gone wild what with your meetings and your lectures and your books. She’s hired you a companion.’
‘A what ?’
‘Seems that the Warrens were at church of all places. Got a recommendation. Interviewed the woman. She’s to arrive on Friday eighth of February, by the stage. All I know is she’s a French countess or such, down on her luck.’
‘ French .’
‘Georgina says London is littered with French gentlewomen looking for an income.’
The wind was playing havoc with Asa’s cloak and hair. ‘But Father, you hate the French.’
‘This woman is a refugee, calls herself Madame de something or other. I shall make her welcome if she turns out to be good for my Asa.’
‘What about Philippa? What does she think of all this?’
‘Philippa has persuaded Mr Morton to pay the first month’s salary. I’m to find the rest.’
‘But she’s expecting her new child in a couple of months. She’ll need me at Morton Hall.’
‘You can take the French woman with you.’
‘My brother-in-law wouldn’t let her pass through his gates. Everyone knows he’s lost all sympathy with the French. Philippa says he’s disappointed in them and believes every French person to be a potential revolutionary or spy. Father, please. Put a stop to all this before it’s too late.’
For a moment her father held her tightly and kissed her forehead. Then he pushed her away, took off his hat and thrust it back on his head, crooked. The wind struck him a slanting blow as if in punishment. His eyes were watering.
They walked on until they were high on the ridge and could see, on the other side, the long decline through yet more woodland, smallholdings and hamlets to Littlehampton, where Caroline lived, and then the sea and beyond, where water and cloud merged, the invisible France.
‘We’ll try the companion for a month, Asa. You might like a bit of female conversation. No obligation to marry anyone, eh?’
Half an hour later they were back at the manor house, where they were met at the door by their housekeeper, Mrs Dean, who’d heard from the butcher, who’d got it from his brother ridden over from Chichester, that yesterday France had opened hostilities with Great Britain and the Netherlands. The countries were now officially at war.
Chapter Five
Madame de Rusigneux, the new companion, did not arrive in auspicious circumstances. The second Friday in February 1793 happened to be the day when the village chose to put on a charivari, or rough music as it was called by the lads responsible, on account of a tailor and his wife who had moved into Key Cottage a year ago and who kept their neighbours awake with their arguments and the hurling of pans. Both parties were to blame; the tailor because he was too weak to keep his wife quiet; she for being a foul-mouthed hoyden.
Tailor Dacre, improbably tall and thin, took absurdly short steps for his long legs when delivering work to the rectory, the farm or farther afield in Littlehampton. He was always in a hurry and had exchanged at most half a dozen words with Asa when summoned to the manor by Mrs Dean to be handed the squire’s breeches for mending or copying. His wife, a white-skinned, jutting-jawed woman with a fuzz of red hair, never acknowledged Asa when they met in the village. Straw effigies of both, the tailor clad in a petticoat and with an obscenely prominent horn tied to his forehead, his wife in trousers, were perched on a cart and paraded through the village to Key Cottage, where half a dozen or so youths clashed saucepan lids, clattered broomsticks and built a pyre on which to burn the figures. The tailor and his wife did not emerge.
Squire Ardleigh was a dozen miles away, slaughtering a deer. Asa, who had been preparing for her new companion by emptying a chest in the spare room, ran to a window overlooking the street to see what all the fuss was about.
Some of the village women were attempting to rein back the boys, but the mob went on creating a racket,
‘A what ?’
‘Seems that the Warrens were at church of all places. Got a recommendation. Interviewed the woman. She’s to arrive on Friday eighth of February, by the stage. All I know is she’s a French countess or such, down on her luck.’
‘ French .’
‘Georgina says London is littered with French gentlewomen looking for an income.’
The wind was playing havoc with Asa’s cloak and hair. ‘But Father, you hate the French.’
‘This woman is a refugee, calls herself Madame de something or other. I shall make her welcome if she turns out to be good for my Asa.’
‘What about Philippa? What does she think of all this?’
‘Philippa has persuaded Mr Morton to pay the first month’s salary. I’m to find the rest.’
‘But she’s expecting her new child in a couple of months. She’ll need me at Morton Hall.’
‘You can take the French woman with you.’
‘My brother-in-law wouldn’t let her pass through his gates. Everyone knows he’s lost all sympathy with the French. Philippa says he’s disappointed in them and believes every French person to be a potential revolutionary or spy. Father, please. Put a stop to all this before it’s too late.’
For a moment her father held her tightly and kissed her forehead. Then he pushed her away, took off his hat and thrust it back on his head, crooked. The wind struck him a slanting blow as if in punishment. His eyes were watering.
They walked on until they were high on the ridge and could see, on the other side, the long decline through yet more woodland, smallholdings and hamlets to Littlehampton, where Caroline lived, and then the sea and beyond, where water and cloud merged, the invisible France.
‘We’ll try the companion for a month, Asa. You might like a bit of female conversation. No obligation to marry anyone, eh?’
Half an hour later they were back at the manor house, where they were met at the door by their housekeeper, Mrs Dean, who’d heard from the butcher, who’d got it from his brother ridden over from Chichester, that yesterday France had opened hostilities with Great Britain and the Netherlands. The countries were now officially at war.
Chapter Five
Madame de Rusigneux, the new companion, did not arrive in auspicious circumstances. The second Friday in February 1793 happened to be the day when the village chose to put on a charivari, or rough music as it was called by the lads responsible, on account of a tailor and his wife who had moved into Key Cottage a year ago and who kept their neighbours awake with their arguments and the hurling of pans. Both parties were to blame; the tailor because he was too weak to keep his wife quiet; she for being a foul-mouthed hoyden.
Tailor Dacre, improbably tall and thin, took absurdly short steps for his long legs when delivering work to the rectory, the farm or farther afield in Littlehampton. He was always in a hurry and had exchanged at most half a dozen words with Asa when summoned to the manor by Mrs Dean to be handed the squire’s breeches for mending or copying. His wife, a white-skinned, jutting-jawed woman with a fuzz of red hair, never acknowledged Asa when they met in the village. Straw effigies of both, the tailor clad in a petticoat and with an obscenely prominent horn tied to his forehead, his wife in trousers, were perched on a cart and paraded through the village to Key Cottage, where half a dozen or so youths clashed saucepan lids, clattered broomsticks and built a pyre on which to burn the figures. The tailor and his wife did not emerge.
Squire Ardleigh was a dozen miles away, slaughtering a deer. Asa, who had been preparing for her new companion by emptying a chest in the spare room, ran to a window overlooking the street to see what all the fuss was about.
Some of the village women were attempting to rein back the boys, but the mob went on creating a racket,
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