CHAPTER IV
DAY DREAMS: A FAIR EMISSARY
Many guests had been convened to the hospitable board of Pulwick uponthe evening which followed Adrian's return home; and as, besides thefact that the fame of the French lady had spread enthusiasm in most ofthe male breasts of the district and anxious curiosity in gentlerbosoms, there was a natural neighbourly desire to criticise the youngheir of the house after his year's absence, the county had respondedin a body to the invitation.
It was a goodly company therefore that was assembled in the greatwithdrawing rooms, when the Countess herself came tripping down theshallow oaken stairs, and found Adrian waiting for her in the hall.
He glanced up as she descended towards him to cover her with an ardentlook and feast his eyes despairingly on her beauty; and she halted amoment to return his gaze with a light but meaning air of chiding.
"Cousin!" she said, "you have very singular manners for one supposedto be so shy with ladies. Do you know that if my husband were here tonotice them you might be taken to task?"
Adrian ran up the steps to meet her. The man in him was growing apacewith the growth of a man's passion, and by the boldness of his answerbelying all his recent wise resolutions, he now astonished himselfeven more than her.
"You are going back to him," he said, with halting voice. "All iswell--for him; perhaps for you. For us, who remain behind there isnothing left but the bitterness of regret--and envy."
Then in silence they descended together.
As they were crossing the hall there entered suddenly to them,stumbling as he went, Rene, the young Breton retainer, whom the lordof Savenaye had appointed as squire to his lady upon her travels, andwho, since her establishment at Pulwick, had been sent to carry newsand money back to Brittany.
No sooner had the boy--for such he was, though in intelligence andblind devotion beyond his years--passed into the light, than on hishaggard countenance was read news of disastrous import. Recent tearshad blurred his sunburnt cheek, and the hand that tore the hat fromhis head at the unexpected sight of his mistress, partly ininstinctive humility, partly, it seemed, to conceal some papers heheld against his breast, twitched with nervous anguish.
"Rene!" cried the Countess, eagerly, in French. "What hast thoubrought? Sweet Jesu! Bad news--bad news? Give!"
For an instant the courier looked around like a hunted animal seekinga retreat, and then up at her in dumb pleading; but she stamped herfoot and held him to the spot by the imperiousness of her eye.
"Give, I tell thee," she repeated; and, striking the hat away,snatched the papers from his hand. "Dost thou think I cannot bear illnews--My husband?"
She drew nearer to a candelabra, and the little white handsimpatiently broke the seals and shook the sheets asunder.
Sir Thomas, attracted by his favourite's raised tones and uneasy ather non-appearance, opened the drawing-room door and came forwardanxiously, whilst his assembled guests, among whom a sense thatsomething of importance was passing had rapidly spread, now gatheredcuriously about the open doorway.
The Countess read on, unnoticing, with compressed lips and knittedbrows--those brows that looked so black on the fair skin, under thepowdered hair.
"My husband! ah, I knew it, my Andre ... the common fate of theloyal!" A sigh lifted the fair young bosom, but she showed no othersign of weakness.
Indeed those who watched this unexpected scene were struck by thecontrast between the bearing of this young, almost girlish creature,who, holding the written sheets with firm hands to the light, readtheir terrible contents with dry eyes, and that of the man who hadsunk, kneeling, at her feet, all undone, to have had the bringing ofthe news.
The silence was profound, save for the crackling of the pages as sheturned them over, and an occasional long-drawn sob from the messenger.
When she came to the end the young widow--for such she wasnow--remained some moments absorbed in thought, absently refolding theletter into its original neatness. Then her eyes fell on Rene'sprostrate figure and she stooped to lay a kind hand for an instant onhis shoulder.
"Bear up, my good Rene," she said. At her voice and touch he draggedhis limbs together and stood humbly before her.
"We must be brave," she went on; "your master's task is done--ours,yours and mine, is not."
He lifted his bloodshot eyes to her with the gaze of a faithful dog indistress, scraped an uncouth bow and abruptly turned away, brushingthe tears from his cheek with his sleeve, and hurrying, to relieve hischoking grief in solitude. She stood a while, again absorbed in herown reflection, and of those who would have rushed to speak gentlewords to her, and uphold her with tender hands, had she wept orswooned, there was none who dared approach this grief that gave nosign.
In a short time, however, she seemed to recollect herself and awakento the consciousness of the many watching eyes.
"Good uncle," she said, going up to the old man and kissing his cheek,after sweeping the assembled company with dark, thoughtful gaze. "Hereare news that I should have expected sooner--but that I would notentertain the thought. It has come upon us at last, the fate of theothers ... Andre has paid his debt to the king, like many hundreds oftrue people before--though none better. He has now his reward. I gloryin his noble death," she said with a gleam of exaltation in her eyes,then added after a pause, between clenched teeth, almost in a whisper:
"And my sister too--she too is with him--but I will tell you of itlater; they are at rest now."
