So my mother and Dickon were married.

“This is our home now,” said my mother to me tentatively. I was always closer to her than Charlot had been, and I remember how anxiously she had looked at me. I knew what she was thinking.

I said: “I should not want to go back, Maman. What is it like… at the château?”

She shivered and lifted her shoulders.

“Aunt Sophie…” I began.

“I don’t know what is happening to her. They came for us and they took Lisette and me. They took us away and left the others. Armand was in a sad state. I don’t think he can live long. And Jeanne Fougère was looking after Sophie. Jeanne seemed to understand the mob. She showed them Sophie’s poor scarred face. It stopped their desire to harm her, I think. They left her alone. Then Lisette jumped from the balcony of the mairie… and the mob were at her.”

“Don’t talk of it,” I said. “Dickon brought you safely home.”

“Yes… Dickon,” she said, and the look which illuminated her face left little doubt of her feeling for him.

I clung to her. “I’m so happy you’re back,” I told her. “If you hadn’t come back, I should never have been happy again.”

We were silent for a few moments, then she said: “Shall you miss France, Claudine?”

“I’d hate to go back,” I told her truthfully. “Grandfather is not there. It must be quite different. Grandfather was France.”

She nodded. “No. I don’t want to go back either. It’s a new life for us, Claudine.”

“You’ll be happy with Dickon,” I said. “It is what you have always wanted… even when—”

I was going to say “even when my father was alive,” before I stopped. But she knew what I meant and that it was true. I knew it had always been Dickon for her. Well, now she had him.

When they were married she seemed to throw off her melancholy. She seemed young… only a few years older than I… and Dickon went about breathing contented triumph.

I thought: Now it is to be “happy ever after.”

But when is life ever like that?

I adapted very quickly and soon I was feeling that I had always belonged to Eversleigh. I loved the house. To me it was more homely than either my father’s or my grandfather’s château.

Every time I approached it I had a feeling of excitement. It was partly hidden by the high wall which surrounded it, and I found great pleasure in glimpsing, from some little distance, the gables just visible beyond the wall. There was that sense of coming home when I rode or drove in through the wide-open gates. Like so many big houses which had been constructed during that period in England, it was built in the Elizabethan style—E-shaped, in honour of the Queen, which meant that there was a huge main hall with a wing on either side of it. I loved the rough stone walls adorned by armoury which had actually been used by my ancestors; and I spent hours studying the family tree which had been painted over the great fireplace and added to over the decades.

I enjoyed galloping through the green fields; I liked to walk my horse through the country lanes; sometimes we rode to the sea—which was not very far from Eversleigh—but then I could not resist looking across that expanse of water and thinking of my grandfather—who had died just in time—and wondering what was happening to unfortunate Uncle Armand and sad Aunt Sophie of the scarred face and constant melancholy. So I did not go to the sea often. But I believe Charlot did.

I was with him once and saw the look of frustration in his eyes as he gazed across to France…

There were undercurrents of emotion in the household. I did not pay much attention to them because I was so absorbed in my own affairs. A governess had been engaged and I had lessons with her; but I mainly studied English. I think it was Dickon’s idea that I should, as he said, “speak properly,” which meant that he wanted me to be rid of my French accent. Dickon seemed to hate everything French, which I was sure was due to the fact that my mother had married Charles de Tourville. Not that he dominated my mother completely. She was not of a nature to be dominated. They sparred together in a way which is really lovers’ talk; and they could scarcely bear to be out of each other’s sight.

Charlot did not like that. There was a great deal that Charlot did not like.

I was really more concerned with David and Jonathan, for both of them had a very special interest in me. David, the quiet and scholarly one, liked to talk to me and told me a great deal about the history of England; he would smilingly correct me when I mispronounced a word and used an incorrect construction of a sentence. Jonathan’s attentions were no less obvious but quite different. There was the jocular banter for one thing; and he was constantly putting his hands on me in a protective proprietorial way. He liked to take me riding; we would gallop along the beach or across meadows, and I always tried to outride him—something he was determined I should not do. But he enjoyed my attempts. He was constantly trying to prove his strength. It occurred to me that when his father had been his age he must have been more than a little like Jonathan.

