Philippa Carr - Voices in a Haunted Room

Jonathan was there with Charlot and Louis Charles. They were deep in conversation.

I said: “Hello. I’ve been riding.”

They hardly seemed aware of me… even Jonathan.

I came away distinctly annoyed and went to my room.

That night at dinner the conversation took the usual trend: the events in France.

“There are other places in the world,” David reminded them.

“There are ancient Rome and ancient Greece,” said Jonathan rather contemptuously. “You’re so steeped in past history, brother, that you are losing sight of the history which is being made all around you.”

“I assure you,” retorted David, “that I am fully aware of the significance of what is happening in France at this time.”

“Well, isn’t that more important than Julius Caesar or Marco Polo?”

“You cannot see history clearly while it is happening,” said David slowly. “It is like looking at an oil painting. You have to stand back… some years. That particular painting isn’t finished yet.”

“You and your metaphors and similes! You’re only half alive. Let’s tell him, shall we, eh, Charlot, Louis Charles? Shall we tell him what we propose to do?”

Charlot nodded gravely.

“We are going to France,” said Jonathan. “We are going to bring out Aunt Sophie… among others…”

“You can’t!” I cried. “For one thing, Dickon would never allow it.”

“Do you know, little Claudine, I am no longer a child to be told do this… do that.” He was looking at me with a teasing indulgence. “I am a man… and I will do what I will.”

“That’s true,” agreed Charlot. “We are men… and we are going to do what we think fit, no matter who tries to stop us.”

“Our father will soon put a stop to those plans,” said David. “You know very well he would never give his consent to your going, Jonathan.”

“I don’t need his consent.”

Charlot smiled complacently at Louis Charles. “He has no jurisdiction over us.”

“He will prevent it, you’ll see,” said David.

“Don’t be too sure of that.”

“Well,” I said practically, “how are you to set about this great adventure?”

“Never trouble your head,” replied Charlot. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh no,” I cried, “I am quite stupid… but not so stupid as some who indulge in wild fantasies. Remember the stories of Uncle Armand? How he made some plan to descend on the agitators? What happened to him? He was sent to the Bastille… and there a strong and healthy man was turned into a pitiable invalid. And… according to the Lebruns he is dead now. He never recovered from his incarceration in the Bastille.”

“He must have been careless. He made mistakes. We should not do that. This is a noble thing to do. I refuse to stand aside any longer while these things are happening to my people… my country.”

David said: “It is indeed a noble idea, but a great deal of careful planning is needed.”

“Of course it needs planning,” retorted Charlot. “But how can we plan until we get there… until we know what we shall find?”

I said: “I believe you are serious.”

“Never more so,” answered Charlot.

I looked at Louis Charles. He nodded. Of course he would go where Charlot went.

I forced myself to look at Jonathan, and I saw the blazing blue of his eyes, and I felt hurt and angry because that flame was there for a project which did not concern me… and he could so impulsively risk not only his own life but those of Charlot and Louis Charles.

“You would surely never go with them,” I said.

He smiled and nodded.

“But you are not French. It is not your problem.”

“It is the problem of all right-thinking people,” said Charlot a little sententiously.

He was motivated by love of his country; but it was different with Jonathan, and he had wounded me deeply. He had shown me clearly that I was only of secondary importance to him.

He wanted this adventure more than he wanted me.

All the next day Jonathan was absent and Charlot and Louis Charles with him. They returned in the evening and did not say where they had been; but there was a certain smug satisfaction about them. The next day they went out riding again and did not return until late.

I talked to David about them and he expressed some anxiety as to what they were planning.

“It must be all talk,” I said. “They could not possibly go to France.”

“Why couldn’t they? Charlot is a zealot and Louis Charles would always go along with him. Jonathan…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Jonathan has often made wild plans and I can assure you that many of them never materialized. He likes to imagine himself on a magnificent charger riding into danger and riding out again victorious. He has always been like that.”

“He is very like his father.”

“My father would never have quixotic ideas about rescuing strangers. He always said the French brought the revolution on themselves by their own folly—and now must pay the price for it.”

“But he went over there magnificently and came out victorious.”

“He would always have a purpose. He went solely to bring out your mother. He would plan coolly and efficiently. These three appear to be allowing their emotions to get the better of their common sense.”

“That is something you never do, David.”

“Not willingly,” he agreed.

“What are we going to do about them? I feel they are reckless enough to attempt anything.”

“My father will soon be home. He will deal with it.”

“I wish they would return.”

David took my hand and pressed it. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There is so much going on. We are almost at war with the French. They wouldn’t find it very easy to get over there in the first place. They would find the obstacles… insurmountable.”

“I hope you are right,” I said.

I was greatly relieved when the next day Dickon and my mother returned home.

“All is well,” said my mother. “We have delivered the Lebruns to their friends. It was a happy reunion. They will find the refuge they need, but it is going to take them some time to recover from their terrible experiences.”

The storm broke at dinner.

We were all seated round the table when Charlot said almost nonchalantly: “We have decided to go to France.”

“You couldn’t possibly do that,” said my mother.

“Couldn’t? That’s a word I don’t accept.”

