Love Me Forever Read online

  “He had a hired coach and we drove for about five or six miles till we came to a little village. It was only a small poverty-stricken place, but Henry had arranged with the Priest that he should marry us. I can remember now the cold in the Church and the darkness relieved only by the candles on the Altar. My voice seemed to echo round the walls and yet I was not afraid. Henry’s hand holding mine was warm and strong.

  “We drove to another village about three miles away. There we stayed the night. They were the happiest and the most wonderful hours of my whole life. I was married to the man I loved, to a man whom I had chosen for myself. I am glad to remember now that we neither of us slept. We lay in each other’s arms until the dawn came stealing in through the window and then we rose and dressed so that we should be early on our way.

  “We had laughed as we journeyed that morning. Already we imagined ourselves safe, we thought we had escaped. It was nearly noon when my father overtook us. His team of thoroughbred horses could easily outstrip the hired animals that had been the best Henry could procure. He overtook us at a crossroads and I remember now the feeling of horror and terror in my heart as I saw him step from his coach and come walking towards us.

  “What happened after that is even now a jumble of agony in my mind. I can hear my father shouting at Henry. I can hear his quiet replies and then my father drew his sword. I think I screamed out at that. Neither of them paid any attention to me.

  “They were fighting and, as they fought, I remembered my father had always been famed for his swordplay. I sank down on my knees on the roadside. I tried to pray, to cry out and to plead that they would desist, but in the end I could do nothing, I could only kneel there and watch the man I loved die beneath my father’s hand.

  “I was not even allowed to touch Henry or to kiss him goodbye as he lay on the grass, the red blood oozing over the front of his white shirt, his eyes closed and his sword fallen at his side. My father dragged me by force into his coach and we drove off in the direction of my home.

  “I believe then I was seized of a frenzy and it took all his strength to hold me down. Actually I remember nothing – a merciful darkness seemed to enfold me so that for a little while I was spared even my own suffering. I was ill for several months and before my brain began to creep back to reality my mother knew the truth, I was with child.”

  As she said this, the Princesse threw up her head. The gesture was meant to be proud, but it was somehow infinitely pathetic. She continued, however, without a pause, speaking directly to Amé,

  “I don’t want you to think that I was in any way ashamed or dismayed at bearing Henry’s child. I was proud and glad. It was in fact the knowledge that I was about to have a baby that cured me of the weakness from which I had suffered since Henry’s death. Medicines and physicians were powerless to help me, but my joy at the thought of my approaching motherhood made me strong overnight.

  “Henry might be dead, but I carried his child, I had something left, something of that ecstasy and happiness which had been mine for such a short time.

  “My parents’ attitude was very different. They were determined that no one should know anything of what they termed ‘my disgrace’. Making my illness an excuse, my mother took me away to Italy. We stayed in a tiny fishing village by the sea and it was there that my daughter was born. To my delight she had the same red hair and the same blue eyes as my husband, a strange characteristic of his family.”

  A sudden exclamation of amazement came from between Amé’s parted lips.

  Her eyes became suddenly very round and her fingers fluttered for an instant to her heart and then she was still again, her eyes fixed on the Princesse.

  “I don’t think I could ever describe to you what it meant to me to hold Henry’s daughter in my arms,” the Princesse continued. “To know that she was a part of him and that our love for each other was still alive in the form of our little girl.

  “It was then my mother told me what was to be done. My father, it appeared, had taken the Cardinal de Rohan, a distant relative of ours, into his confidence. He had confessed to him the disgraceful manner in which I had behaved with an impecunious Englishman, jeopardising the wonderful chance I had of making a brilliant and advantageous marriage with the heir to the Prince de Frémond.

  “The Cardinal was, it seemed, only too eager that a relative of his, however distant, should be connected with the de Frémonds, who were influential at Court. He promised to help and my family pledged themselves to carry out the arrangements he made and to prevent any interference whatsoever on my part.

  “My child, I was told, would be brought up in the Convent de la Croix at St. Benis. It was a Convent in which the Cardinal had a special interest and the Mother Prioress was well-known to him. It was too one of the richest and most aristocratic Convents in all of his Diocese. My mother informed me drily that my daughter was exceptionally lucky. Only influence could obtain her a place in such an exclusive community. I tried to protest, I tried to say I intended to keep my child, but really there was nothing I could do.

  “There were indeed only two alternatives, to kill myself and the child or to agree to the arrangements that my father had made with the Cardinal. Everything was planned to the very last detail. Only the Mother Prioress, I learned, was to be informed that the Cardinal had a special interest in my child, but even she was not to know the baby’s identity or where she came from.

  “Arrangements were made for the baby to be left on the doorstep of the Convent so that it should appear to be a foundling, but whereas in most cases an infant discovered in such circumstances would be sent to another and less important Convent, in this case the Convent de la Croix would foster and keep the child.

  “I was too good a Catholic to commit suicide and therefore there was nothing I could do but to obey. For nearly a month my mother and I lingered on in Italy. I nursed my baby and every hour and every second was as precious as those I had spent with Henry. And even as I had known subconsciously when I was with him that I dare not sleep and miss one moment of his beloved presence, so with my child I felt the same.

