And in due course my child was born. I was delighted this time to have a girl and Charles was overjoyed. We discussed her name and finally decided that she should be called Claudine.
Griselda
I WAS SO ABSORBED with my baby that I did not take much interest in what was happening in the outside world. My great pleasure was in the nursery, where the new baby was received with awe by Charlot and Louis-Charles. Claudine was a noisy baby with a good pair of lungs and from the first seemed to know what she wanted.
‘She’s different from Monsieur Charlot,’ said the nurse. ‘A will of her own, that one.’
She had been born rather an ugly baby but grew more beautiful every day. She had dark fluffy hair and quite a lot of it for one so young and eyes that were of a vivid blue.
We all adored her and when she cried it was a charming sight to see Charlot at the side of her cradle murmuring: ‘Hush! Hush! Charlot is here.’
I was very happy with my children.
Charles talked of little else but the trouble between England the colonists. At first I thought he was so strongly on the side of the colonists to tease me by jeering at the English. He often reminded me, rather ruefully, that I was more English than French; and this was true, for although no one could be more French than my father and even Jean-Louis, who I had believed for so long had sired me, by a strange coincidence had been half French, having been brought up in England by my English mother, I was decidedly of that nature—in my outlook, my manners—in fact in everything. Even though I now spoke fluent French and often thought in that language, Charles liked to remind me of what he called my Englishness and whenever there was a disagreement between us, he would say: ‘There is the Englishwoman.’
Whether he really did have the Frenchman’s natural antipathy to the English I was not sure, or whether it was done in a bantering way, but it continued and the war made more verbal ammunition to hurl at me.
Without knowing very much about the situation I defended the English, which delighted him and gave him a chance to prove me wrong again and again.
‘I tell you,’ he said on one occasion, ‘this could mean war between England and France.’
‘Surely the French would not act so out of character as to go to war for someone else’s benefit?’
‘It is the cause of liberty, my dear.’
‘There are troubles enough here in France,’ I said. ‘Why do you worry about colonists from another country far from here when your own peasants are verging on revolt and would perhaps like to see a little of that fair treatment you are talking about.’
‘You talk like a rebel,’ said Charles.
‘You talk like a fool. As if France would go to war about this matter which is the concern of another country.’
‘There is strong feeling here.’
‘For the sole purpose of embarrassing the English.’
‘They got themselves into this embarrassing situation. We did nothing to bring it about.’
‘But you seek to exploit it.’
And so we went on.
About the time when Claudine was five months old there was a Declaration of Independence in America and Charles was jubilant.
‘These brave people are fighting a big nation for their freedom. Mon Dieu, I should like to join them. Do you know there is talk of sending an army from France?’
It occurred to me then that Charles might be finding life at Tourville a little dull. He was not really meant to manage a large estate, and because I had seen something of the manner in which such places were run—there was my father for one at Aubigné and I had lived on our estates of Clavering and Eversleigh—I did realize that Charles lacked the real aptitude. There was a manager, of course, but managers, however good, did not compensate for the indifference of their owners.
I listened half-heartedly to the talk about the American War of Independence and the part France was going to play in it, but I was really absorbed by the children. Then Lisette and I spent hours talking and riding together and sometimes walking. It was always fun to be with Lisette.
In December Charles went back to Paris and stayed there for several weeks. When he came back his enthusiasm for the war was at fever pitch. He had met three deputies from America—Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane and Arthur Lee. Everyone was talking about them, he said, and in spite of their extraordinary appearance they had been invited everywhere as the French were so eager to hear about their fight for independence.
‘Their manners were so simple,’ he said, ‘and they wore their hair unpowdered and the plainest cloth suits I ever saw in my life. But Paris is in a frenzy over them. People are demanding that we go to war against the English at once.’
He had been in the company of the Marquis de Lafayette earlier in the year and had been most impressed when the Marquis bought a vessel and loaded it with ammunition and after certain troubles set sail from America.
Feeling in the country was high against England but the King was adamant that France should not become involved in a war.
That was the state of affairs when a messenger arrived from Aubigné.
My mother had news from Eversleigh that my grandmother was very ill and was longing to see us. Sabrina had written that if we could possibly make the journey Clarissa would be so happy and if we did not come soon we might not have an opportunity of seeing her.
Sabrina was clearly distressed, for she and my grandmother had been very close all their lives.
‘Dickon has never recovered from his wife’s death,’ she continued. ‘It has been a great sadness to us all. Poor Dickon. Fortunately he is very busy and spends most of his time in London, so he has plenty to occupy him which stops him brooding on his loss … ’
I wondered what he was like now. What would he do? Look round for a new heiress, I thought cynically. It was of no interest to me now. I was a wife and a mother.
My mother had also written. ‘My dear, I know it is asking a good deal to expect you to leave your home but we should not stay long … just long enough to see your grandmother. As Sabrina says, there might not be another chance. I shall go in any case and it would be wonderful if you came with me. Your grandmother asks particularly for you.’
When I showed Charles the letter he said of course I must go.
Lisette thought it would be interesting for me to see my old home. She longed to come with me but that was, of course, out of the question.
‘Don’t stay long,’ she implored me. ‘I can’t imagine this place without you.’
Charles’s parting shot was: ‘See if you can persuade them over there to come to their senses. They’re in for a humiliating defeat if they don’t. Wait till France gets busy across the Atlantic.’
‘I am not going on a political mission but to see a sick grandmother,’ I reminded him.
‘Then make sure you don’t stay too long,’ he said. ‘This place is quite dull without you.’
My feelings were very mixed as my mother and I made the journey to the coast accompanied by my father who saw us on to the packet boat before leaving us. It had been sad to say goodbye to the children, to Charles and Lisette, but I was anxious about my grandmother and I could not suppress a certain excitement at the prospect of seeing Eversleigh again. I think my mother felt the same, though she was very subdued.
We had a reasonably good crossing and arrived at Dover in the afternoon so that it was evening before we reached Eversleigh.
There was the old house as I remembered it—not so imposing perhaps as the Château d’Aubigné, but grand in its own manner.
Sabrina rushed out when she heard our arrival. She embraced us fervently. ‘It is wonderful to see you!’ she cried. ‘I am so delighted that you have come.’