This was the first opportunity Roger had had to see her at close quarters without her mask, and he thought that apart from some tiny wrinkles round her tender blue eyes and a slight darkening of her golden hair she showed few signs of approaching middle-age. She was, at that time, thirty-three years old and had had four children. It was common knowledge that for the first eight years of her wedded life she had, to her bitter grief, remained childless, because her husband had proved incapable of consummating the marriage; but her daughter, Madame Royale, was now ten years old; the Dauphin, a child whose sickliness gave her much anxiety, seven; her second son, the little Duc de Normandie, a lusty boy of four; and there had been a second daughter, who had died at the age of eleven months. Yet, despite the strain and cares of motherhood, she had retained her beautiful figure. She had exquisite hands and arms; and her oval face, with its delicately arched nose and noble forehead, was so splendidly set on her fine shoulders that no woman could have better looked, as she was, a true daughter of the Caesars.
Roger had seen her in the past only from a distance, but even so he had been struck by her resemblance to his lovely Athénaïs, and now, at close quarters, he thought her far more beautiful than her dark-browed young companion. But he was not left in silent contemplation of their respective attractions for long, as the Queen said to him:
“Monsieur; the Señorita d’Aranda is, I know, positively dying to hear what befell you after you were robbed of your jewels in Le Havre, and I too have a great love for listening to such stories; pray continue your adventures.”
So, much sooner than he had expected, Roger found himself launched in his self-sought role of troubadour; and, as his blessings included ample self-confidence, coupled with the ability to express himself easily, the task presented no difficulties. Fortunately, too, he had abundant material in the months that he had spent with old Dr. Aristotle Fénelon peddling quack medicines, so he was not called on to invent any particulars that he might have later regretted, and for over half an hour he kept the Queen and her lady pleasantly amused.
From their comments and laughter he had good reason to suppose that they would have been quite content to listen to him much longer; but at the end of that time the sound of approaching hoof-beats interrupted his discourse, bringing them all to their feet, and next moment the Queen’s two gentlemen cantered into the clearing.
“I feared as much,” murmured Roger. “That fine bay de Roubec was riding enabled him to get clean away.” But, even as he spoke, he had good cause to forget the pseudo-Chevalier in swift concern for a new development which threatened to jeopardise the favour he had so skilfully acquired with the Queen. As the two richly clad riders pulled up their foam-flecked mounts he recognised them both as friends of the Marquis de Rochambeau.
One was the handsome Duc de Coigny, whose name malignant slander had coupled with that of the Queen on the birth of her first child, and the other was the Comte de Vaudreuil, whom the scurrilous pamphlets of the day had also accused her of having taken for her lover.
Roger did not believe a word of such stories, as everyone at all well informed knew that, at the time of the Queen’s first pregnancy, the one had been the lover of the Princess de Guéménee and the other of the Duchess de Polignac, and that Marie Antoinette herself was a model of wifely fidelity. The two noblemen were, however, her old and cherished friends, and were so devoted to her that when two years earlier the King had abolished the Duc’s post as First Equerry and the Comte’s as Grand Falconer, on grounds of economy, both had remained on at Court for the pleasure of serving her.
Seeing that she had gone out that afternoon to despatch a letter at a secret rendezvous, it was not the least surprising that she should have chosen two such trusted friends to act as her escort; but their arrival on the scene brought Roger face to face with a situation which he had hoped would not arise until he had had a chance to secure a firm footing at Fontainebleau.
“Alas, Madame,” cried de Coigny, on pulling up. “We lost our man some two miles distant heading in the direction of Courances.”
“We kept him in sight that far,” added de Vaudreuil, “but had gained little on him. I fear he used his lead to double back on reaching a point where several rides converge. After casting about for quite a while and finding no trace of him, we thought it best to return and confess our discomfiture to Your Majesty.”