  “I had in all twenty-eight days of her, just twenty-eight days that were to serve me all my life. Then the moment came when we must start the journey home. The Cardinal and my father had left nothing to chance. We changed horses at places where they were not likely to recognise or remember us. A hired carriage with strange attendants actually drove us to the Convent de la Croix.

  “I kissed my daughter for the last time. Without my mother’s knowledge I had written a little note, which I tucked into her clothes. Then I set her down on the doorstep, pulled the great clanging bell of the Convent and drove away.

  “I do think that something within me died then. From that moment I could feel no emotion whatsoever. I neither loved nor hated. I was neither happy nor unhappy. I just seemed to live in some mysterious half-world of my own in which the past was more real than the present and the future had not the slightest interest for me.

  “I was married to Charles de Frémond a month later. He was very much in love with me and I used to wonder at times why he had never realised that I was not a real person at all, but someone who was half-dead. Perhaps all he expected was an obedient acquiescent wife, for he never complained. My misdemeanours were never spoken of again by my family and they ignored the whole episode as though it had never been. They were pleased with my marriage, indeed it made my father even claim that he was proud of me. I often wondered what he really thought.

  “The years went by. Sometimes I imagined that I myself must have dreamt all the loveliness and happiness that had happened to me so briefly, so very very briefly.

  “And then one day, less than two weeks ago, the Cardinal came to see me. He is a constant visitor to our house for he and my husband often have affairs of State to discuss, but on this occasion he asked for me alone. Wonderingly, for it had never happened before, I went down to the salon where he was waiting. It was then he accused me of sheltering my own
daughter!

  “For a moment I thought he must be crazed and then I realised that something had happened to her.

  “‘What are you trying to tell me?’ I asked. ‘How could I shelter her here if she is in the Convent?’

  “‘That is the whole point,’ the Cardinal replied, ‘the girl has left the Convent, run away and we cannot find her!’

  “‘I have not seen her,’ I said. ‘I only wish to God that she had come to me for I would welcome her as well you know.’

  “He grew nervous at that and after admonishing me to be circumspect in every way and to make certain that I never betrayed myself by a careless word, he left the house. The Cardinal had never liked me and I felt that in some ways he was glad to see me suffer and to know that I was worried and perturbed by the thought of what might have happened to my child.

  “At the dinner party that you both attended he was merely taunting me, knowing that I already knew the truth and yet must keep up in front of my guests a pretence that I had never heard of the escaped novice before and that she was of little interest to me. The Cardinal was being cruel to me and yet I was perceptive enough to realise that he was also in some way concerned with Your Grace’s reaction to his news. I could see him watch you with that shrewd crafty expression in his eyes that I have seen too often not to be able to interpret it.

  “When he said that your coach had stopped outside the Convent that night, I felt that he suspected you of having seen something and of having some knowledge of the escaped novice that you had not imparted to him. I would have liked to speak to you then or the next day and yet the habit of prudence that had been forced on me for so long held me still in its grip.

  “And then, last night, when I heard that your Ward was missing and the Cardinal told me that he suspected a conspiracy to kidnap young girls, I became frantic. I decided to come here and beg you to tell me anything you knew about my child. I found within myself a courage which I believed had died with the rest of my feelings, so I left my house early this morning and drove here to throw myself on your mercy, only to find – what I sought.”

  The Princesse’s voice broke. But there were no tears in her eyes as she turned to look at Amé. Instead her face was tender and soft with love and her lips trembled from the very fullness of her heart.

  She had only to wait a second before Amé held out her hands in a sweet spontaneous gesture and cried,

  “Ma mère! I never thought I should say those words. Ma mère!”

  The tears came then into the Princesse’s eyes. As they ran down her face, she took Amé in her arms and held her very close.

  Slowly the Duke then rose to his feet and walked across the room to stand looking out across the garden, deliberately withdrawing the nearness of his presence so that they could be together alone, mother and daughter, united after so many years of loneliness apart.

  “I have dreamed of this,” the Princesse murmured, “dreamed that I should be able to put my arms round you. I used to imagine you sleeping at night in the Convent and to wish that I might have wings so that I could come to you invisibly, to tell you of my love and to protect you from anything that might frighten you.”

  “Perhaps I have felt you there,” Amé answered. “I was very happy in the Convent but there seemed always to be peace and comfort in my own room. I used to think it must be the angels who blessed me and who came to me there, but it was you.”

  “The angels as well, I hope, ma petite,” the Princesse smiled. “You are so very like your father and to think that you should have come to my house the other night and that I should have touched your hand and not have recognised you.”

  “It is well that you were blind,” Amé replied, “or you might have said something to make the Cardinal suspect me and then I should have been taken back to the Convent immediately.”

  Her words seemed to recall to the Princesse the dangers that surrounded them.

  She put her hands up to her face.

  “I must go,” she said. “It must not be known that I came here.”

