The Launching of Roger Brook

by Dennis Wheatley

  The following morning, with two coaches, the first for himself and the Abbé d’Heury, the second for his personal chef, barber and valet, and preceded by a troop of outriders to clear his way through towns and villages, the Marquis set out for Paris. In consequence, when evening came, Roger decided to avail himself of the permission he had received to occupy the library, and went down the main staircase in the hope that somewhere in that part of the house he might happen upon Athénaïs.

  Having hung about the hall for a little, and, not liking to enter any of the other rooms uninvited, he went into the library and half-heartedly began to examine some of the shelves of beautifully bound books. He had been thus engaged for some half-hour when he heard a faint sound behind him and, turning, saw Athénaïs standing in the tall doorway.

  She was in simple country clothes with her golden hair unpowdered, and to him she looked absolutely ravishing. But she did not acknowledge the leg he made her or return his smile. Instead, she said sharply:

  ‘Monsieur Breuc! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Your father gave me permission to use this room and to read his books’ Roger replied in surprise.

  ‘I do not mean that. What are you doing at Bécherel, living in the château?’

  ‘I am analysing the contents of some documents for Monseigneur.’

  She made an impatient gesture. ‘Yes, yes! I learned that on Sunday after seeing you at Mass. Do you not understand that I resent, intensely, your following me here and insinuating yourself into my home?’

  ‘But Athénaïs …!’ he began in a hurt and puzzled voice.

  Her blue eyes flashed. ‘How dare you call me Athénaïs! To you I am Mademoiselle de Rochambeau.’

  ‘But Mademoiselle!’ he protested. ‘What have I done to bring upon myself your displeasure? Maître Léger offered me this post and I naturally accepted it.’

  ‘Would you have done so had you not thought that it offered you an opportunity to seek my society?’

  Roger hesitated only an instant. ‘No, I would not. But I thought that you would be pleased to see me.’

  ‘On the contrary; your presence here embarrasses me exceedingly.’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘Because you have taken advantage of a kind interest on my part to attempt to force yourself upon me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Roger held out his hands in a pathetic gesture. ‘In those poems I wrote for you I made clear my feelings, and in the note you gave me before leaving Rennes you said how much you wished that we could talk together.’

  ‘Surely you had the sense to realise that I meant that only if our circumstances were different?’

  ‘Well, they are different,’ Roger cried desperately. ‘Good fortune has provided me with a way through the barrier that kept us apart. I now have a right to be in your house, so why should we not develop our friendship?’

  Athénaïs tapped her foot impatiently upon the floor. ‘Since you force me to it I see that I must speak more plainly. That night, nearly two years ago, when you took refuge in my coach, I was only a little girl. I carried you home and, with a childish lack of values, insisted that you should dine with us. Even my small brother had the sense to see the unfitness of such a proceeding, but I was always headstrong. Later, it amused me to receive your verses. It had all the strangeness of a fairy tale; ’twas like receiving the homage of a man on Mars. But now, things are entirely different. I am grown up and you are no longer a man living in some strange other world. You are here, in this house, and simply as one of my father’s servants. That fact has killed for ever any absurd romantic thoughts that I may have indulged in about you.’

  Roger stared at her in dismay. It was true that she was no longer a child. She had grown a lot in the past two years, her figure, although not yet fully formed, had filled out in gentle contours; her voice had lost its shrill note and become more melodious. He thought her more than ever desirable but he could not understand her attitude.

  ‘How can you be so unkind!’ he burst out. ‘That I work for your father makes me no other than I was. I am still the same person, and your most devoted slave.’

  ‘Monsieur!’ she said haughtily. ‘Will you kindly understand that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau does not accept devotion, in the sense you mean it, from one who sits behind her in the chapel of her home. A person, in fact, who has placed himself on a par with people like Ghenou and Aldegonde. ’Tis unthinkable; and your coming here was the worst possible error in good taste. If you wish to revive any spark of good feeling that I may have left for you, the best thing you can do is to pack your bag and leave here tomorrow morning.’