Jovial Sir Thomas, greatly discomposed and fairly at a loss how todeal with the stricken woman, who was so unlike any womankind he hadever yet come across, patted her hand in silence, placed it within hisarm and quietly led her into the drawing-room, rolling, as he did so,uneasy eyes upon his guests. But she followed the current of herthoughts as her little feet kept pace beside him.
"That is bad--but worse--the worst of all, the cause of God and kingis again crushed; everything to begin afresh. But, for the present,we"--here she looked round the room, and her eyes rested an instantupon a group of young men, who were surveying her from a corner withmingled admiration and awe--"we, that is Rene and I, have work to doin this country before we return. For you will keep us a littlelonger?" she added with an attempt at a smile.
"Will I keep you a little longer?" exclaimed the squire hotly, "will Iever let you go, now!"
She shook her head at him, with something of her natural archness.Then, turning to make a grave curtsey to the circle of ladies aroundher:
"I and my misfortune," she said, "have kept your company and yourdinner waiting, I hardly know how long. No doubt, in their kindnessthey will forgive me."
And accepting again her uncle's arm which, delighted at the solutionof the present difficulty, and nodding to Adrian to start the otherguests, he hastened to offer her, she preceded the rest into thedining-hall with her usual alert bearing.
The behaviour of the Countess of Savenaye, had affected the variousspectators in various ways. The male sex, to a man, extolled herfortitude; the ladies, however, condemned such unfeminine strength ofmind, while the more charitable prophesied that she would pay dearlyfor this unnatural repression. And the whispered remark of one of theprettier and younger damsels, that the loss of a husband did not seemto crush her, at any rate, met, on the whole, with covert approval.
As for Adrian, who shall describe the tumult of his soul--the regret,the hungering over her in her sorrow, the wild unbidden hopes and hisshame of them? Careful of what his burning eyes might reveal, hehardly dared raise them from the ground; and yet to keep them longfrom her face was an utter impossibility. The whispered comments ofthe young men behind him, their admiration, and astonishment drove himto desperation. And the high-nosed dowager, whom it was his privilegeto escort to his father's table, arose from it convinced that SirThomas's heir had lost in his travels the few poor wits he everpossessed.
The dinner that evening was without doubt the most dismal meal theneighbourhood had ever sat down to at the hospitable board of Pulwick,pas
t funeral refections not excepted. The host, quite taken up withhis little foreign relative, had words only for her; and these,indeed, consisted merely in fruitless attempts to induce her topartake largely of every course--removes, relieves, side-dishes,joints, as their separate turn came round. Long spells of silence fellupon him meantime, which he emphasised by lugubriously clearing histhroat. Except for the pretty courtesy with which she would answerhim, she remained lost in her own thoughts--ever and anon consultingthe letter which lay beside her to fall again, it seemed, into adeeper muse; but never a tear glinted between her black lashes.
More than once Adrian from his distant end of the table, met her eyes,fixed on him for a moment, and the look, so full of mysteriousmeanings made his heart beat in anguish, expecting he knew not what.
Among the rest of the assembly, part deference to a calamity sostoutly borne, part amazement at such strange ways, part discomfort attheir positions as feasters in the midst of mourning, had reducedconversation to the merest pretence. The ladies were glad enough whenthe time came for them to withdraw; nor did most of the men view withreluctance a moment which would send the decanters gliding freely overthe mahogany, and relieve them from this unwonted restraint.
Madame de Savenaye had, however, other interests in store for theselatter.
She rose with the rest of the ladies, but halted at the door, andlaying her hand upon her uncle's arm, said an earnest word in his ear,in obedience to which he bundled out his daughters, as they hung backpolitely, closed the door upon the last skirt, and reconducted theCountess to the head of the table, scratching his chin in someperplexity, but ready to humour her slightest whim.
She stood at her former place and looked for a moment in silence fromone to another of the faces turned with different expressions ofastonishment and anticipation towards her--ruddy faces most of them,young, or old, handsome or homely, the honest English stamp upon each;and distinct from them all, Adrian's pallid, thoughtful features andhis ardent eyes.
Upon him her gaze rested the longest. Then with a little wave of herhand she prayed them to be seated, and waited to begin her say untilthe wine had passed round.
