Chapter XXIII
Wrecked
"Il ne faut confier son secret qu' a celui qui n'a pas cherche a le deviner."
"I do not care whether Paris is in the hands of the Communards or theother bunglers so long as the Bank of France holds good," said JohnTurner; and, indeed, I afterwards learnt that his whole fortunedepended on this turn of the wheel.
We were travelling down to Hopton, and it was the last week of May. Webore to Madame de Clericy the news that at last the government troopshad made their entry into Paris and were busy fighting in the streetsthere, hunting from pillar to post the remnant of the Communardrabble. The reign of terror which had lasted two and a half months wasended, and Paris lay like a ship that having passed through a greatstorm lies at last in calm water, battered and beaten. Pricelesstreasures had perished by the incendiarism of the wild mob--theTuileries were burnt, the Louvre had barely escaped a like fate. Thematchless Hotel de Ville had vanished, and a thousand monuments andrelics were lost for ever. Paris would never be the same again.Anarchy had swept across it, razing many buildings and crushing outnot a few of those qualities of good taste and feeling which hadraised Frenchmen to the summit of civilisation before the Empire fell.
John Turner was in good humour, for he had just learnt that, owing tothe wit and nerve of one man, the Bank of France had stood untouched.With it was saved the house of Turner & Co., of Paris and London. Themoment my friend's affairs were on a safe footing he placed himself atmy service to help with the Vicomtesse de Clericy's more complicateddifficulties. I was glad to avail myself of the assistance of onewhose name was a by-word for rectitude and stability. Here, at allevents, I had a colleague whose word could not be doubted by Isabella,of whose father John Turner had been a friend as well as of my own.
"Heard any more of Miste?" inquired Turner, while the train stood atIpswich station; for he was much too easy-going to shout conversationduring the progress of our journey.
"Sander writes that he has nearly caught him twice, and singularlyenough has done better since you gave Mr. Devar his _conge_."
"Nothing singular about that. Devar was in the swindle and kept Misteadvised of your movements. But there is some one else in it, too."
"A third person?"
"Yes," answered Turner. "A third person. I have been watching thething, Dick, and am not such a fat old fool as you take me for. It wasneither Miste nor Devar who cashed that draft. If you catch Miste youwill probably catch some one else, too, some knight-errant of finance,or I am much mistaken."
At this moment the train moved on, and my friend composed his personfor a sleep which lasted until we reached Saxmundham.
"I suppose," said my companion, waking up there, "that Mademoiselle ofthe _beaux yeux_ is to marry Alphonse when the fortune is recovered?"
"I suppose so," answered I, and John Turner closed his eyes again witha queer look.
In the station enclosure at Lowestoft we found Alphonse Giraudenjoying himself immensely on the high seat of a dog-cart,controlling, with many French exclamations, and a partial success, themovements of a cob which had taken a fancy to progress backwards roundand round the yard.
"It is," he explained, with a jerky salutation of the whip, "theSunday-school treat departing for Yarmouth. They marched in here witha brass band--too much--Whoa! _le petit_, whoa!--too much for ourfeelings. There--_bonjour_, Monsieur Turner--how goes it? There--nowwe stand still.
"Not for long," said Turner, doubtfully; "and I never get in or out ofanything when it is in motion."
With the assistance of sundry idle persons we held the horse stillenough for my friend to take his seat beside Alphonse, while I and theluggage found place behind them. We dashed out of the gate at a speedand risk which gave obvious satisfaction to our driver, and ourprogress up the narrow High Street was a series of hairbreadthescapes.
"It is a pleasure," said Alphonse, airily, as we passed the lighthouseand the cob settled down into a steady trot, "to drive such a horse asthis."
"No doubt," said Turner; "but next time I take a cab."
We arrived at the Manor House in time for luncheon, and were receivedby the ladies at the door. Lucille, I remember, looked grave, but itappeared that the Vicomtesse was in good spirits.
"Then the news is true," she cried, before we had descended from ourhigh places.
"Yes, Madame, for a wonder good news is true," answered Turner, and hestood bareheaded, after the manner of his adopted country, while heshook hands.
On this occasion we all frankly spoke French, for to John Turner thislanguage was second nature. We had plenty to talk of during luncheon,and learnt much from the Paris banker which had never appeared in thenewspapers. He had, indeed, passed through a trying ordeal, and thatwith an imperturbable nerve and coolness of head. He made, however,little of his own difficulties, and gave all his attention to Madame'saffairs. Whenever he made mention of my name I saw Lucille frown.
After luncheon we went to the garden, which extends from the grim oldhouse to the cliff-edge, and is protected on either side by a doublerank of Scotch firs, all twisted and gnarled by the winter winds--allturning westward, with a queer effect as of raised shoulders andshivering limbs.
Within the boundary we have always, however, succeeded in growing suchsimple flowers as are indigenous to British soil--making a gayappearance and filling the air with clean-smelling scents.
"Your garden," said Madame, touching my arm as we passed out of thedining-room window, "always suggests to me the English character--notmuch flower, but a quantity of tough wood."
Alphonse joined us, and embarked at once on the description of aneasterly gale such as are too common on this coast, but new to him andgrand enough in its onslaught. For the wind hurls itself uncheckedagainst the cliff and house after its career across the North Sea.
Lucille and John Turner had walked slowly away together down thenarrow path running from the house to the solid entrenchment of turfthat stands on the cliff edge, covered with such sparse grass and herbas the sand and spray may nourish.
"It is pleasant," Lucille said, as they went from us, "to have someone to talk French with."