  Roger went as white as though someone had struck him. For a second he did not reply, then his blue eyes hardened and he snapped: ‘I’ll do no such thing. Your father has given me work to do, and I’ll remain here till I’ve done it.’

  ‘So be it!’ she snapped back. ‘But I give you fair warning! If you seek to force yourself upon me I’ll secure your dismissal by writing to my father. In the meantime, should we chance to meet about the château, you will speak only should I first address you; and you will keep your eyes lowered, as befits your position.’

  Snatching up a book that she had come to fetch, from a nearby table, she turned on her heel and marched regally from the room.

  Poor Roger was quite shattered. In a brief three minutes his whole object in coming to Bécherel had been completely nullified. He felt that he would have done better by far to have gone to Paris, where new scenes and people might finally have worked Athénaïs out of his system. But, having said that he meant to stay on he determined to stick it out, rather than give her the satisfaction of having driven him away.

  When Sunday came again it brought him at least the comfort of an unexpected kindness. Madame Marie-Angé met him in the garden. She returned his bow with a pleasant smile and suggested that he should walk with her for a while as she would like to talk to him.

  Somewhat surprised he fell into step with her and, after a moment, she said: ‘I fear; Monsieur Breuc, that you find yourself in a somewhat difficult position here?’

  ‘Not more so, Madame, than I would in any other strange household,’ he replied, colouring slightly.

  ‘Oh, come!’ she tapped his arm lightly with her fan. ‘You need have no secrets from me, and I know what is troubling you. Do you suppose I am so blind that I did not see you slip those little notes to Mademoiselle Athénaïs each Sunday last winter, in St. Mélaine?’

  Roger’s colour deepened to a brilliant pink. ‘Madame!’ he stammered, ‘Madame, I…’

  ‘Do not seek to excuse yourself,’ she went on quietly. ‘Athénaïs is a haughty and wilful girl, but she has many good qualities and a kind heart. As no harm could come of it I saw no reason why I should deprive either of you of this small pleasure. But, now that you have come to live at the château, I trust you will appreciate that, in my position, I could not countenance the continuance of what I have hitherto regarded as a childish frolic.’

  ‘Be at rest, Madame,’ Roger replied gloomily, ‘Mademoiselle Athénaïs has already made it clear to me that, now she is grown up, she no longer has any time for my romantic attentions.’

  ‘I guessed as much. Hence your doleful looks, no doubt.’

  ‘I take it hardly, Madame, that Mademoiselle will no longer regard me as a friend.’

  ‘Did you expect it, then?’ asked Madame Marie-Angé, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Why should I not?’ he grumbled. ‘Because I have taken service with Monseigneur I have not, overnight, acquired bugs in my hair, or lost such culture as I formerly possessed.’

  ‘But surely, Monsieur, you realise that the difference in your stations renders such a friendship out of the question?’

  ‘Why should it? You, Madame, are talking to me now’ with courtesy and kindness. Why should she not treat me in the same fashion?’

  ‘Ah, but her situation and mine are far from the same. If I remember, you come from one of th
e German provinces, do you not? There is in them, I am told, much more freedom of intercourse between the classes; but here etiquette is still most strict upon such matters. My late husband, Monsieur Velot, was a Councillor of the Parliament of Rennes, and so a noble of the robe. Had I a house of my own I might, if it so pleased me, occasionally entertain Maître Léger to dinner, but Monseigneur would never dream of doing such a thing. He might, perhaps, have entertained my late husband now and then, as a mark of favour; but he accepts me regularly at his table only because I am his daughter’s duenna. And you, my young friend, are not even Maître Léger; you are naught but one of his clerks. So you see what a great gulf there is fixed between you and Mademoiselle Athénaïs? In view of the little passages which I was indulgent enough to allow to pass between you, I hope you now see what an embarrassment your sudden arrival here has caused her?’

  ‘ ’Twas very different where I come from,’ Roger said, more reasonably. ‘But now that you have explained matters I do see that Mademoiselle has some excuse for her sudden change of front towards me. To tell the truth she even suggested that I should relieve her of my presence altogether. But I did not feel inclined to leave Bécherel except on a direct order from Monseigneur.’

