Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

by Rafael Sabatini

“A scapegrace? Bon Dieu, no. That is a harsh name to give him. A little indiscreet at times, a little rash, as is the way of youth.”

  He would have said more, but the man from Paris was of no mind to waste time on quibbles.

  “Very well,” he snapped, cutting in. “We will say, a little indiscreet. My errand is not concerned with Monsieur Marius’s morals or with his lack of them. These indiscretions which you belittle appear to have been enough to have estranged him from his father, a circumstance which but served the more to endear him to his mother. I am told that she is a very handsome woman, and that the boy favours her surprisingly.”

  “Ah!” sighed the Seneschal in a rapture. “A beautiful woman — a noble, splendid woman.’

  “Hum!” Garnache observed the ecstatic simper with a grim eye. Then he proceeded with his story.

  “The late marquis possessed in his neighbour, the also deceased Monsieur de La Vauvraye, a very dear and valued friend. Monsieur de La Vauvraye had an only child, a daughter, to inherit his very considerable estates probably the wealthiest in all Dauphiny, so I am informed. It was the dearest wish of his heart to transform what had been a lifelong friendship in his own generation into a closer relationship in the next — a wish that found a very ready echo in the heart of Monsieur de Condillac. Florimond de Condillac was sixteen years of age at the time, and Valerie de La Vauvraye fourteen. For all their tender years, they were betrothed, and they grew up to love each other and to look forward to the consummation of the plans their fathers had laid for them.”

  “Monsieur, monsieur,” the Seneschal protested, “how can you possibly infer so much? How can you say that they loved each other? What authority can you have for pretending to know what was in their inmost hearts?”

  “The authority of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye,” was the unanswerable rejoinder. “I am telling you, more or less, what she herself wrote to the Queen.”

  “Ah! Well, well — proceed, monsieur.”

  “This marriage should render Florimond de Condillac the wealthiest and most powerful gentleman in Dauphiny — one of the wealthiest in France; and the idea of it pleased the old marquis, inasmuch as the disparity there would be between the worldly possessions of his two sons would serve to mark his disapproval of the younger. But before settling down, Florimond signified a desire to see the world, as was fit and proper and becoming in a young man who was later to assume such wide responsibilities. His father, realizing the wisdom of such a step, made but slight objection, and at the age of twenty Florimond set out for the Italian wars. Two years afterwards, a little over six months ago, his father died, and was followed to the grave some weeks later by Monsieur de La Vauvraye. The latter, with a want of foresight which has given rise to the present trouble, misjudging the character of the Dowager of Condillac, entrusted to her care his daughter Valerie pending Florimond’s return, when the nuptials would naturally be immediately celebrated. I am probably telling you no more than you already know. But you owe the infliction to your own unwillingness to answer my questions.”

  “No, no, monsieur; I assure you that in what you say there is much that is entirely new to me.”

  “I rejoice to hear it, Monsieur de Tressan,” said Garnache very seriously, “for had you been in possession of all these facts, Her Majesty might have a right to learn how it chanced that you had nowise interfered in what is toward at Condillac.

  “But to proceed: Madame de Condillac and her precious Benjamin — this Marius — finding themselves, in Florimond’s absence, masters of the situation, have set about turning it to their own best advantage. Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye, whilst being nominally under their guardianship, finds herself practically gaoled by them, and odious plans are set before her to marry Marius. Could the Dowager but accomplish this, it would seem that she would not only be assuring a future of ease and dignity for her son, but also be giving vent to all her pent-up hatred of her stepson.

  “Mademoiselle, however, withstands them, and in this she is aided by a fortuitous circumstance which has arisen out of the overbearing arrogance that appears to be madame’s chief characteristic. Condillac after the marquis’s death had refused to pay tithes to Mother Church and has flouted and insulted the Bishop. This prelate, after finding remonstrance vain, has retorted by placing Condillac under an Interdict, depriving all within it of the benefit of clergy. Thus, they have been unable to find a priest to venture thither, so that even had they willed to marry mademoiselle by force to Marius, they lacked the actual means of doing so.

