The adulteress

I knew what was in Dickon's mind. He believed that one day Jean-Louis and I would go to Eversleigh and that he would inherit Clavering. Anything that was his would loom very important in his mind. Thus it was with Clavering. He saw it through new eyes.

There were long summer evenings after Lottie was in bed when we sat and talked—Jean-Louis, James Fenton and I. There were occasions when Dickon would join us; and if he did the talk was all about the estate.

One day a cousin of James's called on him. He was a soldier and he had come from France and stayed a few days with James before going on to his family in the Midlands. James brought him to sup with us and we learned from him a great deal of what was happening on the Continent.

The war was still dragging on but, said James's cousin Albert, both sides were getting tired of it and as no subsidies were being sent fighting was desultory. Each side seemed to spend the time in retreating and advancing and no progress was made.

"It's a mess ... as most wars are. It can't go on ... and it's inconclusive anyway. They say there are negotiations beginning for peace."

I was thoughtful. If there were peace, I thought, would Gerard come again?

"The people here are indifferent," said James. "They see the war as something happening a long way off and therefore of no concern to them."

"The taxes to pay for it are their concern," his cousin reminded him.

"Well, there are always taxes for something."

His cousin was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said: "Something is happening in France."

"What?" I asked eagerly.

He turned to me, his brow puckering. "There's a certain mood among the people. They resent the king so much that he dare not appear in Paris. He has had a road built between Versailles and Compiegne to bypass the city so that he need not ride through it."

"You mean he is afraid of his people?"

"He is too indifferent to them to feel fear. He just despises them. He does not want to see them. Their problems are of no interest to him."

"But surely he depends on their approval to hold his throne!"

"The French monarchy is different from ours ... just as the people are. They are more formal ... and yet they could be more terrible. They are more excitable than we are ... more impulsive. Though I suppose the people here would rise up if provoked too far."

"What happens there?" I asked. I was thinking of the Chateau d'Aubigne, the name of which was so engraved on my memory that I would never forget it.

"There is a subtle change. The king is so dissolute. He cares for nothing but his own pleasure. He leaves everything to the Pompadour, who is consequently hated and shares the blame with the king. He seems concerned only with his own debaucheries and the infamous Pare aux Cerfs is discussed and reviled throughout the country. There is the dauphin, whom the king hates. They say he does not wish to see him because he will be his successor and he cannot bear to think of death. Even the nobility is changing and the wealthy are buying themselves into the aristocracy. It isn't the same. They haven't the same sense of responsibility. I don't like it. It makes me very uneasy."

"Is this feeling general throughout France?" asked Jean-Louis.

"So many seem intent on nothing but their own pleasure. The king for one. It has been said that he was heard to remark when warned of signs of unrest, 'Oh, it will last my time.' 'And after you, sire?' he was asked. 'After me,' he said, shrugging his shoulders, 'the deluge.' "

"How terrible!" I cried.

"Oh, these things happen in countries," said Jean-Louis. "Everything seems desperate and then there is a change ... and prosperity comes and the dark days are forgotten."

"I trust it will be so," said James's cousin.

While they were talking a caller arrived.

It was Hetty Hassock who had come to ask if James would call on her father in the morning when he was making his rounds.

James rose, smiling at Hetty.

"Well, of course I'll come," he said. "What time would suit your father? Say eleven o'clock?"

"That would suit him very well, I'm sure," said Hetty. She was a very pretty girl about seventeen, I think, and rather different from the rest of the Hassock family. She had recently come to the farm, having been brought up by an aunt in London.

Hetty apologized for intruding and Jean-Louis assured her that she had done no such thing and he added: "Come and sit with us a moment, Hetty." Hetty flushed a little and returned to the table. James looked pleased.

"Would you like to try this malmsey?" asked Jean-Louis. "We're rather proud of it."

Hetty declined gracefully but she sat down.

"How are you liking it at the farm?" I asked. "You must find it very different from London."

"Oh yes, I miss the town ... but everything is interesting here and I suppose I should be with my family."