Will You Love Me in September

"I remember it well," she said. "I remember Yvonne, Sophie, Armand ... he was the coachman. And there was Germaine; she was above herself ... what you might say, too big for her boots. Germaine, she thought she should not be there ... she should be a lady in her carriage, not a servant in such a house. Then there was Clos ... who cleaned the boots and grates and whatever he was told to do. A happy boy he was ... always a smile. Then there was Claudine, another such as Germaine ...

only not quite so haughty. Oh, I remember them well. There was one day when my Lord and Lady Hessenfield were away at Saint-Germain, and Germaine dressed up in my lady's clothes. We laughed and laughed. She did it all so well. Only trouble was, she didn't want to take those things off ... she didn't want to go back to work.”

"And was I there at the time?”

"You might have been with my lord and lady-or you might have been in the nursery.”

"I don't remember any of them except you, Jeanne.”

"Mon Dieu! You were only a baby. I'd take you out sometimes, perhaps to the druggist to get something for my lady ... something sweet-smelling to scent herself with ... or to the glovemaker's to collect gloves. Little errands like that. I'd orders never to venture with you into the forbidden places ... never to the Pont-au-Bled or the Rue du Poirer. I remember one morning a man in a carriage drove by ... some young lover chasing his mistress' carriage-and you were spattered with mud. I had to get one of the brushers-down at the street corner to deal with you. I couldn't take you back like that, and I'd have to get that mud off you the minute it went on or it would eat into your clothes.”

"When you talk, Jeanne, it brings it back to my mind.”

"Well, there's much that's best forgot. We came through it all, didn't we? I often wonder what became of Germaine. She had a lover, and she was proud of him. He lived somewhere on the Left Bank. I remember once she stayed out the night with him. Clos let her in in the early morning. Monsieur Bonton did not know. Do you remember Monsieur Bonton? He led us all, you might say. He was reckoned to be one of the best chefs in Paris, and it was said that the King himself would have liked him for his kitchens.

But that was just talk, maybe. But we all feared him. He had the power over us. One word from him and we could be sent off ...”

"Jeanne, it seems so strange to me that there should have been this woman ... Aimee's mother.”

"He would have been finished with her by that time.”

"No, I don't think so. She had a letter from him which said he wanted Aimee taken care of. He must have been seeing her.”

"Who can say with men! The best of them has his secrets and often that secret is a woman. It is just men, ma petite. We must never be surprised by what they do.”

I supposed she was right, but I found it difficult to accept.

With the coming of the new year there was a great deal of talk about the Pretender.

He was to be crowned at Scone, and the Jacobites were persuading their women to give up their jewels to make a crown for him.

There were rumors-that was all. On the pamphlets which had been circulated James had been represented as godlike-tall, handsome, noble and full of vigor, determined to win what was rightfully his. It seemed that the reality was quite different. James had no charm of manner; he did not know how to attract the ordinary man; he had no conversation; moreover, he was melancholy and seemed more ready to accept failure than inspire victory.

The truth was that he lacked the gift necessary for leading men. The Earl of Mar, who was the real spirit behind the rising, sought in vain to imbue him with the qualities essential for the success of the enterprise. It was hopeless, and even Mar had to realize that he was involved in a lost cause. The only people who were ready to support James were the Highlanders, and it was soon apparent that the wise course of action was to retire while it was possible to do so and await the opportunity to rise again.

The loyal troops of King George were on the march, and the only thing left for James to do was to go back to France. At Montrose he and the Earl of Mar embarked on a vessel and sailed toward Norway, hugging the coast until they came to Gravelines, where they landed. That was the tenth of February. The enterprise was over.

"Thank God," said Priscilla. "Let us hope they will never consider such a foolhardy expedition again.”

"Well, it is all over now," echoed Damaris.

Alas, it was not over. There had been many captives, and it was not to be expected that they would be dealt with lightly. Lessons had to be taught and learned.

Prisoners had been taken, and many of them were being brought to London to be sentenced.

I was overcome with anxiety.

Uncle Carl came home. He would stay a while, he said, now that the little trouble in the north was over.

"Your friend Frenshaw is one of the prisoners," he told me. "He won't escape execution.