"Gentlemen," then quoth she, "with my good uncle's permission I shallread you the letter which I have this night received, so that Englishgentlemen may learn how those who are faithful to their God and theirKing are being dealt with in my country. This letter is from Monsieurde Puisaye, one of the most active partisans of the Royal cause, aconnection of the ancient house of Savenaye. And he begins by tellingme of the unexpected reverses sustained by our men so close upon theirsuccesses at Chateau-Gonthier, successes that had raised our loyalhopes so high. 'The most crushing defeat,' he writes, 'has taken placenear the town of Savenaye itself, on your own estate, and yourhistoric house is now, alas! in ruins.... During the last obstinatefight your husband had been wounded, but after performing prodigies ofvalour--such as, it was hoped or trusted, the king should in time hearof--he escaped from the hands of his enemies. For many weeks with afew hundred followers he held the fields in the Marais, but he was atlast hemmed in and captured by one of the monster Thureau's _ColonnesInfernales_, those hellish legions with an account of whose deeds,' sosays this gallant gentleman our friend, 'I will not defile my pen, butwhose boasts are like those of Attila the Hun, and who in their malicehave invented obscene tortures worthy of Iroquois savages for all whofall into their clutches, be they men, women, or children.... But, byHeaven's mercy, dear Madame,' says M. de Puisaye to me, 'your noblehusband was too weak to afford sport to those demons, and so he hasescaped torment. He was hanged with all speed indeed, for fear hemight die first of his toils and his wounds, and so defeat them at thelast.'"
A rustling murmur of horror and indignation went round the table; butthe little woman faced the audience proudly.
"He died," she said, "as beseems a brave man. But this is not all. Ihad a sister, she was very fair--like me some people said, inlooks--she used to be the merry one at home in the days of peace," shegave a little smile, far more piteous than tears would be--"She choseto remain among her people when they were fighting, to help thewounded, the sick." Here Madame de Savenaye paused a moment and putdown the letter from which she had been reading; for the first timesince she had begun to speak she grew pale; knitting her black browsand with downcast eyes she went on: "Monsieur de Puisaye says he asksmy pardon humbly on his knees for writing such tidings to me, bereavedas I am of all I hold dear, but 'it is meet,' he says, 'that thecivilised world should know the deeds these followers of _liberty_ and_enlightenment_ have wrought upon gallant men and highborn ladies,'and I hold that he says well."
She flashed once more her black gaze round upon the men, who withheads all turned towards her and forgetting their wine, hung upon herwords. "It is right that I should know, and you too! It is meet thatsuch deeds should be made known to the world: my sister was taken bythese men, but less fortunate than my husband she had life enough leftfor torture--she too is dead now; M. de Puisaye adds: Thank God! Andthat is all that I can say too--Thank God!"
There was a dead silence in the room as she ceased speaking, broken atlast, here and there, along the table by exclamations and groans and adeep execration from Sir Thomas, which was echoed deep-mouthed by hisguests.
Adrian himself, the pacific, the philosopher, with both arms,stretched out on the table, clenched his hands, and set his teeth andgazed into space with murderous looks.
Then the clear young voice went on again:
"You, who have honoured mothers and wives of your own, and have youngsweethearts, or sisters or daughters--you English gentlemen who loveto see justice, how long will you allow such things to be done whileyou have arms to strike? We are not beaten yet; there are Frenchhearts still left that will be up and doing so long as they have adrop of blood to shed. Our gallant Bretons and Vendeens are unitingonce more, our emigres are collecting, but we want aid, brave Englishfriends, we want arms, money, soldiers. My task lies to my hand; thesacred legacy of my dead I have accepted; is there any of you here whowill help the widow to maintain the fight?"
She had risen to her feet; the blood glowed on her cheek as sheconcluded her appeal; a thousand stars danced in her eyes.
Old men and young they leapt up, with a roar; pressing round her,pouring forth acclamations, asseverations and oaths--Would they helpher? By God--they would die for her--Never had the old rafters ofPulwick rung to such enthusiasm.
And when with proud smiles and crimsoned face she withdraws at lastfrom so much ardour, the door has scarcely fallen behind her beforeSir Thomas proposes her health in a bellow, that trembles upon tears:
"Gentlemen, this lady's courage is such as might put most men'sstrength to shame. Here is, gentlemen, to Madame de Savenaye!"
And she, halting on the stairs for a moment, to still her high-beatingheart, before she lay her babe against it, hears the toast honouredwith three times three.
* * * * *
When the Lancastrian ladies had succeeded at length in collecting andcarrying off such among the hiccupping husbands, and maudlin sons, whowere able to move, Sir Thomas re-entering the hall, after speeding thelast departing chariot, and prudently leaning upon his tall son--forthough he had a seasoned head the night's potations had been deep andfiery--was startled well-nigh into soberness, at the sight of hisniece waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.
"Why, Cis, my love, we thought you had been in bed this long while!why--where have you been then since you ran away from the dining-room?By George!" chuckling, "the fellows were mad to get another glimpse ofyou!"
