The French Bride (2 page)

‘What is the condition?' Charles asked softly.

His father answered. ‘That you marry your cousin, Anne de Bernard, and settle down to a reasonable life. And that you undertake to live at least six months of the year in the Highlands and have your sons educated and brought up there as befits Macdonalds. Believe me, your mother and I will not allow our peoples to be cheated. Do this, and your debt will be paid by tomorrow. Refuse, and I feel certain that De Charlot and his friends will persuade the King to throw you into prison until it is. It's up to you.'

‘How much time have I?' he asked them. Marry. Marry Anne de Bernard. He looked from one to the other of them. He was already late for his appointment with Louise; he needed Louise tonight. If he delayed much more, the Du Barry might send for her to play cards or sing. She had a pretty voice, among her other considerable accomplishments, and the King liked music. He enjoyed nothing better than to sit with the Du Barry half naked on his knees while another pretty woman sang or played.

‘You have no time at all,' his father said. ‘You decide now.'

‘Marry my rich cousin and inherit eighty thousand acres and two chieftainships or else kill De Charlot and risk prison or not kill him and probably go to prison anyway. My dear father, and madame my mother, I accept your conditions – unconditionally. May I leave now …? I have a pressing engagement.'

‘I can imagine with whom,' Katherine answered. ‘Of all the women at Versailles you have to choose the most vicious and depraved. That will stop too, after you are married.'

He did not answer her, but she saw the mocking defiance in his face, and she could not pretend that it was not a very handsome face. Even if he had been ugly, he would still have possessed the same dangerous charm, the fascination of the heartless and the wholly bad.

‘You will settle the debt?' He addressed his father, and Sir James nodded. ‘By tonight, I told you. I am going to ask the King's permission for the marriage; it's only a formality and we'll announce it as soon as we've been down to Charantaise.'

He remembered the splendid château; he used to go there as a child and stay with his mother's relations, the De Bernards. There used to be a little marquise, very talkative and overdressed, painted up like a Parisian whore, with the mincing manners of an age that reflected the King's last, great mistress, Madame de Pompadour. The little marquise with her passion for scandal and mischief was dead now, and only her daughter Anne and an old uncle who was her guardian remained. He hadn't seen his cousin since she was a child and all he knew about her was that she was immensely rich. He bowed to his parents.

‘I wish you both good night. Excuse me; I know you wouldn't want me to keep the lady waiting.' As he went out of the room, he laughed.

Katherine turned to her husband.

‘James, James, all I can think of is that poor child Anne. How can we marry her to him … even for the sake of Dundrenan and Clandara – it's twenty-seven years since the Rebellion; how do we know what state the clans are in or if there's anyone left in the glens at all?'

‘The two houses are in ruins but our people are still there,' he answered. ‘They need a leader; they need Anne de Bernard's money to rebuild and replenish the land. She'll fare well enough. How do you know marriage won't change him … it changed me.'

‘My darling,' she said gently, ‘if he were anything like you, I'd love him with all my heart and she'd be the luckiest woman in the world to marry him. But there's none of you in him, and none of me either. Only the very worst of both families – that's all I see in him. You are determined on this marriage, aren't you?'

‘Absolutely,' he said quietly. ‘Don't ask me to change my mind because I can't. I'm Scots to my bones in spite of living here. I must do what is best for my people.'

‘So be it then,' she said. ‘At least I can try to protect her from him when they're married.'

‘When they're married,' James answered slowly, ‘we both can. Come, my darling, I'm going to seek an audience of the King.'