  “Florimond continues absent. We have every reason to believe that he has been left in ignorance of his father’s death. Letters coming from him from time to time prove that he was alive and well at least until three months ago. A messenger has been dispatched to find him and urge him to return home at once. But pending his arrival the Queen has determined to take the necessary steps to ensure that Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye shall be released from her captivity, that she shall suffer no further molestation at the hands of Madame de Condillac and her son — enfin, that she shall run no further risks.

  “My errand, monsieur, is to acquaint you with these facts, and to request you to proceed to Condillac and deliver thence Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye, whom I am subsequently to escort to Paris and place under Her Majesty’s protection until such time as the new marquis shall return to claim her.”

  Having concluded, Monsieur de Garnache sat back in his chair, and threw one leg over the other, fixing his eyes upon the Seneschal’s face and awaiting his reply.

  On that gross countenance before him he saw fall the shadow of perplexity. Tressan was monstrous ill-at-ease, and his face lost a good deal of its habitual plethora of colour. He sought to temporize.

  “Does it not occur to you, monsieur, that perhaps too much importance may have been attached to the word of this child — this Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye?”

  “Does it occur to you that such has been the case, that she has overstated it?” counter-questioned Monsieur de Garnache.

  “No, no. I do not say that. But — but — would it not be better — more — ah — satisfactory to all concerned, if you yourself were to go to Condillac, and deliver your message in person, demanding mademoiselle?”

  The man from Paris looked at him a moment, then stood up suddenly, and shifted the carriages of his sword back to their normal position. His brows came together in a frown, from which the Seneschal argued that his suggestion was not well received.

  “Monsieur,” said the Parisian very coldly, like a man who contains a rising anger, “let me tell you that this is the first time in my life that I have been concerned in anything that had to do with women and I am close upon forty years of age. The task, I can assure you, was little to my taste. I embarked upon it because, being a soldier and having received my orders, I was in the unfortunate position of being unable to help myself. But I intend, monsieur, to adhere rigidly to the letter of these commands. Already I have endured more than enough in the interests of this damsel. I have ridden from Paris, and that means close upon a week in the saddle — no little thing to a man who has acquired certain habits of life and developed a taste for certain minor comforts which he is very reluctant to forgo. I have fed and slept at inns, living on the worst of fares and sleeping on the hardest, and hardly the cleanest, of beds. Ventregris! Figure to yourself that last night we lay at Luzan, in the only inn the place contained — a hovel, Monsieur le Seneschal, a hovel in which I would not kennel a dog I loved.”

  His face flushed, and his voice rose as he dwelt upon the things he had undergone.

  “My servant and I slept in a dormitory’ — a thousand devils! monsieur, in a dormitory! Do you realize it? We had for company a drunken vintner, a pedlar, a pilgrim on his way to Rome, and two peasant women; and they sent us to bed without candles, for modesty’s sake. I ask you to conceive my feelings in such a case as that. I could tell you more; but that as a sample of what I have undergone could scarcely be surpassed.”

  “Tru
ly-truly outrageous,” sympathized the Seneschal; yet he grinned.

  “I ask you — have I not suffered inconvenience enough already in the service of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye that you can blame me if I refuse to go a single step further than my orders bid me?”

  The Seneschal stared at him now in increasing dismay. Had his own interests been less at issue he could have indulged his mirth at the other’s fiery indignation at the inconveniences he recited. As it was, he had nothing to say; no thought or feeling other than what concerned finding a way of escape from the net that seemed to be closing in about him — how to seem to serve the Queen without turning against the Dowager of Condillac; how to seem to serve the Dowager without opposing the wishes of the Queen.

  “A plague on the girl!” he growled, unconsciously uttering his thoughts aloud. “The devil take her!”

  Garnache smiled grimly. “That is a bond of sympathy between us,” said he. “I have said those very words a hundred times — a thousand times, indeed — between Paris and Grenoble. Yet I scarcely see that you can damn her with as much justice as can I.