It was an interesting situation. The brothers made me feel important and that was very pleasant for me, particularly as Charlot kept up the big-brother contemptuous attitude, and Louis Charles, although he was a little older than Charlot, looked up to him and took his cues as to how to behave from my brother.

When I was fifteen—that was about a year after we had settled in Eversleigh—my mother had a serious talk with me.

It was clear that she was anxious about me. “You are growing up now, Claudine,” she began.

I did not mind that in the least. Like most young people I was eager to escape the bonds of childhood and to live freely and independently.

Perhaps living in such a household was a kind of forcing ground. I was aware of the dynamic attraction between my mother and her husband; one could not live in such an atmosphere without being constantly reminded of the powerful effect one person can have on another. That my stepfather was a man of immense physical powers, I was sure, and that he had awakened my mother to an understanding of such a relationship I was subconsciously aware even then, although I did not see this clearly until later. My father—whom I remembered vaguely—had been a typical French nobleman of his age. He must have had numerous love affairs before his marriage, and I was to have proof of that later. But this bond between my mother and Dickon was different.

My mother was watchful of me, and no doubt because she was growing more and more aware of the power of physical attraction, she saw what was brewing round me.

She had suggested we walk in the gardens and we sat in an arbour while she talked.

“Yes, Claudine,” she said, “you’re fifteen. How the time flies. As I said… you’re growing up… fast.”

She had not brought me here to tell me such an obvious fact, so I waited somewhat impatiently.

“You look older than your years… and you are in a household of men… and brought up with them. I wish I could have had another daughter.”

She looked a little wistful. I think she was sad because this great passion which she shared with Dickon had so far been unfruitful. It seemed strange to me too. I thought they might have started a brood of sons… lusty sons, like Dickon himself… or Jonathan.

“As you grow older… they will realize that you are becoming an attractive woman. That could be dangerous.”

I began to feel uneasy. Had she noticed Jonathan’s way of trying to be alone with me? Had she seen the way in which he watched me with that look in his eyes which made them glow like two intensely blue flames?

Then she surprised me. “I must talk to you about Louis Charles.”

“Louis Charles!” I was amazed. I had not thought very much about Louis Charles.

She proceeded slowly, and rather painfully I imagined, for she hated talking about her first husband. “Your father was a man who… liked women.”

I smiled at her. “That does not seem so very unusual.”

She returned my smile and went on: “And in France they have a slightly different code of morals. What I am trying to tell you is that your father was also the father of Louis Charles. Lisette and he were lovers at one time and Louis Charles is the result of that liaison.”

I stared at her. “So that is why he was brought up with us!”

“Not exactly. Lisette was married off to a farmer and when he was killed… that fearful revolution again—she came to us, bringing her son with her. I am telling you this because Louis Charles is your half brother.”

Understanding dawned. She was anticipating a love affair between Louis Charles and myself. She stumbled on: “So you see you and Louis Charles could never—”

“Dear Maman,” I cried. “There is no danger in any case. I would never want to marry a husband who looked down on me. Charlot has taught him to do that and he follows Charlot in every way.”

“It is just a brotherly feeling,” she said quickly. “Charlot is really very fond of you.”

I was relieved. I had thought she was going to talk about Jonathan—but my relief did not last long, for she continued immediately: “Then there are Jonathan and David. With a household of young men… and one young woman among them… there are bound to be complications. I think both David and Jonathan are very fond of you, and although their father is my husband, there is not a close blood relationship between you.”

I flushed and my confusion seemed to answer her question.

“Jonathan is so like his father. I knew Dickon when he was Jonathan’s age. I was even younger than you are… and I was in love with him even then. I would have married him, but my mother stopped it. She had her reasons… and perhaps she was right at that time. Who shall say? But it was long ago. It is the future which concerns us.” She wrinkled her brows. “You see, there are two brothers—twins. They say twins are very close. Would you say that Jonathan and David are very close?”