The Launching of Roger Brook (23 page)

‘Nay, Monsieur,’ the landlord smirked, ‘that is an idle tale. Sometimes he pays before he leaves, at others he settles his old score on the next occasion that he asks for a room. He has worn naught but that old red velvet coat of his since he first came here last Hallowe’en and I’d have thought anyone would have spotted him for a slippery customer.’

‘Why do you suffer such rogues to lodge at your inn, and mingle with your other guests?’ snapped Roger, his temper getting the better of him.

Maître Picard bridled. ‘I am a poor man, Monsieur, and cannot afford to turn away a patron without proof that he has actually been dishonest. As for the others, ’tis for them, not me, to mind their purses. And had you been more circumspect in your choice of a companion, doubtless you would still be in possession of your buckles.’ Upon which he turned huffily away and slouched off through the hall to his quarters at the back of the premises.

Swallowing this rebuff, which he felt that he had asked for, Roger went into the parlour and sat down. It was empty except for the old man in the blue suit with the shock of white hair and watery blue eyes, who had been there the night before. He was no longer drunk or drinking, but was sitting with a woebegone expression on his face staring at his boots.

Roger gave him only a glance, then fell once more to seeking a way out of the frightful mess in which he had landed himself. It was true that Georgina had made no great sacrifice in giving him a lot of old-fashioned jewellery for which she had no use; yet she had given it to him for a definite purpose and the theft now made that purpose impossible of achievement, so by allowing himself to be robbed he felt that he had let her down badly.

He was not old enough or strong enough to get himself taken on as a hand in a ship sailing for England; but it occurred to him that for his few remaining pounds he might induce some freighter captain to take him aboard and let
him work off the balance of the fare by serving as cabin boy on the trip. But such a proceeding would still leave him face to face with the far higher fence of what to do when he landed. On one thing he was determined; he would not go home and ask pardon of his father since, if he did so, he would never be able to look Georgina in the face again. The alternative now seemed grim in the extreme yet having lost the means to a fine start she had given him he felt that by hook or by crook he must, somehow, make good without it.

Suddenly the voice of the old man broke in upon his thoughts.

‘’Twould be a most courteous gesture, Monsieur, if, with the generosity that I see in that fine open face of yours, you cared to buy a dram for an old and ailing fellow human.’

Realising that, since they were alone in the room, the appeal must be addressed to him, Roger’s first reaction was one of angry withdrawal. He had suffered enough at the hands of a chance acquaintance met with in that very room to teach him a lesson for a lifetime. With all too recent memories of De Roubec having expressed such flattering amazement at his French, and Mou-Mou’s compliment upon his blue eyes, this old codger’s reference to his handsome face struck him instantly as a most suitable opening gambit for a further attack on his now all too slender resources; but the old fellow went on:

‘When you reach my age, Monsieur, you will have learned how to read men’s thoughts from their faces. To me yours is an open book of misfortune and distress. I, too, am sad because I have been weak and foolish. I am far from being a worthy son of the Church, and have not been to confession now for many years; yet there is much truth in the priestly doctrine that “a sorrow shared is but half a trouble”. Why, then, should we not confess the reasons for our sadness to one another and, if you would be so kind, seek the cheer, however temporary, that lies at the bottom of every glass of Marc, Calvados or Cognac?’

The old man spoke clearly, slowly, and with a certain dignity, so Roger got the drift of all he had said quite easily. The expenditure of another few francs could make little difference to his depleted fortunes now, and he felt a strong urge to unburden himself to someone. Getting up, he called
the serving man and, moving over to the old man’s table, he bowed before sitting down at it, and said:

‘You are right, Monsieur. Fortune has served me a scurvy trick, and I regret to hear that she has also turned her back on you. My name is Brook—Roger Brook; and I am happy to offer you the refreshment you desire. What will you take?’

‘A Cognac, I thank you, and er—a double portion would not come amiss if ’tis not trespassing too far upon your generosity. As to the kind I am not particular. The potent spirit they term “
fine maison
” in this dubious caravanserai is good enough for such as me.’