  “But there, monsieur; all this is unprofitable. You have my message. I shall spend the day at Grenoble, and take a well-earned rest. By this time to-morrow I shall be ready to start upon my return journey. I shall have then the honour to wait upon you again, to the end that I may receive from you the charge of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye. I shall count upon your having her here, in readiness to set out with me, by noon to-morrow.”

  He bowed, with a flourish of his plumed hat, and would with that have taken his departure but that the Seneschal stayed him.

  “Monsieur, monsieur,” he cried, in piteous affright, “you do not know the Dowager of Condillac.”

  “Why, no. What of it?”

  “What of it? Did you know her, you would understand that she is not the woman to be driven. I may order her in the Queen’s name to deliver up Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye. But she will withstand me.”

  “Withstand you?” echoed Garnache, frowning into the face of this fat man, who had risen also, brought to his feet by excitement. “Withstand you — you, the Lord Seneschal of Dauphiny? You are amusing yourself at my expense.”

  “But I tell you that she will,” the other insisted in a passion. “You may look for the girl in vain tomorrow unless you go to Condillac yourself and take her.”

  Garnache drew himself up and delivered his answer in a tone that was final.

  “You are the governor of the province, monsieur, and in this matter you have in addition the Queen’s particular authority — nay, her commands are imposed upon you. Those commands, as interpreted by me, you will execute in the manner I have indicated.”

  The Seneschal shrugged his shoulders, and chewed a second at his beard.

  “It is an easy thing for you to tell me what to do. Tell me, rather, how to do it, how to overcome her opposition.”

  “You are very sure of opposition — strangely sure, monsieur,” said Garnache, looking him between the eyes. “In any case, you have soldiers.”

  “And so has she, and the strongest castle in southern France — to say nothing of the most cursed obstinacy in the world. What she says, she does.”

  “And what the Queen says her loyal servants do,” was Garnache’s rejoinder, in a withering tone. “I think there is nothing more to be said, monsieur,” he added. “By this time to-morrow I shall expect to receive from you, here, the charge of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye. A demain, donc, Monsieur le Seneschal.”

  And with another bow the man from Paris drew himself erect, turned on his heel, and went jingling and creaking from the room.

  The Lord Seneschal sank back in his chair, and wondered to himself whether to die might not prove an easy way out of the horrid situation into which chance and his ill-starred tenderness for the Dowager of Condillac had thrust him.

  At his desk sat his secretary, who had been a witness of the interview, lost in wonder almost as great as the Seneschal’s own.

  For an hour Tressan remained where he was, deep in thought and gnawing at his beard. Then with a sudden burst of passion, expressed in a round oath or two, he rose, and called for his horse that he might ride to Condillac.

  CHAPTER III. THE DOWAGER’S COMPLIANCE

  Promptly at noon on the morrow Monsieur de Garnache presented himself once more at the Seneschal’s palace, and with him went Rabecque, his body-servant, a lean, swarthy, sharp-faced man, a trifle younger than his master.

  Anselme, the obese master of the household, received them with profound respect, and at once conducted Garnache to Monsieur de Tressan’s presence.

  On the stairs they met Captain d’Aubran, who was descending. The captain was not in the best of humours. For four-and-twenty hours he had kept two hundred of his men under arms, ready to march as soon as he should receive his orders from the Lord Seneschal, yet those instructions were not forthcoming. He had been to seek them again that morning, only to be again put off.

  Monsieur de Garnache had considerable doubt, born of his yesterday’s interview with the Seneschal, that Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye would be delivered into his charge as he had stipulated. His relief was, therefore, considerable, upon being ushered into Tressan’s presence, to find a lady in cloak and hat, dressed as for a journey, seated in a chair by the great fireplace.

  Tressan advanced to meet him, a smile of cordial welcome on his lips, and they bowed to each other in formal greeting.

  “You see, monsieur,” said the Seneschal, waving a plump hand in the direction of the lady, “that you have been obeyed. Here is your charge.”

  Then to the lady: “This is Monsieur de Garnache,” he announced, “of whom I have already told you, who is to conduct you to Paris by order of Her Majesty.