Louise de Vitale was a very beautiful woman, even in a court where beautiful women were in abundance and pretty women too numerous to be counted. At twenty-three she was a widow; her husband, the Baron de Vitale, was already an old man when she married him, and having lived a life of excess, his constitution did not survive the strain of being married to his young and lovely wife for more than two years. When he died he left everything in his possession to the woman whom he described as the most perfect
compagnonne de nuit
any man could wish for. By the time she was twenty, Louise was rich, well connected, and very bored with living in the country on her husband's estates and carrying on intrigues with the husbands of her neighbours. She had exhausted them all during her year's mourning and she left her estates in the hands of a bailiff and set out for Versailles. Almost at once she attracted the attention of the Duc de Richelieu; it was not only advisable but a pleasure for Louise to become his mistress. He was attractive and charming and he enjoyed intrigue as much as she did. Also he was an intimate of the King's new mistress, the Comtesse du Barry, and that opened the door to many things.

In a court where everyone powdered, two women were conspicuous for wearing their hair naturally. One was the royal mistress, whose hair was a ravishing golden red as fine as silk, and the other, the Baroness de Vitale, whose beautiful hair was so dark that in some lights it seemed touched with blue. With this sable hair, she possessed a skin as pale and smooth as milk, and her body was of the same texture and colour as her face. Her eyes were very large and black with heavy, painted lids above them, and a mouth which was full and red. She was beautiful and she dressed superbly, and she had been Charles Macdonald's mistress for over a year. He was the first man to whom she had ever been faithful, and while she waited for him that night, she was so restless that she walked up and down like an animal in a cage. She had a maid who had been in her service since she married, a sharp-eyed little Breton who shared all her secrets.

‘Don't worry, madame. M. Charles will come.'

‘What time is it?' Louise demanded. ‘He's never as late as this!' That was another oddity, Marie thought, taking out her watch. He often kept the baroness waiting, whereas all the other gentlemen would sit outside her door for an hour before she was ready. Marie did not like Charles Macdonald. He was a foreigner for all that he was born and bred in France; there was an arrogance about him, a brutality, which she had seen in his quarrels with her mistress, that was definitely not French. Once he had come to the baroness' apartments drunk, and when she reproached him, he struck her and dragged her into the bedroom and locked the door. When he left the next morning, her mistress was more abjectly in love with him than ever. Marie had a lover of her own; he worked as a footman for the Duchesse de Gramont and together they were saving every sou to get married and open a small shop in Paris.

‘It is nearly eleven o'clock, madame. Perhaps he isn't coming this time?'

‘He would have sent a note, some word,' her mistress said. ‘He'll come, he's been detained by something, that's all it is.' Louise went to the looking glass on the wall and examined herself in it. Charles was the only man she had ever met who made her unsure of her beauty; she stared at herself anxiously. Her dress was pale yellow and made of the soft, thin silk which the Du Barry had brought into fashion; worn without panniers it clung to the body and it showed every line of her beautiful figure; her breasts were almost exposed, only a gauze fichu covered them. She was one of those rare women who looked as beautiful in déshabille as she did in the most magnificent ball gown.

From the beginning of their relationship, when they had met at a card party given by the Duc d'Aiguillon who was at that time Du Barry's lover and political protector, Louise decided that it was useless to expect him to behave like other men. She had begun the intrigue because he was attractive and at first he had paid her no attention. The moment he took her in his arms, he established an absolute mastery of her; in bewilderment she submitted to a sexual domination she had never imagined could exist. Its power over her was such that as she waited for him, she was trembling.

‘Madame,' Marie whispered, ‘I hear him coming!' Louise heard his voice, talking and laughing to another man as they walked down the corridor, and then the other set of steps went on, and the door opened and he came towards her.

‘Charles!' She ran to him and for a moment he held her off, mocking her eagerness. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her. After a moment he looked up at the maid.

‘Get out!'

Marie curtsied and vanished through the door in the wall; she slept in a small closet where she could hear the baroness' bell if she were needed. It wouldn't ring tonight.

‘You're so late,' Louise whispered, avoiding his mouth for a moment. ‘I have supper prepared for you.… Darling beloved, you're tearing my dress … come and sit down for a moment.'

‘I don't want supper and I'm not going to sit down. Come to bed, Louise; to hell with the dress. I'll buy you another one!'