  “But why?” Amé asked, “And please, I want to see you again very soon.”

  The Princesse put out her arms.

  “My darling, my baby, I would give everything I possess and indeed my right hand to proclaim to the world that you are my daughter and to keep you with me, but I dare not! It is not my unimportant life or peace of mind that matters – it is something far more serious.

  “I am, as you know, in close attendance upon Her Majesty. She honours me with her friendship. I spend a great deal of time with her, especially when she is at the Petit Trianon far away from the heavy formality of Versailles. We have many things in common and I have tried to help her through the difficulties and dangers of Court life. But there are those who are jealous of our friendship. There are those who would glory in seeing me or any of the Queen’s friends involved in some scandal so that they could turn it to account against her.”

  “The Duc de Chartres!” Amé exclaimed.

  The Princesse looked apprehensive.

  “Hush,” she warned. “It is not safe to say his name, but you know as I do, that he is a bitter enemy of the Queen.”

  “Everyone is aware of that,” the Duke said, walking back to the sofa. “I know what you are trying to say, Princesse, and you are entirely right. If the Duc discovered that Amé was your child, it would be yet another weapon that he could strike at the Throne with.”

  “I knew you would understand,” the Princesse said. “My husband holds a great position. The truth would destroy him as well as myself.”

  We must do nothing to hurt you or the Queen,” Amé agreed. “We will be very careful, very careful but, ma mère, I am so so delighted to have found you.”

  “And I you, my darling,” the Princesse cried.

  She kissed Amé again and then turned towards the Duke.

  “I know you will take great care of her. You have already taken great risks. If the Cardinal should discover that he has been hoodwinked – ”

  “He will not discover it,” the Duke interrupted firmly. “We have not yet made our plans for the future, but I promise, madame, to keep you fully informed. Try, however, to make the Cardinal believe that you are still consumed with anxiety about what has happened to Amé since she left the Convent.”

  “I will, I will,” the Princesse said, “and I thank you, Your Grace – I thank you from the very bottom of my heart.” She lifted her handkerchief to her eyes. “I am still crying,” she said, “but it is from happiness – the happiness of finding my beloved child and from the relief of knowing that she is in good hands.”

  “No one could be kinder or more wonderful to me than the Monseigneur has been,” Amé assured her.

  “It is getting late. I must go,” the Princesse said in a sudden flurry. “Oh, ma petite bébé, take care of your precious self.”

  She kissed Amé very tenderly and then the Duke escorted her across the hall to her waiting carriage. When he came back into the room, Amé was sitting in a big high-backed chair, looking pensive.

  As the Duke closed the door behind him, she sprang up and ran across towards him to fold both hands over his arm.

  “Monseigneur, I am no longer a nobody!” she announced. “It is wonderful to find that I have a mother – and even more wonderful to realise that I am no longer just Amé, that I had a father and that I am not entirely ignoble.”

  “Were you afraid of that?” the Duke asked with a faint smile, looking down at her aristocratic features and the proud way that she carried her head.

  “Sometimes I was terribly afraid,” Amé confessed. “I used to lie awake at night and make up stories about who I might be – the daughter of a great Prince or of some adventurer who had reasons for not acknowledging me. Then there used to come a sharp fear into my heart that I might really be nobody but the daughter of a cobbler or a blacksmith or the unwanted child of some poor wretch who had never even known the name of her seducer.”

  Amé’s voice dee
pened as she spoke and the Duke knew that her fears had been very real.

  “You should have had faith in yourself,” he suggested.

  Amé straightened her back as if he had challenged her.

  “I had most of the time,” she replied. “It was only when it was very dark and I was feeling sad or had been punished for being naughty. It was, of course, both un-Christian and un-Catholic to worry over such things, the nuns were always saying that all men are equal in the sight of God, but I did so want to be respectable.”

  “And now that you know you are, what about it?” the Duke asked.

  “Now I am no longer ashamed to walk beside you and pretend to the world that I am your Ward.”

  “You have been ashamed in the past?” the Duke enquired almost harshly.

  “Just sometimes I have been afraid that the day might come when you would find me not only ignorant of the ways of the world, but coarse or vulgar and that you might say to me, ‘I can no longer give you the shield of my protection. You are only a child of the people and you must go back to them’.”

  She paused for a moment, and then with a little glance at him from under her eyelashes, she said,

  “You see, Monseigneur, when you love someone very much, there is always the fear that you are not good enough for them.”

  Abruptly the Duke disengaged his arm from her clinging hands and strode away from her across the room and then strode back again. For the first time since Amé had known him he seemed to have lost his habitual calm.

  “Listen, my child,” he said at length, “I am very much older than you are, too old.”

  “If you mean by that,” Amé said, “that you are too old for me to love you, then you are mistaken. You told me that when I came to Paris and saw young eligible men of my own age, I should much prefer them to you. How wrong you were! They seemed to me silly and idiotic boys. You are a man! It is the man that I love. And besides, I think you are forgetting, Monseigneur, that love is something that comes of itself. One cannot choose. Suddenly it is there.”