The changeling

“And where did Napoleon’s genius lead him?” demanded my grandmother. “Elba and St Helena,” I cut in, eager to show them that I knew something of what they were talking about.

Miss Brown threw me a glance of approval.

“All might have been well,” continued my grandfather, “if he had not become jealous of the growing power of Prussia, and underestimated it. He provoked war with Prussia. He thought he could defeat them easily and win glory for himself. He reckoned without the discipline of the Prussians. He must have known his fate was sealed at Sedan.”

“And then the Bourdons decided to get away,” I said, trying to turn the conversation to a subject of more immediate concern to us.

“Very far-seeing indeed,” said my grandfather. “Revolution in Paris ... disaster for Napoleon In. And as a consequence we have the Empress and her son at Camden House in Chislehurst... and the Emperor has now joined her ... no longer a prisoner ... but an exile from his country.”

“Like the Bourdons,” I said.

My grandmother smiled at me. “You should never let your grandfather get on to history,” she said. “There is no stopping him once he gets started.”

“A fascinating subject,” said Miss Brown with a smile.

Just as we were leaving the dining room, one of the grooms came in with a note for my grandmother.

Bourdons were all delighted to accept her kind invitation to luncheon.

They came as arranged and it was a very interesting meeting.

Monsieur and Madame Bourdon were, as my grandmother , commented afterwards, typically French. He had a trim pointed beard, crisp dark hair and a very gallant manner. He kissed hands … even mine ... and the look he gave my grandmother was clearly one of admiration. Madame was a good-looking woman and her vivacity and charm made her seem ten or fifteen years younger than she must have been. She was inclined to be plump; her hair was faultlessly dressed and her large brown eyes gave the impression that she missed little. Their English was barely adequate, but I found that quaint and charming.

The son and daughter were like their parents and I detected similar qualities. The young man’s gallantry and awareness of feminine society for instance; the girl’s svelte appearance.

They admired Cador’s impressiveness and antiquity; and my grandmother said she would show them the house after luncheon if they wished to see it. Monsieur Bourdon said it would be a great pleasure, Madame declared it would give her immense delight, and the son and daughter echoed their parents’ words.

Over lunch they talked of the terrible events in their country which had led to their exile.

I gathered that Madame Bourdon was acquainted with the Empress Eugenie and that Monsieur Bourdon had, on several occasions, been admitted to the society of Napoleon In. Now that our Emperor and Empress are in England ... we ‘eel that we must be with them,” said Monsieur Bourdon halt-My grandmother asked them how much they liked High Tor. Very well ... very well,” was their reply.

DO you think you will return to France?” asked my grandfather.

Monsieur Bourdon put the palms of his hands together and took his head from side to side, shrugging his shoulders at the time.

“It could be ... yes. It could be ... no. La Republique.” He grimaced. “If the Emperor returns ...”

“I should hardly think he would do that for a very long time,” said my grandfather. “And in the meantime he lives in exile,” added my grandmother. “I wonder how they feel about that. It must be strange to go from all the pomp and ceremony of the French Court to quiet Chislehurst.”

“Perhaps he is happy to escape to that quiet spot.”

I noticed that Jean Pascal was watching Jenny, the parlormaid who was serving at table. Their eyes met as she held a dish of vegetables for him. She was flushed. Jenny was interested in young men, I knew. I promised myself that I would try to find out what she thought of this one.

When the meal was over we showed them over Cador.

I was with them. I liked to hear my grandfather explain the history of the place. He loved the topic so much and spoke so enthusiastically that my grandmother gently put an end to his discourse which she feared might be boring to the guests. We were in the gallery in which were displayed some old tapestries, some in the region of five hundred years old, when Madame Bourdon became very excited. “Cette tapisserie ... it is ... how you say? ... er ... made right?”

“Repaired? Oh yes. We had to have it done. I think it was mended rather well.”

“But ... it is very good.”

“You noticed.”

“My wife ... she is very interested,” explained Monsieur Bourdon. “We have some tapestries ... very good ... very old ... Gobelins ... You understand?”