Fascination in France Page 2

  “What are we – to do? What are we – to do?” Judy was asking now.

  “We will have to go and stay with the Duc as your father has arranged,” Celita answered. “But we must try to prevent him from proposing to you.”

  “Perhaps he will just fix it up – with Papa,” Judy moaned miserably.

  “I cannot believe that any man who was a man would do that,” Celita said. “It would be insulting if the Duc did not ask you to be his wife himself. In any case we cannot be certain that is what he does intend.”

  “He intends it all right” Judy insisted. “Papa implies it in his letter.”

  She looked down at it, where it was lying rather crumpled on her knee.

  “He says,

  ‘I have met the Duc on various Racecourses and found him a most interesting and intelligent young man. He is a good judge of horses, which I like in any man. I would enjoy helping him expand his stables, as he wishes to do?’

  “Why can he not expand them himself?” Judy asked as she finished reading.

  Celita knew the answer to that, but she did not say so aloud.

  The Duc obviously needed money and who had more money to spend than Lord Waterforde?

  “I am afraid,” she said, “we shall have to go to the château, dearest, but perhaps we need not stay long. Is your father coming out to meet us there?”

  “No, Papa says he cannot do that immediately. My Aunt Mabel, whom I have never liked, is to meet us as soon as we arrive. I am more than certain that she will be pushing me into the Duc’s arms.”

  Celita, who had met Judy’s aunt and found her an unattractive woman, thought this was most likely.

  Lady Hilton was the widow of a man who had been much older than she was.

  Since she was widowed, she had spent a great deal of time with her brother, seeking, Celita rather expected, another husband.

  As she was a rather tiresome and pushy woman, she had so far failed in her search.

  Celita could not help thinking that it was a pity that she would be at the château, for she was certain to upset Judy.

  “Try not to worry, dearest” she urged her friend. “It’s no use crying until you have to. I am quite certain that we can find some way out of this predicament.”

  “What way out can there possibly be?” Judy asked in a voice of gloom. “The Duc wants my money, Papa wants me to be a Duchess and – Aunt Mabel wants any crumbs that fall from a rich man’s table!”

  Celita laughed because she could not help it.

  “Now you are beginning to see the funny side of it,” she said, “and that is very sensible of you, dearest.”

  “I don’t think it’s at all funny,” Judy said. “I want to marry Clive, I love Clive and I am going to write and tell him so.”

  “He knows it already,” Celita said. “I am just wondering whether it would help if he told your father that he desperately wants to marry you.”

  “We advised him not to do so last holidays,” Judy reminded her. “We thought then it was too soon – and now it is too late.”

  “Nothing is too late until you are actually walking down the aisle with the Duc,” Celita declared. “What we have to do is somehow to find a way out and I have a feeling in my bones that we will manage it.”

  “Do you really feel that?” Judy asked in a serious tone. “Or are you just saying it to make me happier?”

  “I really do believe it,” Celita assured her. “I am certain I shall think of something before we reach the château, which will convince the Duc that he does not wish to marry you.”

  “Only one thing would convince him of that is to hear that Papa had lost all his money,” Judy said.

  “That would be a disaster anyway,” Celita replied. “Think how horrible it would be if he had to sell Waterforde Court and you could not have your ball.”

  “No, I shall have my ball,” Judy said miserably, “and Papa will arrange for my engagement to be announced on the same day. I know exactly how his mind works. He will think that would be an appropriate occasion.”

  “In that case we have a little time to make sure that he does nothing of the sort,” Celita said. “We have just got to pray for a miracle to happen to save you and somehow I am sure there will be one.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” Judy sighed. “I am frightened, so very frightened, that I shall lose Clive and find myself married to the Duc, far away from you and everyone else.”

  “I can understand you feeling like that,” Celita sighed, “but it does not help. You are yielding to your emotions at the moment and we must concentrate on our brains.”

  She raised her hand to her forehead as she added,

  “Think, Judy, think what we can do! That is the only way we can save you.”

  “I doubt it,” Judy answered.

  But she wiped her eyes.

  *

  The two girls set off for their journey by train.

  Sister Agnes and Judy’s lady’s maid were sitting on the small seats of the carriage facing the back of the train.

  There had been a great many ‘goodbyes’ to say.

  The Headmistress had made a speech at their supper last night.

  She had said how much she would miss both the Honourable Judy Forde and Lady Celita Dale when the next term started.

  “You have both been outstandingly good pupils,” she prattled on, “and I am very proud to have had you in my school. I shall look forward to hearing what happens to you now that you are going out into the world and I feel sure that the report will be one of happiness.”

  Every girl present knew what the Headmistress meant by that.

  It was that Celita and Judy would be married to distinguished and important gentlemen.

  In her private sitting room there were a large number of photographs of girls who had left the school and the majority, in ornate silver frames, were of their weddings attended by elegant bridesmaids and small pages.

  Celita could not help thinking a little cynically that, if Judy married the Duc, she would have a place of honour in the collection.