His bloodshot eye hung over her fondly. There was not a trace offatigue upon that delicate, pretty face.
"I wanted to think--I have much to think on now. I have had to readand ponder upon my instructions here,"--tapping her teeth with theletter, she still carried, "Good uncle, I would speak with you--yes,even now," quick to notice Adrian's slight frown of disapproval (poorfellow, he was sober enough at any rate!), "t
here is no time like thepresent. I have my work to do, and I shall not rest to-night, till Ihave planned it in my head."
Surely the brilliancy of those eyes was feverish; the little hands shelaid upon them to draw them into the dim-lit library were hot as fire.
"Why, yes, my pretty," quoth the good uncle, stifling a portentousyawn, and striving to look wondrous wise, "Adrian, she wants toconsult me, sir, hic!"
He fell into an arm-chair as he spoke, and she sank on her kneesbeside him, the firelight playing upon her eager face, while Adrian,in the shadow, watched.
"Do you think," she asked of the old man, eagerly, "that thesegentlemen, who spoke so kindly to me a few hours ago, will be as muchin earnest in the morning?"
"Why d--n them! if they go back on their word, I'll call them out!"thundered Sir Thomas, in a great rage all of a sudden. She surveyedhim inquiringly, and shot a swift keen glance from the placid, bulkyfigure in the chair, to Adrian pale and erect, behind it, then rose toher feet and stood a few paces off, as it were pondering.
"What is now required of me--I have been thinking it well over," shesaid at last, "can hardly be achieved by a woman alone. And yet, withproper help and support, I think I could do more than any man byhimself. There is that in a woman's entreaties which will win, when aman may fail. But I must have a knight at my side; a protector, at thesame time as a faithful servant. These are not the times to stand onconventional scruples. Do you think, among these gentlemen, any couldbe found with sufficient enthusiasm, for the Royal cause, hererepresented by me, to attend, and support me through all the fatigues,the endless errands, the interviews--ay, also the rebuffs, theridicule at times, perhaps the danger of the conjuration, which mustbe set on foot in this country--to do all that, without hope of otherreward than the consciousness of helping a good cause, and--and thegratitude of one, who may have nothing else to give?"
She stopped with a little nervous laugh: "No, it is absurd! no man,on reflection would enter into such a service unless it were for hisown country."
As the last words fell from her lips, she suddenly turned to Adrianand met his earnest gaze.
"Or for his kindred," said the young man, coming up to her with gravesimplicity, "if his kindred required it."
A gleam of satisfaction passed across her face. The father, who hadcaught her meaning--sharp enough, as some men can be in theircups--nodded his head with great vigour.
"Yes, why should you think first of strangers," he grumbled, "when youhave your own blood, to stand by you--blood is thicker than water,ain't it? Am I too old, or is he too young, to wait on you--hey,madam?"
She extended her hand, allowing it to linger in Adrian's grasp, whilstshe laid the other tenderly on the old man's shoulder.
"My good uncle! my kind cousin! Have I the choice already between twosuch cavaliers? I am fortunate indeed in my misfortune. In othercircumstances to decide would be difficult between two men, each sogood; but," she added, after a moment's hesitation, and looking atAdrian in a manner that made the young man's heart beat thickly, "inthis case it is obvious I must have some one whom I need not fear todirect."
"Ay, ay," muttered the baronet, "I'd go with you, my darling, to theworld's end; but there's that young philosopher of mine breaking hisheart for you. And when all's said and done, it's the young fellowthat'll be the most use to you, I reckon. Ay, you've chosen already,I'll be bound. The gouty old man had best stop at home. Ho, ho, ho!You've the luck, Adrian; more luck than you deserve."
"It is I who have more luck than I deserve," answered Madame deSavenaye, smiling upon her young knight as, taking heart of grace, hestooped to seal the treaty upon her hand. "To say the truth, I hadhoped for this, yet hardly dared to allow myself to count upon it. Andreally, uncle, you give your own son to my cause?--and you, cousin,you are willing to work for me? I am indeed strengthened at the outsetof my undertaking. I shall pray that you may never have cause toregret your chivalrous goodness."
She dropped Adrian's hand with a faint pressure, and moved sighingtowards the door.
"Do you wonder that I have no tears, cousin?" she said, a littlewistfully; "they must gather in my heart till I have time to sit downand shed them."
Thus it was that a letter penned by this unknown M. de Puisaye fromsome hidden fastness in the Bocage of Brittany came to divert thecourse of Adrian Landale's existence into a channel where neither he,nor any of those who knew him, would ever have dreamed to see itdrift.
The Light of Scarthey: A Romance Page 6