The Launching of Roger Brook

by Dennis Wheatley

  A careful inspection of the floor revealed a loose board under the deal washstand, so he prized it up and thrust his hoard as far under it as he could reach. He had hardly got the board back into place when there came a knock on the door.

  Swiftly adjusting his clothes he opened it to find outside a spotty, depressed-looking chambermaid who had come up to ask if he required anything.

  Taking off his crumpled blue coat he asked her if she could press it for him and let him have it back as soon as possible.

  When she had gone he re-examined his business-like-looking sword with the keenest pleasure and made a few passes with it; but he soon wearied of this and began to wonder how best to amuse himself. The window of the attic did not look out on the Bassin Vauban but on to the narrow, dirty stableyard of the inn. The dinner hour was long since past and that of supper, even if he had wanted it, not yet come. So he decided to take a turn along the quays and look at the shipping, while it was still light. As soon as the chambermaid brought back his coat he put it on and, going downstairs, went out on to the wharf.

  After an hour’s walk he returned to Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys and went into its parlour. The ‘company of the most distinguished’ promised by the pastrycook turned out to consist of two men engaged in a game of backgammon, who looked like ill-paid sea captains, an old man in a blue cloth suit, with a shock of white hair, a fine forehead and watery blue eyes, and a lanky fellow of about thirty dressed in a red velvet coat that looked somewhat the worse for wear. The old man was staring vacantly in front of him while he toyed with a tot of spirits and Roger decided that he was either dotty or three-parts drunk; the man in the red velvet was reading a badly-printed news-sheet through a quizzing glass, but he lowered it as Roger came in, gave him a sharp glance, and, bowing slightly, said:

  ‘Good evening to you, Monsieur.’

  As Roger returned the bow and the greeting, the man went on in an amiable tone: ‘Pray, pardon my apparent curiosity, but are you a casual visitor here? Or have you, perchance, taken a room in this pestiferous hostelry?’

  Roger admitted to the latter and asked: ‘And you, Monsieur?’

  ‘For my sins I have been lying here some ten days,’ came the prompt reply. ‘And I am near dying of boredom; so ’tis a most welcome diversion to see a new face.’

  ‘If you dislike it here, why do you remain?’ Roger inquired with a smile.

  ‘I am forced to it,’ the lanky individual answered, his long face breaking into a wry grin. ‘I owe the plaguey landlord a trifling sum—a mere bagatelle of eighty crowns or so—and he has had the impudence to seize my baggage as surety for its payment. So I must needs remain here till the funds that I am expecting daily, reach me.’

  Roger had to ask for parts of this to be repeated more slowly, explaining that he was an Englishman who had only that day arrived in France.

  ‘You astound me,’ exclaimed his new acquaintance. The little French you have spoken is so excellent that I had no idea you were a foreigner.’

  ‘You flatter me, Monsieur,’ said Roger, a flush of pleasure mounting to his face. ‘But ’tis the fact.’

  The man in red stood up and bowed: ‘Permit me to introduce myself. I am the Chevalier Etienne de Roubec. Your servant, Monsieur. I am charmed to welcome you to my country. My only regret is that this temporary lack of funds deprives me of the happiness of doing its honours towards you in a fitting fashion.’

  Standing up Roger bowed and introduced himself in turn, then as they sat down again he said: ‘You were telling me, Monsieur le Chevalier, why it is that you remain on at Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the Chevalier smiled and using simple phrases he went into a somewhat longer explanation, including an account of how he had had his pocket picked of a purse containing a hundred and twenty louis, this being the cause of his present embarrassment.

  As Roger listened, striving to get the meaning of the less usual words through their context, he had ample opportunity to study the Chevalier’s face. His brown eyes were quick and intelligent; a small scar on his left cheek ran up to the corner of one of them pulling it down a little and giving him a faintly humorous expression. His mouth was full and sensual, his chin slightly receding and his teeth bad, but he had a cheerful, vivacious manner and, as Roger had been feeling distinctly lonely during his hour’s walk, he was glad to have someone with whom he could talk as a friend.