  If it was merely Clive, she might not even have her picture framed.

  ‘It is all Society snobbery,’ she told herself. ‘I just hope that I can find someone like Papa, even if he is just a plain Mister and we can live in a nice little house in the country and have lots of dogs and at least four children.’

  Then she laughed to herself.

  For the moment she had to struggle with the problem of Judy and whether or not she was to marry the Duc.

  If they had been going to England, taking the train from the Gare du Nord to Calais, a First Class compartment would have been reserved for the two young ladies and Sister Agnes and the one next door for the Courier and Judy’s lady’s maid.

  But for the much longer journey to Arles from the Gare de Lyon a private coach had been attached for them to the express.

  It was a special concession that Judy had been allowed to have a lady’s maid at school. Then only on the promise that Martha should also do what she could for the other girls.

  This had been agreed, but Celita was aware that, after looking after Judy, Martha did as little as possible for anyone else except herself.

  “They should have their own maids with them,” Martha said firmly.

  “I am sure in most cases, like me, they cannot afford them,” Celita objected.

  “You’re different, my Lady,” Martha explained. “I likes looking after you, your clothes are real beautiful, the way her Ladyship makes them.”

  “Mama is very clever,” Celita agreed. “And I am so lucky that you take care of my things, which I often tell her should be put in museums.”

  Martha laughed at this.

  But Celita knew she took special trouble pressing and mending her clothes before she took them home for the holidays.

  In the train the girls talked to Sister Agnes. She was an elderly nun who had entered the Convent that adjoined the school because the man she loved had been killed fighting
for France.

  “Do you ever regret, Sister Agnes,” Celita had asked her once, “giving up the world outside and living in a Convent?”

  The Sister had taken a little time to reply.

  Then she said,

  “I often think I would like to have had children of my own, but there was only one man for me and, if I could not have him, then I had to be content with God.”

  It seemed to Celita a reasonable way of looking at things.

  At the same time she told herself she wanted to live and she wanted to see the world.

  There was so much to do, so much to enjoy, so much to learn.

  Now, as the miles passed, Judy became more and more depressed.

  “I want to go to England,” she moaned. “I hate having to stay in France.”

  “I know, dearest,” Celita said. “Perhaps we will not have to stay long.”

  She caught Judy’s eye and they were both thinking that it was a question of how long the Duc took to propose.

  Alternatively, how long it took them to persuade him that, contrary to whatever Lord Waterforde had said, she should not marry him.

  ‘It’s going to be difficult – very difficult,’ Celita admitted to herself.

  She tried wildly to think of some excuse for changing their minds at the last minute and going to England as had originally been intended.

  Because Lord Waterforde was aware of how difficult life was for the Countess since her husband’s death, fruit from the garden, eggs, chickens and young lambs from the farm came to Four Gables regularly.

  When he called on them, which he did frequently, he sometimes left a case of champagne in the hall. Or he brought in some special delicacy from London.

  “You are too generous,” the Countess often sighed.

  “But I enjoy being generous to you,” Lord Waterforde asserted, “and I cannot say that of everyone I bestow any favours on.”

  “I am sure that no one could be ungrateful for all you do for them,” the Countess answered.

  “You would be surprised,” he said. “My relatives take it as a matter of course that I should pay their bills, indulge their extravagances and, when they require it, supply them with a new house, carriage, horses and anything else they fancy.”

  Because there was a hard note in his voice, the Countess had put her hand on his arm.

  “Don’t allow yourself to become cynical,” she advised. “You know as well as I do that everyone envies a rich man and nothing is worse than a rich man who is stingy! No one could ever say that of you.”

  Lord Waterforde had laughed.

  “Now you are flattering me and I am enjoying it,” he said. “But, when people call on me, I find myself wondering how quickly they are going to ask me for something and I watch them fidgeting around the subject until they can get it out!”

  “You are not to think like that!” the Countess protested.

  “But if you were in my shoes you would think exactly the same,” Lord Waterforde said. “Believe it or not, this world is full of spongers. Some have blue eyes and a pathetic story of ill treatment, others are fat and red-nosed and have lost a packet on the Derby!”

  Now the Countess as well was laughing at his joke, yet they both knew that unfortunately it was true.

  “We must be very careful not to impose on him,” the Countess had often said to Celita.

  “Of course not, Mama, but I know that he really loves us and, when you love people, you want to give them presents.”

  Equally Celita was well aware that his Lordship could be hard, even cruel, if people disobeyed or obstructed him.

  She wanted to help Judy because Judy meant so much to her and she wanted Judy’s happiness as much as she desired her own.

  Nevertheless she knew that it would be injurious to her mother if she made an enemy of him.

  ‘If only Papa were here,’ she sighed to herself. ‘He was so wise and so sensible and I am sure that he would have known how to handle this very difficult problem.”

  The train was drawing near to Arles and Sister Agnes, who knew the country well, was talking about the City.

