'

She rose suddenly, shaking crumbs off her grey dress. Then, with a thoughtful look at Marianne, she asked suddenly:

'This American – you are quite sure you are not in love with him?'

What could Adelaide be thinking of to ask such an apparently preposterous question? Had she not understood anything Marianne had told her, or had she some special picture of Jason? For a second, the sailor's tall figure seemed to invade the quiet room bringing with it a rush of sea air, but Marianne thrust it back.

'In love with him? How could I be? I feel friendship for him now, and a certain gratitude, but I told you I loved—'

'So you did. But too much gazing on the sun can make one blind, even to one's own heart. I don't know whether you realized it, but you have just described to me an extraordinarily attractive man, and if I were in your shoes—'

'Well?'

'Well – I think I might have paid my stupid husband's gambling debt! Just to see! He seems to know what he is about, that one – and there's no doubt but he's madly fond of you!'

At the sight of Marianne's stunned face as she sat wondering whether she could have heard right, Adelaide suddenly burst out laughing.

'Don't look at me like that,' she exclaimed. 'One would swear you had set eyes on the devil! Let me tell you, my girl, I'm not such an old maid as you may think. Believe me, there is some good even in the most troubled times! But for the Revolution, I should still be a canoness in some aristocratic convent and no doubt bored to death! But thanks to it, I have been able to discover that virtue does not have all the charm it is cracked up to have and store up one or two fragrant memories that I may tell you about later, when we know one another better. But just remember this. There has always been hot blood in the family, and you won't be the first! And with that I'll bid you goodnight—'

Marianne could not have been more astonished if a thunderbolt had fallen on her. She was discovering that nothing she had ever thought about Adelaide came half-way near the truth, and she would have to begin all over again. The mere fact that she had mentioned Beaufort had been enough to bring him back, tenacious and encroaching, into Marianne's mind though she still persisted in trying to drive him out again. Why? Marianne began to have strange doubts. Could she perhaps have loved the American? Oh dear, it was clear that she was still very young and there was still a great deal she had to learn!

She became aware that Adelaide was walking purposefully in the direction of the kitchen staircase and called out to stop her.

'But – where are you going?'

'Down to the cellar, child. I forgot to tell you it communicates with that of Mrs Atkins. A circumstance I discovered not long ago but one which I have found very useful ever since you changed the locks. Goodnight.'

She walked on but Marianne called after her.

'Cousin!'

It was only one word but there was a world of feeling in it. It suddenly seemed to Marianne that in Adelaide she had rediscovered something of her Aunt Ellis and that cry was the product of her need for some of the warmth of kinship. Adelaide paused in the doorway as though something tangible had struck her. She turned slowly, a look of strain on her face.

'Yes?'

'Why – why must you go on living with a friend when there is this house, our house? It is too big for me. I – I need someone – you! I will ask the Emperor to pardon you and then we can—'

She could not go on. There was a silence. Blue eyes and green eyes met and held one another with an intensity that was far beyond words. Was it an illusion, or was that a tear that gleamed for a moment under the older woman's lashes? She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose vigorously.

'I dare say I'd better move,' she muttered. 'It's dreadfully gloomy here with nothing over the fireplace.'