  De Roubec was, it transpired, the younger son of the Marquis of that name, and he obviously expected Roger, even though an Englishman, to have heard of this rich and powerful Seigneur. The family had great estates in Languedoc but his father was, of course, at Versailles, where he held a high appointment near the person of the King. On being robbed of his money the Chevalier had at once written to his parent and expected any day now to receive a considerable remittance from him. In the meantime his principal worries were, that he was ashamed to appear in the clothes he was wearing, since he had had on his oldest things and been out on a fishing expedition when the pestiferous landlord had confiscated all his better garments; and that lack of cash made it impossible for him to buy Roger a drink.

  Roger obligingly stepped into the breach, and, on the Chevalier declaring that Malaga was his favourite tipple, ordered a couple of glasses. He then gave a somewhat fictitious account of himself; saying that he had come to Le Havre, only to transact some business for his father, who was an English Admiral, and that having arrived by the packet boat from Southampton that morning he hoped to complete his business next day and return to England the following night.

  After they had been talking for about half an hour supper was announced by a wizened little fellow who did duty, both as waiter and barman. The old man in the blue suit, who, in the meantime, had been drinking steadily, remained where he was; but the two seafarers, De Roubec and Roger, crossed the narrow hallway of the inn to the coffee room, and the two latter agreed to share a table.

  Having by this time digested his surfeit of cream cakes Roger was agreeably surprised by the meal that was now served to them. In England, where most people except the poorest considered that a meal was not a meal at all unless it included an ample portion of red meat, the repast would normally have given rise to aggrieved complaint. But the soup had an excellent flavour, the dish of vegetables cooked in fresh butter proved a revelation as to how good vegetables could be when not swamped in water, and the cream cheeses were delicious. For the modest sum of a franc Roger found that he was able to buy a bottle of Bordeaux, and by the time it was empty the two new acquaintances were in splendid spirits, laughing together as though they had known each other for years.

  De Roubec set down his glass with a little sigh. ‘’Tis now,’ he said, ‘that I find my lack of funds provoking almost beyond endurance. ’Twould have been such a pleasure this evening to take you forth and show you something of the town. Le Havre is a poor place compared to Paris or Lyons but, even so, it has a few passably diverting establishments and ’tis a sad pity that as you are leaving for England again so soon you should not see them while you are here.’

  ‘’Tis monstrous good of you to suggest it,’ Roger replied. ‘Unfortunately I’m plaguey short of cash myself for the moment. Ill have ample when I’ve completed my business tomorrow, but I brought over only some twenty louis for my immediate expenses and I laid out considerably more than half of that on my passage and in purchases this afternoon.’

  The Chevalier shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘For twenty or thirty crowns we could have quite a good evening’s sport. That is if you care to act as banker? But it must be on the firm understanding that I am host and will repay you any sum we expend when my money arrives. If you are already gone I will send it to England by a safe hand.’

  Roger barely hesitated. His native caution warned him that it would be tempting providence to run himself right out of cash before he had sold Georgina’s jewels; but he reflected that he still had over six pounds so would have an ample safety margin if he blew three of them,
and the idea of celebrating his first night as a free, grown man by going on the spree in this strange, foreign city, was tremendously exciting.

  ‘If twenty crowns will serve, I’m your man, and mighty obliged to you into the bargain,’ he declared with a laugh.

  So they left the table and collecting their hats and swords, went out on to the dark quay.

  Turning westwards along it De Roubec led Roger past the Arsenal into the narrow Rue de Paris and there knocked loudly on the door of a tall, shuttered house. The door was opened by a pock-marked man-servant in a grey and silver livery. He evidently knew the Chevalier and ushering them into the hall asked them to wait a moment while he fetched his master.

  A dapper little man clad in white breeches and a sky-blue silk coat then appeared.

  ‘Ah, my dear Chevalier!’ he exclaimed with an elegant bow and a quick glance at Roger. ‘What a pleasure to see you again. You are, I take it, once more in funds and come to challenge Dame Fortune at my tables?’

  ‘Your servant, Monsieur Tricot. We intend only a mild flutter,’ De Roubec replied nonchalantly. ‘But permit me to present milord Brook, the son of the distinguished English Admiral. It is my privilege to show him the few amenities of Le Havre, and your establishment being one of them I have brought him to see it; but we’ll risk a louis or two for the good of the house.’