“ ’Tis a pity,” the Queen shrugged, “but of no vital import. And as we can give a good description of the fellow, the police may yet lay him by the heels for us. I thank you, gentlemen, for your exertions.”
Turning to Roger, she said: “Monsieur, ’tis my wish that Monsieur le Duc de Coigny and Monsieur le Comte de Vaudreuil should number you among their acquaintances.” Then to them she added: “My friends, this gentleman has today rendered me a considerable service. His name is de Breuc, and I recommend him to you.”
The three men exchanged polite bows. Then de Vaudreuil said with a little frown: “De Breuc? Your name is familiar to me, Monsieur, but I cannot recall where I have heard it before.”
“I remember not only this gentleman’s name, but also his face,” put in de Coigny. “Surely, Monsieur, we have met upon some previous occasion?”
Roger saw that there was nothing for it but to take the plunge, so he bowed again, and said: “Messieurs. In any other circumstances I would not have had the forwardness to claim the honour of your previous acquaintance. But in the past both of you have spoken to me with some kindness on numerous occasions. I was for some time confidential secretary to Monsieur de Rochambeau.”
“Mort Dieu!” exclaimed de Vaudreuil, so far forgetting himself as to swear in front of the Queen. “I know you now! You are that young devil of an Englishman.”
“Monsieur!” cried the Queen in sharp reprimand.
“ ’Tis true that I was born in England,” Roger admitted; then added with a smooth disregard for the strict truth: “But as I was educated in France I have long regarded myself as more than half a Frenchman.”
De Vaudreuil ignored the skilful evasion, which Roger had prepared in advance in case he should find himself in just such a situation, and hastily excused himself to the Queen.
“Your pardon, Madame. In my amazement at finding such a person in your company my tongue ran away with me.”
Marie Antoinette’s blue eyes widened. “I fail to see, Monsieur, why you should be so shocked. What matters it where Monsieur de Breuc was born? I have always had a liking for the English, and count many of them among my friends.”
De Coigny came to his companion’s rescue, and said quickly: “I too recognise him now, and know what Monsieur le Comte had in mind. We can scarce believe Your Majesty to be aware that this fellow is he who seduced Mademoiselle de Rochambeau.”
It had never occurred to Roger that such a charge would be brought against him. His deep-blue eyes suddenly began to smoulder beneath their dark lashes, and before the Queen could reply he burst out:
“Monsieur le Duc! Were it not for Her Majesty’s presence I would call you out for that. I know not what vile slanders were invented about me after I left France; but ’tis a lie. I was no more than Mademoiselle de Rochambeau’s devoted servant, and aided her to escape an unwelcome marriage, in order that she might wed Monsieur de la Tour d’Auvergne, with whom she was in love.”
The Queen gave a little gasp and turned to stare at him. “Enough, Monsieur!” she exclaimed imperiously. “The whole of that horrid scandal now comes back to me. And on your own confession you must be the villain who murdered M. le Comte de Caylus.”
“Nay, Madame! I protest!” cried Roger firmly. “I killed Monsieur de Caylus in fair fight. M. l’Abbe de Périgord witnessed the affair and can vouch for the truth of what I say.”
“That unworthy priest!” exclaimed the Queen. “I would not credit one word his purjured mouth could utter. ’Twas reported on incontestable evidence that you ambushed Monsieur de Caylus in the forest of Melun, and there did him to death.”
“At the least then you admit to having challenged him to fight, and having forced a duel upon him?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Yet you must have been aware that there are edicts forbidding duelling, and that the breaking of them makes the offender liable to punishment by death?”
“I was, Your Majesty; but_________”
“Silence, Monsieur!” The Queen cut him short. “I was too easily taken in by your fair appearance and glib tongue; but now you are unmasked I have heard enough! Mademoiselle de Rochambeau’s father chose Monsieur de Caylus for her. What others thought of that choice is neither here nor there; for in such a matter the right of the head of a family is sacred. Yet you, while acting as a servant in the house, took it on yourself to overrule his judgment, and decided to assassinate the Count. Since you have had the temerity to return to France I should be failing in my duty were I not to ensure that justice takes its course, and that you pay the penalty for your abominable crime.”