She was without her hat or gloves, and I saw the sunlight gleaming onher hair.
"You have Alphonse Giraud," said Turner, in his blunt way.
Lucille shrugged her shoulders.
"And Howard, from time to time," added the banker, who, havingreceived permission to smoke a cigar, was endeavouring to extract apenknife from his waistcoat pocket.
"Who talks French with the understanding of an Englishman," saidLucille, quickly.
"You do not like Englishmen?"
"I like honest ones, Monsieur," said Lucille, looking across the sea.
"Ah!"
"Oh, yes--I know," cried Lucille, impatiently. "You are one of Mr.Howard's partisans. They are so numerous and so ready to speak forhim--and he will never speak for himself."
"Then," said John Turner, smoking placidly, "let us agree to differ onthat point."
But Lucille had no such intention.
"Does Mr. Howard ask you--you and mother, and sometimes Alphonse--tofight his battles for him and to sing his praises to me?"
Turner did not answer at once.
"Well?" she inquired, impatiently.
"I was just thinking how long it is since Dick Howard mentioned yourname to me--about three months, I believe."
Lucille walked on with her head erect.
"What have you against him?" asked Turner, after a short silence.
"It was from your house that Mr. Howard came to us. He came to myfather assuring him that he was poor, which he told me afterwards wasonly a subterfuge and false pretence. I then learnt from Mr. Gayersonthat this was not the truth. I suppose Mr. Howard thought that awoman's affection is to be bought by gold."
"All that can be explained, Mademoiselle."
"Then explain it, Monsieur."
"Let Howard do it," said Turner, pausing to knock the ash from hiscigar.<
br />
"I do not care for Mr. Howard's explanations," said Lucille, coldly."One never knows what to believe. Is he rich or poor?"
"I WAS JUST THINKING HOW LONG IT IS SINCE DICK HOWARDMENTIONED YOUR NAME TO ME--ABOUT THREE MONTHS, I BELIEVE." LUCILLEWALKED ON WITH HER HEAD ERECT.]
"He is which he likes."
Lucille gave a scornful laugh.
"He could be rich to-morrow if he would do as I advise him," gruntedTurner.
"What is that, Monsieur?"
"Marry money and a woman he does not love."
They walked on for some moments in silence, and came to the turfentrenchment raised against the wind, as against an assaulting army.They passed through a gangway, cut in the embankment, to one of theseats built against the outer side of it. Below them lay the cleansands, stretching away on either side in unbroken smoothness--thesands of Corton.
"And why will he not take your advice?" asked Lucille.
"Because he is a pig-headed fool--as his father was before him. It isall his father's fault, for placing him in such an impossibleposition."
"I do not understand," said Lucille.
John Turner crossed his legs with a grunt of obesity.
"It is nevertheless simple, Mademoiselle," he said; "father and sonquarrelled because old Howard, who was as obstinate as his son, madeup his mind that Dick should marry Isabella Gayerson. Plenty of money,adjoining estates, the old story of misery with many servants. Dick,being his father's son, at once determined that he would do no suchthing, and there was a row royal. Dick went off to Paris, in debt andheedless of the old man's threat to cut him off with a shilling. Hehad never cared for Isabella, and was not going to sell his libertyfor the sake of a ring fence. His own words, Mademoiselle. At Parissundry things happened to him, of which you probably know more thanI."
He glanced up at Lucille, who was picking blades of grass from theembankment against which he leant. Her eyelids flickered, but she madeno reply.
"Then," went on John Turner, "his father died suddenly, and ittranspired that the hot-headed old fool had made one of those willswhich hot-headed old fools make for the special delectation ofnovelists and lawyers. He had left Dick penniless, unless he consentedto marry Isabella. When Dick told your father he was poor, he was wellwithin the limits of the truth, although he did it, as I understand,to gain his own ends. When he told you a different story, he merelyassumed that this quarrel, like others, would end in a reconciliation.He felt remorseful that he had practised a mild deception on yourfather, and wished to clear his conscience. Death intervened at thismoment, and placed our young friend in the uncomfortable position ofhaving told untruths all round. You probably know better than I do,Mademoiselle, why he got himself into this hobble."
But Lucille would make no such admission.
"But you ignore Isabella," she cried, impatiently, "you and Mr.Howard."
"She will not allow us to do that, my dear young lady."
"Is she to wait with folded hands until Mr. Howard decides whether heis inclined to marry her or not?"
"There is no waiting in the question," said John Turner. "Dick made uphis mind long ago, in the lifetime of his father, and Isabella must beaware of his decision. Besides, Mademoiselle, you can judge foryourself. Is there any love lost between them, think you?"
"No."
"Is there any reason why they should be miserable if they do not wantto be?"
"Isabella could not be more miserable than she is now, though shehides it well."
"Ah," said John Turner, thoughtfully. "Is that so? I wonder why."
Lucille shrugged her shoulders. She either could not or would notanswer.
"Too much money," suggested Turner.
"When women have plenty of money they usually want something thatcannot be bought."
Lucille frowned.
"And now you are angry, Mademoiselle," said John Turner, placidly,"and I am not afraid. I will make you still more angry."
He rose heavily, and stood, cigar in hand, looking out to sea--hisround face puckered with thought.
"Mademoiselle Lucille," he said, slowly, "I have known some men andquite a number of women who have sacrificed their happiness to theirpride. I have known them late in life, when the result had to be livedthrough. They were not good company. If pride or love must gooverboard, Mademoiselle, throw pride."
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