Roger ordered a glass of Malaga for himself, and as the servant disappeared to fetch the drinks the old man went on:

‘My name is Aristotle Fénelon and for business reasons I style myself Doctor. I will not tell you, as I tell many others, that I have taken the highest degrees at the most famous universities; but simply that I am a student of mankind. I make a living and, when fortune smiles upon me, a tolerably good one by pandering to the vanity of women and the credulence of men. In his wisdom the good God has so designed nature that every part of it is sustained by some other part; and by inspiring large numbers of men and women with the wish to improve upon His handiwork by making themselves more vigorous or more beautiful than they are, He provided me with an adequate means of support.’

The drinks arrived at that moment and when Roger had settled for them, the ‘Doctor’ lifted his glass with a hand that trembled a little, as he said:

‘To your health, O kind and generous young man. And, believe me, ’tis the best toast I could drink to you. Given a healthy body there are few distempers of the mind that cannot be overcome, and given a healthy mind laughter cannot long remain absent from the lips.’

‘To your health too, then!’ Roger replied, and as he set down his glass he added: ‘I fear my French is far from good. Am I right in assuming you to be a dealer in cosmetics?’

‘Aye, and more than that.’ Aristotle Fénelon shook back his mop of white hair. ‘I can provide a panacea for a thousand ills. I can draw teeth, set sprains and cure malignant eruptions of every variety. The penalties which Venus
inflicts upon her incautious votaries are my especial province, and I can brew a potion that will make any maid look fondly on her lover. But enough about myself for now. The aged are accustomed to sorrow and can philosophically await the turning of its tide; whereas youth is ever impatient for the solacing of its troubles. Tell me now the reason for that angry cast-down look that I saw upon your face when first I had the temerity to address you.’

‘You are perhaps acquainted with the Chevalier de Roubec?’ Roger began. ‘He was the man in red, who was in here yestere’en.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘I have had no speech with him, but have seen him about here in these past few days. A merry-looking fellow enough but one in whom, from his physiognomy, I would put little trust.’

Roger made a grimace. ‘Alas, I lack your capacity for judging faces,
Monsieur le Docteur
. I put my faith in him at sad cost to myself.’ He then went on to describe his previous night’s adventures and the manner in which he had been robbed that morning. Warming to the tale as he told it he realised that there was no longer any point in concealing the manner in which he had obtained the jewels, and that if the Doctor’s advice was to be of any value to him he would be wise to give a complete picture of his circumstances; so he told him the reason for his leaving home and that he was now stranded in France with very little money.

When he had done, old Aristotle assessed the position shrewdly. ‘I fear, my young friend, that you have little prospect of recovering your property unless you go to the police, and your reasons for not wishing to do so are soundly conceived. As to your future, it should not be impossible for you to find a Captain who would let you work your passage across the Channel, more especially if you can offer him a
pourboire
of a
louis
or two for allowing you to do so. But once in England you will indeed be between Scylla and Charybdis. Life is a hard taskmaster for those who, having no trade by which to make a livelihood, must beg or earn their bread as best they can. My earnest advice to you is to sink your pride and make your peace with your father.’

‘Nay, that I’ll not do,’ said Roger stubbornly. ‘Few fates that could befall me would be worse than being sent to sea. Moreover, my honour is involved in this. I set too much
store by the opinion of the lady who gave me the jewels to return home with my tail between my legs after an absence of a bare four days, even if I could find anyone to give me passage this very evening.’

‘While I admire your spirit I deplore your reasoning,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Would that I could propose a further alternative, but alas! I see none.’

For a few moments they sat in silence, then Roger said: ‘But tell me now in what way fortune has done you a mischief?’

‘I am, alas! the author of my own misfortunes.’ Aristotle Fénelon held up his now half-empty glass of brandy. ‘Youth has many pleasures, age but few; and it had become my habit at certain seasons to indulge myself with this amber fluid which removes all care. More, I must confess it or the tale lacks point, at such times one dram begets the desire for another dram, and that for yet another. My virtuous resolutions gradually become things of little consequence. I remain addlepated for sometimes days at a stretch, and at last woefully regain full consciousness of my circumstances to realise that I have drunk away my last
sou
.’

‘I take it,’ put in Roger, ‘that this morning is such a day, since you are beyond question sober now?’

