The Launching of Roger Brook (65 page)

‘Aye, ’twas damnable ill-fortune; and I feel it to be more than ever so in view of what you tell me. Her romantic love for you is a thing apart. If her thoughts were already favourably engaged towards me, I vow I would have won her affections after a few months of marriage, and made
her happy. Whereas, instead, her situation has become most desperate.’

‘I know it,’ muttered Roger gloomily. ‘Count Lucien ruined my whole plan. Once ’tis noised abroad that her father’s secretary fought on her behalf everyone will put the worst construction on it. Even were it given out that I was a Prince of the Blood, who had been living in the household incognito, it could not save her from the scandal of having had an affair while still an unmarried girl.’

The Vicomte nodded. ‘M. de Rochambeau will force her to take the veil. ’Tis his only possible course, consonant with honour, in such a situation.’

‘Yes; ’tis a tragedy; and I have but one consolation. She swore to me upon the cross that she would rather enter a convent than wed de Caylus; so my act tonight has burdened her with no worser fate than she would otherwise have decreed for herself.’

‘Do you really believe that she would have carried out her threat?’

‘I am certain of it. ’Twas all I could manage a week back to dissuade her from defying her father; and when I told her I had arranged this meeting she would have burnt her boats to prevent it, had I not vowed that I meant to fight de Caylus whether she did or no.’

‘Will you attempt to see her before leaving?’

‘Nay. We have no rendezvous, and ’twould make her case worse than ever did I force my way in upon her. I had meant to arrange a meeting tomorrow morning but now I dare not stay for that.’ As he spoke, Roger urged his mount into a canter and added: ‘Come! Every moment is precious. Now our horses are rested let us push on.’

After another long gallop they eased their pace again and the Vicomte said: ‘
Mon ami
, I cannot keep this up. My old wound is paining me too badly. You must go on alone.’

‘
Mort dieu
!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘I had forgotten it, and marvel now that you have stayed the pace so far. ’Tis the best of reasons for us remaining together, though; for should it reopen it may cause you to faint.’

‘’Twill not reopen, provided I take my time for the rest of the way. But that you cannot afford to do.’

Roger knew it only too well; but, once again, he was not thinking on the same lines as his companion. The Vicomte had in mind the hue and cry that would soon be raised after
the slayer of de Caylus, whereas he was concerned with the urgency of his getting back to Paris for the conference at which the Archbishop of Toulouse was to give his fateful decision. The meeting with de Caylus had taken much longer than he had thought would be the case and he still had over half the distance back to the Hôtel de Rochambeau to cover. He would be late anyhow, and if he delayed to keep de la Tour d’Auvergne company he might miss the meeting altogether; yet he felt that he could not leave his friend who was now suffering, as well as in danger on his account; so he said firmly: ‘I’ll not go on and leave you exposed to a greater risk of capture than myself.’

‘For me, capture would mean, at worst, a reprimand from the King and a spell in the Bastille; whereas for you it would mean death.’

‘True. Yet seeing the jeopardy in which you have placed yourself for me, I cannot bring myself to leave you.’

De la Tour d’Auvergne shook his head impatiently. ‘I mean to seek sanctuary on my father’s estates; as, once there, ’tis most unlikely that anything less than a charge of treason would be pressed against me. But the roads to Brittany and England are divergent, so we would have to part company in another hour or two in any event. I beg, nay, I insist, that you should use the time to the best possible advantage. Otherwise, if you are caught, I’ll always believe that but for me you would have got away, and have your death upon my conscience.’

‘In that case you leave me no option,’ Roger replied with a feeling of relief that he could not repress. ‘But I pray you make what haste you can, so as to be well clear of Paris before morning.’

‘’Twill be hours yet before warrants can be issued for us.’

‘I trust so. But since you are in no condition to ride hard ’tis doubly important that you should set out for Brittany with a minimum of delay.’

‘I shall not ride,’ the Vicomte announced, ‘but travel by post-chaise with a team of six; and while my man is making the necessary arrangements I intend to call at the Hôtel de Rochambeau.’