She then turned to her gentlemen. “Monsieur le Duc, be pleased to call my horses, for I would now return to Fontainebleau. And you, Monsieur le Comte, I charge with the arrest and escorting back to the Château of Monsieur de Breuc.”
De Vaudreuil dismounted, and a moment later Roger was surrendering his long sword. Less than five minutes before he had been in a fair way to being accepted into Madame Marie Antoinette’s intimate circle; now he was to be taken to Fontainebleau as a dangerous criminal charged with murder.
Chapter III
The Family Compact
As Roger climbed into his saddle the thought of attempting to escape entered his mind, but he dismissed it almost at once. His hired hack was good enough for an afternoon’s ride but possessed of little stamina; whereas the mounts of de Vaudreuil and de Coigny were both fine animals and still comparatively fresh, in spite of their recent gallop. His mare might have kept the lead for some distance, but he felt certain that his pursuers would ultimately wear her down and that, with no initial start, he would never be able to get far enough ahead to conceal himself among the trees and rocks while the others passed, as de Roubec had evidently done.
If anything could have added to his bitter sense of grievance at the scurvy trick Fate had played him, it was that had the Queen’s two gentlemen not chanced to be close friends of Monsieur de Rochambeau, and had they been a little nearer to hand when she summoned them, it would have been de Roubec who would have ridden back to Fontainebleau as a prisoner, instead of himself.
That he was a prisoner was brought home to him in no uncertain manner by the way in which the two nobles closed in on either side of him immediately the carriage set off. His temper had subsided as quickly as it had arisen, and he was not normally given to fits of depression, but with every yard they covered in the wake of the carriage he became more fully conscious of the seriousness of his plight.
He had had perfectly adequate reasons for believing the affair of de Caylus to be done with and forgotten; yet it seemed that the dead Count’s hand was now stretching up out of the grave to draw him down into it, and that even evasion of the grisly clutch might be bought only at the price of a long term of imprisonment.
It was not until they had covered over half a mile that Roger’s gloomy thoughts were broken in upon by de Coigny saying:
“Monsieur; the fact that Her Majesty has placed you under arrest does not obliterate the memory of a certain exchange that recently passed between us. I refer to your threat to call me out.”
“Indeed it does not, Monsieur le Duc,” Roger replied icily. He was far from pleased that in addition to his other troubles he had brought a duel upon himself, but it did not even occur to him that there was any alternative to going through with it, so he added:
“When last our paths crossed I was employed by Monsieur de Rochambeau as a secretary, so it may be that you do not consider me as of sufficient rank to meet you; but let me at least assure you that I am fully entitled to that of Chevalier, as my grandfather was the Earl of Kildonan, and my uncle is the present holder of that title. So, if and when I become free of my present embarrassment, I shall be happy to give Your Grace satisfaction with such weapons and at any time and place you may choose.”
“In view of what you tell me of your birth I, too, should be willing to meet you, if it is your wish to press the matter,” said the Duke quite mildly. “But I am prepared to admit that I spoke without due thought. As you escaped to England shortly after you killed de Caylus, you are doubtless unaware that your duel, and the elopement of Mademoiselle de Rochambeau which immediately succeeded it, caused a positive furore. All Paris was buzzing with accounts of the matter. And as you clearly fought on the young lady’s behalf the most generally accepted version of it was that you had abused your position as secretary to her father to become her lover. Like many other people I accepted the ont dit of the day and on such few occasions as I have thought of you since it has always been as her seducer. But I have no evidence that it was so; and had I not been surprised out of my sense of fitness by your sudden reappearance in the company of Her Majesty, I should certainly not have accused you of it.”