  Roger thought it pointless to repudiate the sudden elevation he had been given and he much admired the skilful way in which De Roubec had disguised the fact that their purses were so ill-lined.

  The gaming-house keeper begged him to consider the house as his own whenever he was in Le Havre and led them upstairs.

  The whole of the first floor consisted of one big salon. In it about thirty people were assembled, all of them men, grouped round four large baize-covered tables. The room was lit adequately, but not brightly, by two-score of shaded candles set on the tables, or held by sconces centred in the gilt-outlined panels of the white painted walls. The floor was covered with a thick Aubusson carpet and at the far end from its tall, heavily curtained windows there was a buffet for food and drinks, and a small separate table with neat piles of gold and silver coins on it, behind which sat a dark-browed man. The atmosphere was orderly and subdued, the only sounds being the clink of coins, the quick flutter of cards and an occasional murmur from one of the players.

  De Roubec led the way over to the cashier and Roger produced two of his guineas. The black-browed man gave only seven crowns and two francs each for them, but at a sharp word from the Chevalier he shrugged his shoulders and pushed across another crown; which made Roger feel that he had been very lucky to find such a worldly wise friend to protect his interests. As they walked over to the tables he slipped eight of the crowns into De Roubec’s hand, retaining the rest for himself.

  For ten minutes or so they moved quietly about watching the play. There were two tables of Vingt-et-un and two of Trente-et-quarante; those nearest the window being in each case for higher play with a gold demi-pistol as the minimum stake, whereas at the other two, players could stake anything from a franc upwards. Roger was fascinated by the sight of the little piles of double louis, louis and pistols on the high-play tables, as he had never seen so much gold in his life, but he was not a gambler by nature and, even had he had the money, he would have played at one of the lower tables from choice.

  Both the games were entirely strange to him so on De Roubec’s asking him which he, wished to play he chose the Trente-et-quarante, since it seemed much the simpler of the two, and they took two of the gilt chairs at the lower table.

  Quickly picking up the idea of the game Roger began to punt a franc a time on each hand, and for a quarter of an hour won and lost more or less alternately, but the Chevalier refrained from playing and appeared content to watch his protégé, having quickly realised that the young Englishman was new to the game and feeling that he might in due course be blessed with beginner’s luck.

  De Roubec’s hunch proved correct. For some minutes Roger’s little pile of silver steadily increased, then the Chevalier came in, following his lead but staking crowns, and later, double-crowns, instead of francs. For the best part of an hour their run of luck continued, then fortune seemed to turn against them and their gains began to dwindle; but after twenty minutes and while they were still well in hand the luck came back. They played for another half-hour then De Roubec suddenly sat back, swept up his winnings and poured them into his pocket.

  Roger looked at him in surprise but he smiled, and said: ‘Continue if you wish, mon ami. But I shall not tempt fortune further, and I would advise you, too, to withdraw before the fickle jade ceases to smile upon you.’

  The advice was sound and again Roger congratulated himself on having found so pleasant and wise a mentor. On counting his money he found that he had made fifty-five francs and he wished now that he had been playing in crowns as De Roubec must have cleared at least three times that sum; but he felt that he certainly had no cause to grumble.

  Leaving the table they went over to the buffet for a drink and the Chevalier, now in tremendous good humour, ordered and paid for two goblets of champagne. Roger had heard of the wine but never drunk it, as it was still a great luxury in England and rarely seen except at private supper parties given in London by the richer members of the fashionable world. He found it rather too thin for his taste but the effervescence intrigued his palate and when he had drunk it a warm glow ran through him.

  This is no place to celebrate our good fortune,’ remarked De Roubec, as he finished his champagne. ‘What say you now to paying our respects to the ladies?’

  The generous wine and his luck at the tables had made Roger feel that this was the best of all possible worlds and ripe for anything, so, without thought as to what he might be letting himself in for, he readily agreed.