‘You plan, then, to wait on Athénaïs and tell her what has occurred?’ said Roger; and, as de la Tour d’Auvergne nodded, he went on quickly: ‘I’m mighty glad of that. I had
been racking my wits without avail, for some means of getting our news to her. I pray you make my adieus and explain the necessity under which I lie to depart without taking leave of her in person.’

The Vicomte hesitated. ‘I intended only to make my own adieus and, whilst doing so, offer formal condolences on her fiancé having been killed in a duel, as though I had but just heard it. Since she knew of your intentions she will realise immediately who killed him.’

‘Heavens, man! Why stick at that?’ Roger expostulated. ‘’Tis but half the tale and will not give her warning of the storm which is about to break above her lovely head as a result of her brother’s malice and stupidity. ’Twas to prepare her to meet her father’s wrath on my account that I was seeking some way to get news to her; and, since you’ve a mind to say farewell to her before setting out for Brittany, ’tis the perfect opportunity.’

‘That’s sound enough and, could I see her alone, I would willingly both tell her all and give her your messages. But you seem to forget that Madame Marie-Angé is certain to be present at our interview.’

‘What if she is! She, too, will be in full possession of the truth by tomorrow morning. There is naught to be gained by withholding it from her overnight. I beg you to speak openly before both of them, so that at least Athénaïs may have a little time to take stock of her situation.’

‘I had not looked at it that way before, but you are right,’ the Vicomte declared. ‘Now you must tarry no longer. God speed you, and a safe journey.’

‘And to you, dear friend!’ replied Roger feelingly. ‘I’ll ne’er forget your kindness, and I trust we’ll meet again in happier circumstances.’

The two young men clasped hands firmly, then Roger pressed his knees into his horse and urged it forward.

It was nearly half-past nine and darkness had fallen. The conference had been called for ten o’clock, and Roger doubted if he could get to it much before half-past. He no longer cared a straw if the Marquis should be angry at his lateness, but he was desperately anxious now lest the meeting should prove a short one and the decision be taken before his arrival. Since he could not have galloped his horse for the best part of nine miles he had so far lost little
time unavoidably; but in an endeavour to make up some of the leeway caused by de Caylus’s reluctance to fight, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and forced him to go all out.

In spite of the semi-darkness he made good going all through the outskirts of Paris, and even when he reached the cobbled streets still did not spare his fast-failing mount. A church clock was striking the quarter after ten as he passed the Tuilleries. Five minutes later, he clattered past a long line of waiting coaches outside the Hôtel de Rochambeau, and turned into its courtyard.

Flinging himself off the steaming horse he threw the bridle to a groom, who had come running out of the stable at the sound of the hoof-beats on the
pavé
. Then he ran to the door of the mansion.

As he reached it a sudden thought struck him. It was now too late to go up to his room and tidy himself before the meeting, as he had planned, and, although he could do that downstairs, he could not appear before the Marquis wearing a sword. Swiftly unbuckling his weapon he leant it against the stonework in a dark corner of the porch, where it would be easy for him to reclaim it on his way out.

On his entering the hall the two footmen on duty exclaimed in dismay at the blood on his face, but with a muttered word to them that his injury was nothing to worry about, he dived into the powder-closet. Having washed his face and hands and tidied his hair he called to one of the men to brush the dust off his clothes, then dashed upstairs.

In his office he found his assistant in a state of excited apprehension on his behalf. The Marquis had been furious at Roger’s disappearance and had ordered Paintendre to prepare the conference table but refused his offer to take notes.

As the easiest explanation for his lateness, the abrasion on his forehead and the rip in the shoulder of his coat where de Caylus’s sword had torn it, Roger said abruptly that he had been set upon by footpads, then asked: ‘Are they all inside? How long have they been assembled?’

‘No more than a quarter of an hour,’ Paintendre replied. ‘Most of them were here and arguing well before ten, but the Archbishop of Toulouse was a little late.’

That the new Prime Minister had kept the appointment was all Roger wished to know. Taking a piece of paper he hastily scrawled upon it.