Roger looked at the handsome middle-aged man at his side with new respect. For nearly two centuries the Kings of France had issued edict after edict threatening increasingly severe punishments in their efforts to suppress duelling, but that had had little effect on their nobility’s attitude towards affairs of honour. No gentleman could afford to be subjected to a public slight and fail to demand satisfaction for it, for to do so was to invite certain ostracisation by his fellows. Moreover, whenever such affairs took place with adequate reason and according to the established rules even the King’s Ministers entered into a silent conspiracy to hush them up, and save the participants from the penalties of the law. It therefore required much more courage to apologise than to fight, and Roger rightly regarded M. le Coigny’s retraction a most handsome one.
“Monseigneur,” he said. “The honesty of your admission touches me deeply, and nothing would please me better than to forget the passage between us that gave occasion for it. May I add that I am all the more sensible of the generosity of your conduct from the sad plight in which I find myself; for ’tis when in such straits as I am at this moment that a chivalrous gesture from another is most warming to the heart.”
He paused for a moment, then went on: “For my part, I can well appreciate that an evil construction could have been put upon my championship of Mademoiselle de Rochambeau. But, if you recall the facts, Monsieur de la Tour d’Auvergne had already challenged de Caylus, fought and been wounded by him; so naught but my sword stood between her and the hateful marriage that had been arranged by her father without her consent. Monsieur de la Tour d’Auvergne was at that time my closest friend, and it was on his account that, rather than see the lady he loved given to another, I fought and killed de Caylus.”
“If that is so, your conduct appears to have been most honourable, Monsieur,” remarked de Vaudreuil politely. “And had the affair been conducted according to the accepted code you would be in danger now of no more than a severe reprimand from His Majesty coupled with a period of banishment to some country estate. But since you waylaid de Caylus, forced a duel on him and fought without the presence of seconds to bear witness to fair play, that is accounted assassination, and I fear it may go hard with you.”
“Monsieur le Comte, I give you my word that I took no unfair advantage of my adversary, and that I was, in fact, several times in acute danger of receiving a mortal wound from him myself.”
“And we accept it, Monsieur,” put in de Coigny. “De Caylus had fought at least a score of times before and was accounted one of the finest swordsmen in all France. It was a remarkable feat to slay so notable a duellist, and if you will indulge us we should find
it mightily interesting to hear what actually took place at the encounter.”
For all his natural self-confidence Roger was by habit diffident when speaking of his own abilities and achievements; so, while he willingly did as he had been requested, he confined himself mainly to the technicalities of the fight and made his final victory appear more a stroke of fortune than a brilliantly delivered coup de grâce. His modesty won him the respect of the two older men, and for the last few miles of their ride all three of them talked in the most friendly fashion of sword-play as an art, with its innumerable varieties of tierce, feint and thrust.
It was not until the small cortège was trotting down the cobbled main street of Fontainebleau that de Vaudreuil said with some hesitation to Roger: “I pray you forgive me, Monsieur, but one thing has been troubling me for some moments past. When you fled after the duel I recall that a big reward was offered for your capture. In it I seem to remember some mention of a State paper with which you had made off. Was there any truth in that?”
It was the one accusation that Roger had been dreading for the past hour or more; but the form in which the question was put reassured him for the moment. Evidently the Marquis de Rochambeau had not disclosed to his friends the nature of the document of which he had been robbed, or its importance. In the circumstances Roger felt considerable repugnance to telling a lie, but there was clearly no alternative if he was to stand any chance at all of saving his neck; and when a lie was necessary few people could tell one more convincingly than Roger. Without hesitation he replied:
“ ’Tis true, Monsieur le Comte, that in the hurry of my departure I inadvertently took one of Monsieur de Rochambeau’s documents with me. I came upon it many days later in one of my pockets. As I considered it of a highly confidential nature I did not like to risk returning it through the post, so I destroyed it.”
The Rising Storm Page 4