  Following De Roubec’s example he made a generous contribution to a box ‘for destitute gamblers’—which was actually one of Monsieur Tricot’s sources of income—before leaving, and tipped both the cashier and the doorman who let them out, thereby relinquishing fourteen of his francs, but that seemed a small price to pay for two hours of such profitable entertainment.

  Out in the ill-lit street once more, they took a side turning, which led off from the Rue de Paris past the Church of Notre Dame and brought them back to the water-front. A hundred yards along it, De Roubec halted in front of a house where bright lights showed through the chinks of nearly all the shutters and from which came the sound of fiddles and laughter.

  On knocking, they were let in by a coal-black negro, but De Roubec seemed to know the place well and waving the grinning black aside led the way upstairs. The whole of the first floor here was also one big salon, but it had none of the subdued elegance of Monsieur Tricot’s apartment. Its decorations were both gaudy and tawdry and instead of quiet decorum a spirit of dissolute abandon pervaded the place.

  As a hugely fat woman, who appeared to be bursting out of her black satin dress, came forward to greet them Roger took in the scene, his eyes almost popping from his head. He had, of course, heard that such houses existed in London and other great cities but none of his friends had ever been to one and he had never imagined them to be like this.

  In one corner three fiddlers on a low dais were sawing away at their violins; the other corners and sides of the room were occupied by small tables at most of which sat men with girls in varying states of semi-nudity, while in the centre of the floor, eight or ten others, mostly women, were executing a wild version of a country dance; in which, every time the partners met, instead of simply taking hands they embraced, kissed and mauled each other.

  The Chevalier tapped Roger on the arm, drawing his attention back to the fat women and said, ‘This is the Widow Scarron,’ but he did not give Roger’s name, and added with a sly grin: ‘She is called so, after the puritanical mistress of Louis XIV’s old age, in ironical jest.’

  The Madame had little black eyes half hidden in rolls of fat, her cheeks w
ere white sacks heavily daubed with rouge and her fleshy mouth was painted a violent red. She gave a hideous leer at Roger then said to the Chevalier:

  ‘What a handsome young man! Why, my girls will claw one another’s eyes out to get at him,’ and, as she led them to a corner table, she added, sotto voce, some lewd jest that Roger did not catch but which caused De Roubec to burst out laughing.

  They were no sooner seated than a hunchbacked waiter hurried over to them bringing an ice bucket in which was thrust a bottle of champagne.

  ‘ ’Tis indifferent stuff,’ remarked De Roubec, ‘and the price charged for it exorbitant; but custom demands that we should buy it by way of entrance fee to this Temple of Venus.’ As the Chevalier had paid for the drinks at the gaming-house Roger felt that it was up to him to pay for the bottle and with a tip to the waiter it cost him twelve francs.

  He was already half regretting that he had accepted De Roubec’s suggestion that they should pay ‘their respects to the ladies’; as he had had a vague idea that the Chevalier simply meant to take him to some public assembly rooms where they could join in the dancing, and this water-front brothel was much stronger meat than he had bargained for. The place held for him all the excitement of something, new and wicked but at the same time it was vaguely frightening. It reminded him of some of Mr. Hogarth’s pictures, and might well have been one of them brought to raucous and sordid life.

  But he was given little time to decide whether he was glad or sorry that this experience had, willy-nilly, been thrust upon him. Having seen them to their table, Madame had at once left them to whip up the disengaged among her team, and the waiter had scarcely opened the champagne before the table was surrounded by a dozen young women immodestly displaying their charms and loudly vying with one another for the patronage of the newcomers.

  They all looked young by candlelight but close inspection showed most of them to have left their teens far behind and all of them had hard, tired eyes. Some wore voluminous but tatty dresses, from beneath which they skittishly kicked up bare legs to show that they had nothing on underneath, while others wore only draperies of gauze that left nothing whatever to the imagination. All of them were heavily painted and in several cases Roger noticed that the paint had not been laid on quite heavily enough to hide old pock marks on their cheeks and foreheads. But as far as he was concerned the ‘Widow Scarron’ proved a true prophet. In his youth and freshness, even more than his good looks, they all saw something to excite their jaded appetites and entered into a violent contest to secure his favour.