Lisette said: ‘I should beware of such a man. He is far too attractive in a wicked way … and they are always the worst.’
‘Never fear,’ I replied, ‘I am on my guard.’
She knew something of him because in the past I used to confide in her. She said: ‘I understand why your mother wanted to keep you away from him. I can also see why you did not want her to succeed.’
‘I never knew anyone quite like Dickon,’ I admitted. ‘And I doubt I ever shall’.
‘Life with him,’ suggested Lisette dreamily, ‘would be one long adventure. Is he very rich?’
‘Very … now, I should imagine. He owns Clavering and Eversleigh and his wife brought him a lot of money.’
‘And you think he is satisfied now … financially?’
‘I should hope so.’
‘He isn’t, I’d be ready to gamble. His sort never are. When he marries again it will be a rich woman.’
‘Is that a prophecy?’
‘As good as,’ said Lisette.
‘Do you realize, I said, ‘that since Dickon has come we talk of little else?’
‘What else could be so interesting?’
‘I shall be glad when he goes. He is causing trouble here. He does, wherever he goes, my mother used to say.’
‘But it is trouble which you can’t help wanting. Come, be honest. You know it will be somewhat dull when he has gone.’
‘He irritates Charles so. Sometimes I don’t know how to get through the evening.’
‘Dickon is enjoying himself, I don’t doubt.’
‘I am sure Charles isn’t.’
In the evenings they would sit up late playing a card game. They both enjoyed gambling, Charles recklessly, his face flushed, his eyes blazing; Dickon calmly, raising the stakes ridiculously high, never showing the least bit of emotion whether he lost or won; but then he always seemed to win.
I would go to bed and leave them and when Charles came up pretend to be asleep.
Charles would be angry. I would hear him banging things about before he came to bed. Sometimes he lay sleepless beside me; at others he would wake me and indulge in a kind of stormy passion which meant that he was thinking of Dickon. He knew of course of Dickon’s feelings for me and that there had been some arrangement between us in my extreme youth. It didn’t help.
Dickon must go soon.
There was a good deal of talk about the war.
I remember that evening well. We were at table with my parents-in-law, Charles, Dickon and I, and Dickon, as he often did, turned the conversation to the war. The attitude of the two of them towards the war was typical of their entire relationship. It was almost a personal war. Charles delighted in the Colonists’ successes, which Dickon dismissed as mere skirmishes. But mostly Dickon would attack the intervention of the French and would become very eloquent in his denunciation of the folly of those who did so.
That night he sat there, his eyes a brilliant blue as they were when he was excited, his cravat a dazzling white against the blue velvet of his jacket, his strong hands with the gold signet ring on the table before him—calm and still as though to call attention to Charles’s gesticulations.
He continued on the theme of the war and the folly of French intervention.
‘It is beyond understanding. Here is this country … think of it. No one could say it is in robust health. Turgot … Necker … they have made brave attempts to grapple with finances and without very happy results. King Louis inherited disaster. Why, I have heard that his grandfather prophesied that it would come after him. It could come … soon. Your house is crumbling to ruin and instead of setting yourself to rebuild it, you turn your backs on it and rush off to harry your neighbours.’
‘The French have always been interested in just causes,’ said Charles. ‘These people overseas—mostly your own Englishmen—are being unfairly taxed. Quite rightly, they revolt and every Frenchman is in sympathy with them, as he must be with those who suffer from such harsh treatment.’
‘As I have noticed in France,’ cut in Dickon, smiling blandly. ‘How long is it since we had the Guerre des Farines when one class of people were in revolt against the injustice meted out to them by another? Would it not be better for the French to look first to their own before they worry so nobly about the wrongs of foreigners? Your country is verging on revolt. Can’t you see it coming? Did you know that it takes very little provocation for riots to break out in your towns? It is happening all the time. We don’t hear much about it because it is on a small scale … as yet. But it is there. It is a warning but you don’t see it because your eyes are staring overseas. I would say, “Frenchmen, put your own house in order first!”’
‘I can see,’ said Charles maliciously, ‘that you are very uneasy because of the strong feeling here in favour of the oppressed Colonists.’
‘Naturally we would rather not have those such as the Marquis de Lafayette raising men and shouting about bringing freedom to the world. At the moment the Comte de Brouillard is raising forces in Angouleme. He speaks in the square most eloquently and the crowd obediently shouts, “Down with the English! To America!”’
‘I know it,’ said Charles. ‘I have a mind to join him.’
‘Have you, indeed? Then why not, my friend? It is always well to follow one’s inclinations if one feels them strongly enough because if they are brushed aside they return to pester one all one’s days.’
Charles’s eyes were shining. ‘It is a great cause and my heart is in it.’
‘Then you should go.’
‘So you would urge me to what you consider an act of folly?’
‘I do not urge, and you do not see it as folly. It would be your act, and to you it is the way of chivalry—the strong defending the weak. If I felt as you did I should certainly go.’
‘Then why do you not go and fight for your King?’
‘I do not feel strongly as you do. I do not speak, as you know, of the rights and wrongs of this stupid war. What I have always stressed is the folly of a country such as France—in dire difficulties financially and, even worse, creaking with social injustice, to meddle in a cause which really does not concern it.’
‘And I have said that oppression should be fought wherever it occurs.’
‘And I have said that is a noble sentiment, but it is best to begin in your own backyard.’
‘You seem to know a great deal about my country.’
‘The looker-on often sees that which is not so obvious to those who are involved. Regard me as a looker-on. I hear of the odd riot now and then in the little towns all over the country; I hear the murmurs of the people, class against class. The Queen’s brother, Emperor Joseph, is a wise man. Do you know what he said when he was asked for his opinion of this cause for which you speak so nobly? He said, “I am a royalist by profession.” He meant that it is unwise to question the authority of kings, for when there is a precedent it creates uncertainty for those who come after. You are an aristocrat by profession, yet you talk of liberty … you stress the Tightness of those who take up arms against the monarchy. That is my point.’
‘You take a cynical view.’
‘I take a realist’s view which until now I thought was something the French always prided themselves in doing.’
I broke in: ‘I have had enough of this talk of war. You two seem to think of nothing else.’
Dickon looked at me reproachfully. ‘It is a matter of some importance to my country. If we lost it would mean giving up our foothold in North America. But win or lose, it means a great deal more to France.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Charles. ‘I can see the English are beginning to get very worried.’