‘You are right, my young friend,’ the Doctor acknowledged. ‘Yet this morning finds me in a far worse pass than is usual on such occasions.’

‘How so?’

‘As you may have already assumed, I am a journeyman doctor. Few men know France better than myself, since I have tramped its length and breadth many times in the past two-score years. I go from village to village selling my simples and my remedies to all whom I can induce to buy. I’ll not deny that many of them are drastic in their effects. They needs must be, or the poor folk who buy them would feel that they had been cheated of their money. Often one must put gunpowder in their stomachs quite unnecessarily to persuade them that they have been treated at all. It is on occasion a question of kill or cure, and sometimes their last case is worse than their first. Yet, as God is my witness, I rarely make mistakes, and bring much relief from suffering to the less fortunate of our fellow-creatures who could not
afford a treatment at all were it not for such wayside physicians as myself.’

There was nothing new to Roger in all this, since quack doctors who stumped the countryside and put up their booths at fairs were then as common in England as in France, and for some little time past he had guessed the way in which Dr. Aristotle Fénelon earned his living. So he said:

‘Why, then, having come to the end of your profits do you not set out again to earn some more?’

‘Ah, that is just the trouble, Monsieur.’ The Doctor’s watery blue eyes held his for a moment. ‘At the end of every month or so, on reaching a large town, it is my custom to give myself a little holiday. Of the pleasant but profitless way in which I spend these brief seasons of leisure I have already told you. But each time before I set out again I must buy drugs, greases and potent waters, pots, bottles and vials wherewith to make up the stock in trade that I carry with me. It has always been my practice to put aside a few
louis
from my last journey especially for this purpose. But now I am undone, for in a tipsy moment I raided my reserve and have drunk that away, too.’

‘’Twas a most unfortunate impulse. Did some special circumstance lead to it? Or was it an urge that at times has overcome you before?’

‘’Tis only on rare occasions that I have been so far lost to all good sense; but not the first time, I confess.’

‘It seems then, that your remedy lies in proceeding as you have done on similar awkward occasions in the past?’

Doctor Aristotle sighed. ‘A sound if uninspired judgment, my young friend, and one that brings me little comfort. It condemns me to fall back on straightforward surgery for a while, and sometimes one can visit half-a-dozen hamlets without finding a tooth to draw, or a broken bone to set. In the meantime I must eke out a most miserable existence until I can build up a small capital wherewith to buy drugs and ointments once more.’

Again there fell a short silence and it seemed that neither of these companions in misfortune had been able to benefit the other, except in the slight comfort gained from the relation of their woes.

At length the Doctor twiddled his now empty glass and coughed. ‘Would you, Monsieur? I hesitate to ask. But no; it would be ungenerous in me to take advantage of the good
nature of one to whom every
franc
must now be a matter of concern.’

Roger had taken a liking to the old man, instinctively feeling him to be kind and wise, if weak; and the price of another couple of drinks could make little difference to his prospects of getting back to England; so he went out of the room and ordered them.

When he returned the Doctor thanked him gravely and added, as if on a sudden thought, ‘Would it be indiscreet, Monsieur, to inquire how much money you have left?’

Seeing no harm in disclosing his resources, Roger replied: ‘Something over four
louis
—about thirty-seven
crowns
to be exact.’

‘’Twould be enough,’ the Doctor murmured.

‘Enough for what, Monsieur?’

‘Why, to purchase a new stock of medicines and unguents.’

Roger smiled. ‘Much as I would like to relieve you of your cares, you must see that it is out of the question for me to lend you any money at the moment.’

‘Nay, I had no thought of begging a loan,’ the Doctor hastened to reassure him. ‘’Twas a very different project that I had in mind. You say you are fully resolved that, come what may, you will not throw yourself upon the mercy of your father, and the only alternative that you can suggest is to seek a precarious livelihood tramping the English countryside. Yet living is far cheaper and more agreeable in France. Moreover, I could at least guarantee you a roof over your head, victuals of fair quality and an occupation which never lacks for interest and variety. I have the knowledge, you have enough capital to set us on the road. Why should we not form a partnership?’