  “And now, my good friends, however great the pleasure I derive from your company, I care not how soon you set out, for I have some prodigious arrears of work upon my hands.”

  Garnache bowed to the lady, who returned his greeting by an inclination of the head, and his keen eyes played briskly over her. She was a plump-faced, insipid child, with fair hair and pale blue eyes, stolid and bovine in their expressionlessness.

  “I am quite ready, monsieur,” said she, rising as she spoke, and gathering her cloak about her; and Garnache remarked that her voice had the southern drawl, her words the faintest suggestion of a patois. It was amazing how a lady born and bred could degenerate in the rusticity of Dauphiny. Pigs and cows, he made no doubt, had been her chief objectives. Yet, even so, he thought he might have expected that she would have had more to say to him than just those five words expressing her readiness to depart. He had looked for some acknowledgment of satisfaction at his presence, some utterances of gratitude either to himself or to the Queen-Regent for the promptness with which she had been succoured. He was disappointed, but he showed nothing of it, as with a simple inclination of the head —

  “Good!” said he. “Since you are ready and Monsieur le Seneschal is anxious to be rid of us, let us by all means be moving. You have a long and tedious journey before you, mademoiselle.”

  “I — I am prepared for that,” she faltered.

  He stood aside, and bending from the waist he made a sweeping gesture towards the door with the hand that held his hat. To the invitation to precede him she readily responded, and, with a bow to the Seneschal, she began to walk across the apartment.

  Garnache’s eyes, narrowing slightly, followed her, like points of steel. Suddenly he shot a disturbing glance at Tressan’s face, and the corner of his wild-cat mustachios twitched. He stood erect, and called her very sharply.

  “Mademoiselle!”

  She stopped, and turned to face him, an incredible shyness seeming to cause her to avoid his gaze.

  “You have, no doubt, Monsieur le Seneschal’s word for my identity. But I think it is as well that you should satisfy yourself. Before placing yourself entirely in my care, as you are about to do, you would be well advised to assure yourself, that I am
indeed Her Majesty’s emissary. Will you be good enough to glance at this?”

  He drew forth as he spoke the letter in the queen’s own hand, turned it upside down, and so presented it to her. The Seneschal looked on stolidly, a few paces distant.

  “But certainly, mademoiselle, assure yourself that this gentleman is no other than I have told you.”

  Thus enjoined, she took the letter; for a second her eyes met Garnache’s glittering gaze, and she shivered. Then she bent her glance to the writing, and studied it a moment, what time the man from Paris watched her closely.

  Presently she handed it back to him.

  “Thank you, monsieur,” was all she said.

  “You are satisfied that it is in order, mademoiselle?” he inquired, and a note of mockery too subtle for her or the Seneschal ran through his question.

  “I am quite satisfied.”

  Garnache turned to Tressan. His eyes were smiling, but unpleasantly, and in his voice when he spoke there was something akin to the distant rumble that heralds an approaching storm.

  “Mademoiselle,” said he, “has received an eccentric education.”

  “Eh?” quoth Tressan, perplexed.

  “I have heard tell, monsieur, of a people somewhere in the East who read and write from right to left; but never yet have I heard tell of any — particularly in France — so oddly schooled as to do their reading upside down.”

  Tressan caught the drift of the other’s meaning. He paled a little, and sucked his lip, his eyes wandering to the girl, who stood in stolid inapprehension of what was being said.

  “Did she do that?” said he, and he scarcely knew what he was saying; all that he realized was that it urged him to explain this thing. “Mademoiselle’s education has been neglected — a by no means uncommon happening in these parts. She is sensitive of it; she seeks to hide the fact.”

  Then the storm broke about their heads. And it crashed and thundered awfully in the next few minutes.

  “O liar! O damned, audacious liar,” roared Garnache uncompromisingly, advancing a step upon the Seneschal, and shaking the parchment threateningly in his very face, as though it were become a weapon of offence. “Was it to hide the fact that she had not been taught to write that she sent the Queen a letter pages-long? Who is this woman?” And the finger he pointed at the girl quivered with the rage that filled him at this trick they had thought to put upon him.