I leaned in and looked directly into her foggy eyes.

‘It is. You remember me.’ I smiled, faintly.

She nodded, her expression quite solemn.

‘You recall our last meeting, so many years ago? How well you instructed me, madam. Why, I have come to live by the advice you imparted to me. It is trust that weakens us,’ I reminded her of her words.

I waited for a further response, but there came none.

‘I shall brew you another pot of tea, for I believe you are in need of it,’ said I, rising to my feet.

On this occasion, when I handed her the dish, I studied her long sips. I observed her throat move with each swallow, drawing the tea downward.

‘There now,’ said I, removing the empty cup from her and guiding her back against the chair. This at last succeeded in lulling her.

I resumed reading, pausing to examine her at every turn of the page. I listened to her breath move gradually from deep to shallow. Her expression slackened as she seemed to slip comfortably into the grip of a sleep. I waited, and after a spell, rose and bid her a silent farewell. I could not bring myself to kiss her, as might a dutiful daughter, or even a dear old friend, but reached for her cool hand and touched her shoulder, in the manner of a pupil bidding her tutoress adieu.

Author’s Note

ONE OF THE joys of writing historical fiction is the freedom to embellish and amend the truth. All of the gaps in our knowledge can be filled with speculation and imaginative invention. However, while this is a fun exercise for a historian, it can sometimes leave the reader confused as to where fact ends and fiction begins.

Many of the names mentioned in The French Lesson will be familiar to those with a working knowledge of the events of the French Revolution – Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI, Robespierre, Danton, Marat – but the principal characters in the book – the Duc d’Orléans (Philippe Égalité), Agnès de Buffon and Grace Dalrymple Elliot – are less likely to be recognized. These figures are real, as are all of the members of Orléans’s household: his sons, their tutor, his physician, his secretary and his servants. So too are Mrs Elliot’s friends: the notorious Madame de Flaghac, Mrs Meyler, Madame Laurent, and Orléans’s closest companion, the Duke de Biron. In fact, only Henrietta, Lord Allenham, Andrew Savill and a number of peripheral characters are invented.

Where I drew upon real people I made certain to undertake a significant amount of research in order to animate them in an accurate, yet colourful way. Of course, I employed some artistic licence. This is, after all, fiction.

Louis Philippe Joseph d’Orléans, ‘Philippe Égalité’ (1747–93)