to Diana by Johnson in their early days: by some mental process of her own she had entirely dissociated them from their source; Stephen had not. His pain was not the piercing thrust of jealousy but rather a certain grief at hearing her say something crass. He had always taken it for granted that whatever Diana might actually do, her tact was infallible and that she could not, without intending it, say anything that would give offence. Perhaps he had been mistaken: or perhaps this long stay in America, living only among the loose, expensive set of Johnson’s friends, together with her distress, had coarsened her for the time, just as it had given her a hint of a colonial accent and a taste for bourbon and tobacco … a refuge in coarseness, as it were. But then again, he reflected, Johnson had certainly taken the diamonds back, and Diana, recovering them and escaping with them at great risk, might well feel that she had thereby established an independent title to the jewels, much as one pirate overcoming another pirate would appropriate his goods with a tranquil mind, whatever their provenance. He looked up, and said, ‘Might they not look a little excessive in what is, after all, a provincial gathering?’
‘Not at all, Maturin,’ said she. ‘There are several women of fashion here, apart from the rest. Many of the soldiers’ wives have followed them – I saw at least half a dozen names I knew when I was addressing the cards – and there are some among the sailors: Mrs Wodehouse, for example, and Charlotte Leveson-Gower, and Lady Harriet herself. She may be no Aphrodite, but she has emeralds as big as soup-plates and she is determined to wear ’em all, together with everything else her bosom can contain; which is not inconsiderable.’
The first stab past, Stephen did not care one way or another: in any case, Diana no doubt understood these things better than he did; she had kept very good or at least very fashionable company in London and India. He felt in his pocket and brought out some papers: the first was not the one he was looking for, but he smiled when he saw it and instead of putting it back he said, ‘This came for me this morning, and whimsically enough I had been dreaming of Paris not half an hour before.’ He passed the letter over.
‘They ask you to address the Institut de France – Lord, Stephen, I had no idea you were such a great man. They want you to tell them about the extinct avifauna of Rodriguez. What is an avifauna?’
‘Birds.’
‘What a pity you cannot go. You would have enjoyed it so. I suppose they took you for a neutral, or an American.’
‘Yet perhaps I shall go too. As you see, the date is well ahead, and if we can take a reasonably expeditious vessel, I believe I shall go. This is their second invitation, and the last time I regretted not being there extremely. It is perhaps the most flattering honour I have received, and I should meet some of the most interesting men in Europe. The Cuviers are sure to be there, and I have some remarks on the antarctic cetaceans that will amaze Frédéric.’
‘But how can you possibly go? How can you possibly go to Paris in the middle of a war?’
‘Oh, as for that, with the proper consent and safe-conducts, there is no difficulty. Natural philosophy does not regard this war, or any other, with very close attention, and interchange is quite usual. Humphry Davy went and addressed them on his chloride of nitrogen, for example; and he was much caressed. But that is not what I meant to talk about.’ He took up the second cover and laid it on the table before her, saying with some embarrassment, ‘This is for pins.’
‘Pins, Stephen?’ cried she, astonished.
‘I have always understood that women required a reasonable sum for pins.’
‘Stephen,’ – laughing with pleasure – ‘you are blushing. Upon my word and honour, you are absolutely blushing: I never thought to see you blush. No. It is infinitely kind of you, but you have been far too kind already. I have a hundred and twenty-five dollars, plenty for pins. Keep it, Stephen dear, and I promise I will tell you when I am quite penniless.’
‘Well,’ said Stephen, taking up his third paper. ‘Now here is a certificate for you, stating that although you are an enemy alien you may be admitted to Canadian soil and that you may remain upon it while of good behaviour.’
‘Oh, I shall behave quite beautifully,’ she said, laughing again. ‘But what nonsense it is, Stephen: I am on Canadian soil already. I have always thought papers and legal formalities great nonsense, but I have never seen such a simple one as this. During His Majesty’s pleasure,’ she read, ‘and his poor dear old Majesty has not the least notion I am here. Oh, what stuff !’
‘No, but his servants have. I tell you in all sad sober earnest, Villiers, this is an important document. Without it you would have been taken away, Admiral or no Admiral. It is known that in law you are an American citizen, and as such you would ordinarily be placed under restraint: perhaps sent back again.’
‘Who cares for the law and quibbles of that kind? Anyone can tell that I am perfectly English and always have been and always shall be. But tell me, how did you get it?’
‘Sure, I went to the proper quarters, to the officer that deals with things of this kind.’
‘It was so kind of you to think of it,’ she said: then she cried, ‘Oh, Stephen, I had quite forgot,’ – and he could have sworn the thought passed from his head to hers – ‘were they pleased with the papers you brought from Boston? I remember you told me they were for an army intelligence officer here. How I hope they were useful to him.’
‘Alas, it appears that they were more in the political than the military line. They are not without a certain value, I am told, but it seems that I could have chosen much better. I should not make much of an intelligence-agent, I am afraid.’
‘No,’ said Diana, laughing. ‘I cannot imagine anyone less suited for it. Not that you are not intelligent, dear Maturin,’ she added with a kind look. ‘In your way you are one of the most intelligent men I know, but you would be far happier among your birds. To think of you as a spy – oh, Lord!’ Amusement turned her a fine rosy pink. He had rarely seen Diana so gay.
‘Will you give me the certificate, now?’ he said. ‘I must show it to the priest. He cannot marry us without it. Would Friday suit you, Friday morning, quite early in the day? You would not wish much ceremony, as I suppose; but Jack can give you away, and then you will be a British subject once more.’
All the gaiety was gone from her face, completely gone, leaving it pale: an ill-looking, somewhat earthy pallor. She started up, walked to and fro, and then stood by the long window looking out into the garden, twisting the paper as she stood.
‘But now I have the certificate, what is the hurry?’ she said. ‘What does it matter, all these formalities? Do not think I don’t want to marry you … it is only that … Stephen, make me one of your little paper cigars, will you?’
He took out a cigar, cut it in two, and made two small rolls in a fine leaf from his pocket-book, one for her and one for himself. He held up an ember for her to light it, but she said, ‘No. I cannot smoke here. Lady Harriet might come in. I do not want her to think – to know – that she is harbouring a dissolute dram-drinking tobacco-smoking creature. Light yours and come into the garden: I will smoke it there. You know, Stephen,’ she said, opening the french window, ‘ever since you told me about bourbon and complexion, I have not drunk a drop of anything but wine, and precious little of that; but by God I could do with a drink now.’
In the secluded shrubbery they paced side by side, and a thin cloud of smoke followed them. She said, ‘With all this hurry – the business of the ball – gossiping with Lady Harriet – worrying about what to wear – I was quite out of myself. I forgot where I was. Maturin, do not
