He led us to the door and as we reached it Madame Rougemont appeared. She was smiling blandly.
‘Well, Monsieur St Georges. You are pleased …?’
He said in a low voice: ‘I am taking these ladies home. They belong to one of the great families in France. Good God, woman, have you no sense?’
He was clearly rather angry with her but when he turned to us he was all smiles.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘I am going to take you out to the street. I am going to put you into a.pot de chambre which will take you back to the hotel. Go straight in at once and never be so foolish again.’
‘Why is it so foolish to have one’s fortune told?’ asked Lisette defiantly.
‘Because frauds tell fortunes. That is not all. Fortune-telling is not the main business of that woman. Something you are too young to understand, but never do it again. If you do, you deserve all you get. Now go back and don’t be such silly little girls again.’
We came out into the street; he hailed the carriage, paid the driver and told him where to take us. He stood back and bowed as we drove away.
We were subdued until we reached the hôtel. Then we went up to my room and took off our second-hand dresses. Mine had suddenly become repulsive to me and I wondered who had worn it before.
‘What a strange adventure!’ I said. ‘What was it all about?’
Lisette looked wise. She had guessed, of course.
Madame Rougemont was what was known as a procuress. The fortune-telling was a blind. She had her dark and handsome gentleman waiting as they plied the girls with wine to make them acquiescent.
‘You’re making it up.’
‘No. I see it all clearly now. That girl met her young man because he was waiting for her.’
‘Do you mean that Monsieur St Georges was waiting for us?’
‘He was a noble gentleman. Therefore there were two for him to choose from.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘Not when he realized who we were. Imagine the Comte’s rage if anything had happened to you.’
I stared at her in horror.
Lisette was thoughtful and then she said: ‘I wonder which one of us he would have chosen.’
A grand ball to celebrate Sophie’s betrothal was to be held in the hôtel and preparations went on for days. Sophie was in a twitter of excitement and it was wonderful to see her so happy. She was thrilled about the new ball dress which was being made for her. I was to have one too.
‘You realize that this is a very special occasion,’ she said. ‘You will meet Charles and see for yourself how wonderful he is.’
‘I very much look forward to meeting him,’ I said. ‘I think he must be a bit of a miracle-worker.’
‘He is different from everyone else,’ she cried ecstatically.
She and I paid several visits to the Paris dressmaker who was said to be the most fashionable in town. Sophie’s dress was of pale blue with yards of shimmering chiffon in the skirt and a low cut bodice which fitted her firmly and managed to make her look almost slender. Her dumpiness was less noticeable nowadays because of her radiant face. She was really becoming rather pretty. I was to have a similar dress in pink, which the dressmaker said would be a foil to my dark hair.
‘It will be your turn next,’ she said, as she fitted the gown on me.
In spite of the excitement I did notice that Lisette was rather quiet, and I fancied she was getting more resentful than she used to be about not being quite one of us. I sympathized with her, for it did seem to be a little unkind to let her take lessons with us, ride with us, be our constant companion and then on social occasions make it clear that she did not belong.
She went off by herself a good deal and often I looked for her and could not find her. If I had not been so absorbed by the coming ball, I might have thought something odd was happening. She seemed secretive and sometimes appeared to be enjoying a private joke. Usually she would have shared amusing incidents. But, I told myself, perhaps I was imagining again, as I often did.
I was with my mother more during those days for she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the preparations.
‘Your father is very pleased about this match,’ she said. ‘He will be glad to see Sophie settled.’
‘I suppose the Tourvilles are a very distinguished family?’
‘They are not quite Aubigné,’ replied my mother with a certain pride and I suddenly remembered the years she had spent as the wife of Jean-Louis, so far removed, it seemed to me, from the life she led as Madame la Comtesse.
‘I think they are delighted to marry into the family,’ she went on. ‘And as I said, your father is very pleased.’
‘And Sophie is happy.’
‘That’s the best of all and I am so happy about it. She is not an easy girl …and so different from you, Lottie.’
‘I shall not be so easily disposed of.’
She laughed at me. ‘Don’t you think Sophie is very happy to be as you say disposed of?’
‘Sophie is in love.’
‘So will you be one day.’
She spoke earnestly because she knew I was thinking of Dickon and she hated anything to disturb the perfect life she had found with her Count.
‘I will never be again.’
She tried to laugh as though it were a joke; then she put her arms about me and held me against her.
‘My dear, dear child, it is a long time ago. It would have been so wrong to have allowed that to go on. Why, even now you are very young …’
‘The ball might have been for us both … Sophie and me … to celebrate our betrothals.’
‘You are living in a false dream. You would never have been happy with Dickon. It was so ridiculous. He was years older than you and because you were only a child it was easy for him to deceive you. He wanted Eversleigh and as soon as he got it he no longer thought of you.’
‘I think I should have been the best judge of that.’
‘A child of—what was it? twelve. Not quite that. It was preposterous. You should have seen his face when I offered him Eversleigh. He was quite cynical, Lottie.’
‘I knew he wanted Eversleigh.’
‘He wanted only Eversleigh.’
‘It is not true. He wanted me too.’
‘He would have taken you as part of the bargain. Oh, Lottie, it hurts you, but it is better to face facts. It is heartbreaking to discover that someone who professes to love you is lying. But you were only a child … and it is all finished now. You are not really grieving. I have seen you joyously happy. You are just trying to keep it all alive … when you remember to. But it is dead, Lottie; and you know it.’
‘No,’ I contradicted her. ‘What I felt for Dickon will never die.’
But she did not really believe me. Her own experiences had taught her to expect a ‘happy-ever-after’ ending.
At last the great day came. Lisette arrived in my room to see me when I was dressed.
‘You look beautiful, Lottie,’ she told me. ‘You will overshadow the prospective bride.’
‘Oh no. Sophie looks really pretty. Love has worked miracles.’
She seemed rather thoughtful but I confess I was so eager to meet Charles de Tourville that I was not thinking much about Lisette.
At the top of the staircase was the Comte, looking magnificent in his brocade coat, discreetly flashing a few diamonds, and his curled white wig setting off his fine features and his lively dark eyes; my mother, standing beside him in pale lavender looked beautiful and very much the Comtesse. I marvelled at her yet again, remembering the quiet lady of Clavering. And beside her was Sophie, radiant in turquoise blue and happiness.
I was in the charge of Madame de Grenoir, a distant cousin of the Comte’s, who appeared at times like this when she was needed and was only too happy to act as chaperone. I was to sit quietly with her as became my years, and when a gentleman asked me to dance, if he were suitable, I might accept. If he were not, Madame de Grenoir—who was adept at handling such situations, having had much experience of them—would make it clear that I was not available.