‘What with?' she whispered. He picked her up and kicked open the bedroom door. A table was laid for supper in one corner of the room; there were candles and flowers and the bed was turned down. The rooms were very small and in the upper regions of an outer wing, far from the main building. Louise was lucky to have secured them. ‘How can you buy me a new dress when you're always in debt?' She looked up at him from the bed. He had flung off his wig and stripped off his coat. ‘I'll be a rich man soon. No more questions now!' Louise held out her arms to him.

‘Silence me then,' she said.

Louis XV was sixty-one years old and he had been King of France for fifty-six years. Those who wished to see him privately knew that the quickest means of entry was through the rooms of Madame du Barry, and the best way of ensuring a sympathetic audience was to talk to her first.

In spite of her reputation, Sir James Macdonald found it impossible to dislike the King's mistress. She was common and inclined to be familiar; more than one disdainful nobleman and many haughty women had felt the sting of the comtesse's urchin sense of humour, but in a court where morals were a scandal and the inhumanities practised as a matter of course, the Du Barry was no more vicious than anyone else and far better-natured than most. She injured nobody and tried to help many; her greatest wish was to be liked and accepted. Her extravagance and lewdness were part of the day-to-day life at Versailles, and those who wished for the King's favour, accepted both without comment. She was sitting in her boudoir when Sir James came in. She looked exquisitely pretty in a loose gown of pale blue, sewed with pink and silver lover's knots, and a fortune in pink pearls shining on her neck and breast. Her famous hair was gathered up by more pink and silver bows and an enormous pink diamond winked and blazed out of the mass of curls. The comtesse was ready for His Majesty; she had found a street juggler in Paris and, being delighted by his tricks, brought him to Versailles to perform before the King. A select group of Du Barry's friends had been invited; after the juggler there was a singer and some musicians. The King was growing old so rapidly that it was necessary to stimulate him with songs and plays of such lasciviousness that even the court was shocked. But the gay and pretty little courtesan knew better. She was no prude and they made her laugh. If they made the King affectionate and he wanted to sit and fondle her in public and recapture some of his old vigour afterwards, why should a few sour faces grudge it to him.…

She gave her hand to Sir James to kiss and asked him at once what he wanted.

‘I know you want something, monsieur, you have the look … I've been here long enough now to recognise it a mile off. What can I do for you – or what can the King do?'

‘Something very simple, madame,' he answered and in spite of himself he smiled into the lovely, impudent little face. ‘Something very simple which won't cost His Majesty a sou.'

‘By God, that'll be a change.' Du Barry giggled. ‘Everyone who comes in here has his hand out; it hardly leaves enough for me. How do you like my pearls, monsieur? I've told your dear wife before that I really can't pronounce your name; it's quite impossible for a Parisienne. How is she, by the way? I wish she'd come to see me, but I know it's no use inviting her to one of my evenings.…'

‘She'll wait on you tomorrow,' he promised. Du Barry winked at him. ‘Very skilfully avoided, monsieur. Don't worry. I won't embarrass her or you by inviting you to see my little play tomorrow. I think it's so amusing, I almost split my stays the first time I saw it.… Now, what is this favour that isn't going to cost the King any money?'

‘His permission for the marriage of my son Charles.'

Du Barry glanced up at him and made a face.

‘I know of your son, monsieur, and if you don't mind my saying so, I don't envy the bride, whoever she is. There's a dear friend of mine who's attached to him. I think she's mad and I've told her so. But never mind, never mind. Go and wait in the anteroom; the King will be here in a minute. I'll call for you as soon as he's ready and before he sees my juggler. Don't worry, he'll give his permission. He adores to think of women being made to suffer. Poor little wretch. Until a little later, monsieur.'

‘I knew the girl's mother very well,' the King said. ‘One of the biggest mischief-makers in France. From what I remember of Anne de Bernard, she doesn't resemble her mother in the least. Is she agreeable to this marriage?'

James nodded. ‘Her guardian assures me that she will follow his advice, sire. If you consent to the match, the engagement will be announced next month after my son's return from Charantaise.'