Voices in a Haunted Room

“Of course not,” put in my mother. “Jeanne has been a wonderful friend. I wanted her to join us at table but she would not. She is a stickler for formality. ‘Jeanne,’ I said to her, ‘you are a dear friend. That is how we regard you.’ ‘I am Mademoiselle Sophie’s maid, Madame,’ she said. ‘And that is what I wish to be.’ I could not persuade her.”

“If you have no objection I shall eat with her as I have always done,” said Sophie.

“It is a special occasion tonight and I wanted to be here to greet Claudine.”

“Thank you, Aunt Sophie.”

Her eyes were on me and I saw in them a hint of the warmth she showed for Jeanne Fougere, and I felt rather pleased that this strange woman should have a certain feeling for me. She always had had-and for Chariot too-but I think particularly for me. I remembered long ago in the Chateau d’Aubigne before that day-so far in the dislant past now-when we had left for a holiday in England and never came back. It was the last time, before this, when I had seen Aunt Sophie.

“Do come to the table,” said my mother. “They have brought in the soup and it will be getting cold.”

We sat down to dinner and Jonathan said: “I claim the honour of sitting on the right hand of the bride.” Whereupon he took I he chair next to mine.

“No need to ask if the honeymoon was a success, is there, Dickon?” said my mother.

“Bliss and contentment shine from their eyes,” replied Dickon.

“And to think,” said Jonathan, “that while you were discovering the joys of matrimony, I was bartering for a boat in Ostend.”

“So you came that way,” said David.

“My dear brother, where else? How do you think an Englishman would fare in Calais or some more convenient port? An Englishman ... bringing Frenchwomen across the Channel! Have you any idea what it is like out there?”

“A vague one,” replied David. “I did not expect for one moment that you could come through France.”

“Jonathan will tell you about it sometime,” said my mother She was flashing a look at me and glancing at Sophie. I understood what she meant and so did David. The subject was too painful to be talked of in front of Sophie. We should hear all later when she was not one of the company.

“Well, here you are now and that is wonderful,” I said. “We have been so worried.”My hand was lying on the table and Jonathan pressed it briefly. It was outwardly a brotherly gesture, but the touch of his hand on mine made me shiver. “I have given Aunt Sophie the nursery rooms,” said my mother.

“Oh ... they haven’t been used for years.”

“I liked them as soon as I saw them,” said Sophie.

“They arrived in the early hours of the morning. What a day that was!” My mother went on talking quickly. “I was so delighted ... and then I looked for Chariot.”

Dickon said: “He is doing what he wanted to do. You can’t stop people doing that, you know, Lottie. He’s got to live his own life.”

“What will become of him?”

“Chariot will do well,” said Dickon. “He’s that sort. He’ll soon rise to be a general in that rabble, you’ll see.”

David said dryly: “It seems to be doing surprisingly well for a rabble army.”

“Yes indeed,” agreed Dickon. “A surprise for us all. They’ve got some fight in them, those rebels. The French have always been excellent soldiers. I will say that for them.”

He was looking at Lottie tenderly. He would never feel the same for his sons as she did for hers. Dickon was too self-centred; he was not the man to form sentimental attachments. That was why his obsession with my mother was so remarkable; and all the more intense, I supposed, because his affections were not divided.

“Oh yes,” he went on, “Chariot has found his niche in the world and his shadow Louis Charles with him. When this stupid war is over, when these bloodthirsty citizens of the Republic settle down, when sanity returns to France, reality will come with it. Then, Lottie, my love, you and I will pay a visit to France. We shall be graciously received by Monsieur le General, sporting all the medals he has won ... and you’ll be very proud of him.”

“Dickon, you are absurd. But you’re right. He does know how to take care of himself.”

They had taken the soup away and we were now being served with the roast beef.

“The roast beef of old England!” said Jonathan. “Nothing like it.

How I have longed for it,” He pressed a little closer to me. “... among other things.”

“Nothing like an absence from the old country to increase one’s appreciation of it,”

commented Dickon.

Aunt Sophie spoke little English and the conversation at the table was half English, half French. Jonathan’s French was like his father’s extremely anglicised.

I said: “I wonder how you ever got along over there.”

He put his fingers to his lips and my mother said laughingly: “Do you think Jonathan would be defeated by a mere language? He’d override such obstacles. He’s like his father.”

Jonathan and Dickon looked at each other and laughed. There was a rapport between them which was lacking between Dickon and David. I supposed this was because they were so much alike.