“Your acceptance of the English language is immaterial,” put in Dickon. “I know you have an imperfect understanding of it, but when Lottie says that you could not possibly go to France, she means that you could not be so foolish as to attempt to do so.”

“Others have done it,” Charlot pointed out.

He looked defiantly at Dickon, who retorted: “She means it is impossible for you.”

“Do you imply that you are some superhuman being who can do what others can’t?”

“You may have a point there,” said Dickon aggravatingly. “I’ll have a little more of that roast beef. They do it well in the kitchen.”

“Nevertheless,” said Charlot, “I am going to France.”

“And I,” put in Jonathan, “am going with him.”

For a moment father and son stared steadily at each other. I was not sure of the look which passed between them. There was a certain glitter in Dickon’s eyes, something which made me think, fleetingly, that he was not altogether surprised. But perhaps I thought of that after.

Then Dickon spoke. He said: “You’re mad.”

“No,” said Jonathan. “Determined.”

Dickon went on: “I see. So it is a plan. Who is going to join this company of fools? What about you, David?”

“Certainly not,” said David. “I have told them what I think of the idea.”

Dickon nodded. “It is a pleasant surprise to find that a little sanity remains in the family.”

“Sanity!” retorted Jonathan. “If sanity is devoting oneself exclusively to books and mathematics, then the world would not have progressed very far.”

“On the contrary,” contradicted David, “ideas… thought and education have done more to advance it than rash adventurers.”

“I would contest that.”

“That’s enough,” said Dickon. “I suppose you have all been moved to this by the arrival of those refugees. You should have heard some of the stories they have been telling us. France has become a land of savages.”

“There are fine people there still,” said Charlot, “and they are doing all they can to save the country.”

“They’ll have a hard task. I warned them years ago that they were heading for disaster.”

“It’s true,” said my mother. “You did, Dickon.”

“Then they were preaching against us… joining the American colonists. What fools! Who can be surprised at the state they are now in?”

“I can,” said Charlot. “But it is no use trying to make you understand.”

“I understand well enough. You are not very profound, you know. You’re just a little band of idiots. Now that’s an end of the matter. I want to enjoy my roast beef.”

Silence fell on the table. Sabrina, who had come down for the joy of having Dickon at the table and seeing him enjoy his roast beef, looked a little strained. She hated conflict.

My mother was anxious too. It was such a pity. After being away, even for such a short time, she wanted to enjoy her homecoming.

Dickon said he wanted to see Jonathan in his study after the meal. When I went upstairs I heard them talking quietly there.

My mother came to my bedroom. She sat on my bed and looked at me sorrowfully.

“How did all this come about?” she asked.

I told her how they had talked and become so absorbed in their plotting that the rest of us did not seem to exist for them.

“It was Charlot who started it, I think,” I said.

“Charlot was always a patriot. He is his father’s son. It is a pity he and Dickon cannot get on.”

“I don’t think they ever would. They have a natural antipathy.”

She sighed and I smiled at her.

“Dearest Maman,” I said, “you cannot have everything in life, can you? And you have so much.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I have, and Claudine, remember this when you grow older: one of the best things in life is to have your happiness when you are mature enough to enjoy it.”

“Well, that is the way you have had it.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about these foolish young men. They’ll realize their folly. Dickon will make them see it.”

But he did not.

They went off secretly the next day and nobody thought anything about them until evening when they did not return.

We spent an uneasy night and the next morning a letter arrived for Dickon from Jonathan.

They had arranged their passage in a boat calling at the Belgian coast and by the time Dickon received the note, they should be about to land.

OUR HOUSEHOLD WAS DISRUPTED. Dickon raged and my mother was plunged into melancholy. Although she had never been so close to Charlot as to me, and they had grown farther apart since her marriage to Dickon, he was her son, and I realized during the weeks which followed how his flight saddened her. She knew Charlot had never really wanted to stay in England, and she felt a certain guilt because she understood how frustrated he must have felt. He had come for a holiday—as we all had—and to have been forced to stay in England had angered him.

I had often heard him say that he wished he had gone back that time with my mother. He would never have come away if he had. He would have stayed behind to fight. David said: “You would not have been there long to fight. You would have been just another in the long march to the guillotine.”

One remembered these conversations now; one remembered so much. Rides had lost their savour. There was no fear, no hope, of Jonathan’s springing out on me. He had gone. What if he never came back?

My mother mourned secretly; she did not want to upset Dickon more than he already was. After a while he ceased to show a great deal of distress even though Jonathan, his son, had gone away and into danger so acute that it was hard for any who had not experienced it to imagine. I supposed that Dickon was not very emotionally involved with either of his sons; but they were his heirs, and like most men he had wanted sons. I wondered whether he considered the possibility of Jonathan’s not coming back. Perhaps he consoled himself that he still had David.

During the first weeks we looked out for them. I would find myself at the top of the house, watching the road; and sometimes my mother would creep up to watch with me. Then she would grip my hand and I knew that she was seeing herself once more in the mairie with the mob below her. Such experiences are never forgotten; and at times such as this, naturally they became more vivid.