Monseigneur
,

My service and most humble apologies for such inconvenience as my absence may have caused you. I had the misfortune to be attacked by footpads and was rendered incapable of returning to attend you earlier
.

He would not have bothered, but for a sudden fear that unless he offered some explanation the Marquis might, in a fit of cold anger, send him from the room as soon as he appeared. With the paper in his hand he opened the door of the council chamber as noiselessly as he could, slipped quietly inside, and gave a swift look round.

The fifteen nobles who had attended the previous afternoon’s gathering were all present and with them, seated on the Marquis’s right, was Loménie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, now Prime Minister of France. The prelate was wearing the violet robes of his ecclesiastical dignity and, with one alabaster hand, was toying with a great diamond and sapphire cross suspended from his neck by a satin ribbon.

As Roger entered de Castries was giving details of the naval preparations at Brest for the seizure of the Dutch ports. The Archbishop was listening to him attentively, but the Marquis was drawing figures on the wad of paper that lay before him and, looking up as the door opened, glowered at Roger. Tiptoeing round the big oval table Roger placed the note he had written by the Marquis’s hand, made a low bow and tiptoed away again towards his own little table beside the door.

On sitting down he was conscious of a sudden wave of relief. It was the last time that he would ever make his ‘humble service’ to this frigid and heartless aristocrat. In another hour or two he would be his own master again, for a time at least; and, within a week, either free for good of this hateful subservience or occupying a condemned cell. Brushing the thought aside he gave all his attention to the meeting.

Within a few minutes he realised that it was, so far, no more than a repetition of that held the previous day. Evidently de Rayneval and the Comte de Maillebois had already made their reports on the situation in the United Provinces, and now the Ministers were outlining the state
of immediate readiness of the French armed forces to undertake a lightning stroke.

As the phrases and arguments that he had heard before rolled smoothly from the tongues of de Breteuil, de Polignac and the rest, Roger’s mind began to wander. In vivid flashes he saw again the critical phases of the terrible combat in which he had so recently engaged. He recalled de Périgord’s cynical smile as he announced his intention of carrying the dead man’s mistress off to supper, and the Vicomte’s announcement that he meant to wait upon Athénaïs before setting out on his flight to Brittany. He wondered anxiously and sorrowfully what would become of Athénaïs, and if he would ever see her again. To his acute distress he had to admit to himself that it was most improbable, since nothing now could prevent her being immured in a convent, and, if he did succeed in escaping to England, he would never be able to return to France without imperilling his life.

A full hour went by and the Archbishop was asking the opinion of the Foreign Secretary, who had not yet spoken. M. de Montmorin showed none of his hesitation of the previous afternoon but now came out openly on the side of the camarilla that had plotted for war.

As Roger listened with half an ear he realised that the all-important decision would, at last, soon be taken, and that he must pull himself together. For the past half-hour he had been feeling completely exhausted. During his ride back to Paris the excitement of his victory and the urgency of getting to the meeting had prevented him from being fully conscious of his physical state. But since he had been sitting in the council chamber he had felt with increasing severity the strain he had been through. The duel alone had proved a most gruelling ordeal and in it he had sustained certain injuries, hardly noticed at the time, but now nagging at him. The blood from the cut on his shoulder had dried and his shirt was sticking to it, so that it hurt every time he moved; the place where de Caylus’s sword-hilt had struck him on the forehead had swollen into a big lump which throbbed dully.

The Comte de Montmorin had hardly ceased speaking when the Marquis came in to the attack. At first his tone was restrained and as he arrayed his well-reasoned arguments
Roger was trying to think what he must do when the meeting ended.

The bulk of the money he had saved while in the service of M. de Rochambeau was in a separate bag, with the Marquis’s bullion, in the
coffrer fort
that lay in the office outside, and to it he had the key. As soon as the meeting was over and the Marquis had gone to his own apartments he must collect that, and, he reminded himself with Scottish carefulness, help himself to a further twenty
louis
that were due to him for the month of August that had just expired. Then he would slip downstairs, collect his sword, saddle the best horse in the stable, and so away.