  She was telling them that they must see some of the gold work for which the artisans of Arles in the past had been famous.

  Celita thought this sounded interesting.

  She also remembered that the Empress Eugenie had chosen Arles as her residence in Provence and that there were many ancient Roman remains there, including the Palace of the Emperor Constantine the Great.

  “There is so much to see,” Sister Agnes said enthusiastically, “and Arles not only has a rich and glorious past but the air one breathes creates joy and a happy atmosphere.”

  Celita smiled.

  She understood exactly what Sister Agnes was saying. She had thought, ever since she had been in France, that there was a special lilt in the air that made her understand why the French talked of joie de vivre.

  Judy sat in silence until Sister Agnes had finished speaking and then she said,

  “I hate France. I want to go back to England as soon as I can.”

  Because she thought that it was a mistake for Judy to be so miserable in front of Sister Agnes, Celita changed the subject.

  They talked of other subjects until the train finally steamed into Arles.

  At the station waiting for them were two very grand carriages, each drawn by four horses and with smart footmen on the box.

  The Stationmaster had been informed of their arrival and escorted them to the carriages.

  Then Sister Agnes had to say ‘goodbye’ to the two girls as she was returning to Paris.

  The Stationmaster promised to see that she was comfortably looked after until the Paris train arrived.

  They kissed her and whispered ‘goodbye’ to her again

  “I will pray for you,” Sister Agnes said in a soft voice.

  “Please do that,” Celita said. “We need your prayers very much at the moment and we will be most grateful for them.”

  Sister Agnes smiled at her.

  “You will always be all right, Celita,” she said. “Nothing can keep you down, you mark my words.”

  Celita laughed.

  “Thank you again, Sister. I just hope that is true.”

  Judy climbed into the carriage and Celita joined her.

  The Courier and the lady’s maid with the luggage were to follow them.

  “Now we are here,” Celita said as they drove off, “you must try to cheer up. There are lots of exciting things to see, so let’s forget the Duc for a moment and enjoy ourselves.”

  “How can I enjoy myself,” Judy asked, “when I want to go home to Clive? Oh, Celita, I ought to have told you before. I begged him to come out to France to see me and pretend that he had come to see you.”

  “Why did you do that?” Celita said. “That is sure to complicate matters and your father will be angry if he finds out.”

  “Not if he thinks Clive is pursuing you,” Judy pointed out.

  Celita sighed.

  She could see a great many difficulties about all this and she really had no wish to be in the centre of them.

  But she must protect Judy.

  She was well aware that Judy had a simple and uncomplicated nature.

  Having fallen in love with Clive, she had no wish for anyone else and just wanted to be allowed to marry him.

  Celita could understand how a girl could be swept away by the excitement of coming out, the balls, the money spent on her appearance and the fact that almost anything that she wanted in the world could be hers.

  But Judy wanted just one thing and that was Clive.

  It was going to be almost impossible to persuade her even to consider an alternative.

  Yet Celita was well aware of how furious Lord Waterforde would be if his plans went awry from the very beginning.

  The difficulty was she had no idea what she could do.

  How could she possibly save Judy from having her heart broken and her future life ruined?

&n
bsp; It was all a question of money.

  If the Duc really wanted money, it would be difficult for him to find anyone richer than Judy.

  Celita knew that her father’s friends had often made jokes about the enormous wealth Lord Waterforde possessed. Living on his estate must be like sitting at ‘the throne of Midas’ they had suggested.

  “Does he make you feel humble?” one man had inquired.

  “Not in the slightest,” the Earl replied. “He is one of the most charming and good-tempered men I know and he never boasts about his money.”

  “He doesn’t need to,” another of the Earl’s friends retorted sarcastically, “while I am continually counting mine and finding it missing.”

  They all laughed at that.

  But Celita had realised, as she listened to them, that they were all envious of Lord Waterforde and resented his being so rich.

  She had heard so often how his fortune had accumulated and how clever he had been in handling it and how his wife had also been the daughter of a rich man.

  “Money goes to money,” Celita’s old Nanny had remarked and that indeed was true.

  ‘It can also make people very unhappy,’ she thought now and looked at Judy.

  Judy was staring out of the window, her lips drooping, her eyes filled with misery.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Celita told herself.

  If Judy had already enjoyed a Season in London, it might have been different.

  But to go straight from school to cope with a man who wanted her money to spend on improper women was too much for anyone so young and inexperienced.

  Because Celita was exceedingly intelligent and very well read, she did not feel immature or nervous about entering a new world.

  When Lord Waterforde gave his huge parties at The Court, Judy had usually been sent to the schoolroom or she came to Celita’s home until the party was over.

  But when friends came to see Celita’s father and mother, she was always present too.

  They might be talking about horses, politics or international affairs and her father was an expert on all of these subjects.

  Celita was able to follow what was being said and found it all extremely interesting.

  It was because of this and what she had learnt at school that she felt in many ways that she was very much older than Judy and much more experienced.