  ‘Whether you go or stay is your own affair, providing you do not attempt to overstep the bounds of your position. Be advised by me, Monsieur Breuc, and either leave here now, or make up your mind once and for all that Athénaïs can never be anything to you.’

  ‘Having undertaken certain work for Monseigneur, ’twould be difficult to find a suitable excuse for my sudden departure. I feel that I should stay on, at least until I have made some progress in it.’

  ‘In that case, continue to adore Athénaïs from a distance if you will, but I beg you to refrain from any rash act which would necessitate my asking for your dismissal. ’Twould be wise to engage your thoughts with other interests, as far as possible.’

  ‘I will endeavour to do so, Madame.’

  As they regained the terrace, Madame Marie-Angé turned and smiled at him. ‘That is well. It may be that I can help you in that, a little. Athénaïs practises upon her harpsichord between four and five each afternoon. At that hour you will always find me alone in my boudoir. I usually employ it to read the latest news sheets while drinking a cup of chocolate. If you feel lonely at any time come and join me, and we will talk of the doings of the great world together.’

  ‘Madame, you are of the true noblesse,’ said Roger, and bowing over her hand he kissed it.

  In the next fortnight or so he settled down to a steady routine. The documents gave him plenty of mental occupation, as some of them were in semi-archaic writing several centuries old, and needed prolonged study before he felt confident enough about their contents to set down a précis of it in French. When, after several hours of work, he found himself badly stuck he broke off to take a walk round the garden, go for a ride, or, if it were round four o’clock, take a cup of chocolate with Madame Marie-Angé.

  The garden he found most disappointing. He had expected that it would be something like those of Walhampton, Pylewell and other big houses near his own home; instead it occupied somewhat less ground than the château itself. It had no fine lawns with gracious trees, no shady walks through flowering shrubberies, no herbaceous borders, nor ornamental lakes; it consisted only of a score of formal, box-edged beds, intersected by gravel paths and arranged geometrically about two large stone fountains.

  The house, on the other hand, with its marble staircases, painted ceilings and elaborately carved doors must have cost a fortune; and, as he began to find his way about it, he never tired of admiring the splendid tapestries, furniture and objets d’art that it contained.

  When he visited Madame Marie-Angé they never spoke of Athénaïs but discussed the contents of the news sheets, and towards the end of August they learned of an affair that had set all France in a dither. On the fifteenth of that month the Cardinal Prince, Louis de Rohan, Grand Almoner to the King, had been publicly arrested as he left the chapel of Versailles in his pontifical robes and, by His Majesty’s order, imprisoned in the Bastille.

  Nothing was known for certain, but the report ran that the Cardinal was accused of having forged the Queen’s signature on an order to the Court jewellers, and thereby fraudulently obtaining a diamond necklace valued at one million six hundred thousand livres. What made the affair seem so extraordinary was that de Rohan was one of the richest nobles in France; so rumour already had it that some deep intrigue unconnected with money lay at the bottom of this mysterious affair.

  The wrangle between the Austrians and the Dutch had gone on all through the summer, but now Louis XVI had offered himself as a mediator; so it was hoped that with the aid of France a definite settlement might be reached. But Dutch anxieties were, at the moment, being added to by grave internal troubles amongst themselves.

  The Stadtholder, William V of Orange, had succeeded his father at the age of three, and his long minority had enabled the Republican party—which was in fact a body of rich, ambitious merchants who wished to replace the throne by an oligarchy—to gain great power. On attaining his majority, in 1766, the Stadtholder had entered into a pact with the Duke of Brunswick, who had previously acted as his Regent, to assist him in governing the country. This was regarded by the Republicans as unconstitutional and, after years of intrigue they had, the previous October, at last forced the Duke’s resignation. Abandoned by his minister the weak and inept William now found himself at the mercy of his enemies. A tumult had broken out in the Hague and the States-General had deprived him of the command of the garrison; upon which he had taken refuge in Gelderland, one of the few States remaining loyal to him.

  From time to time Roger came face to face with Athénaïs in the house or garden and, while nothing would have induced him to show the servility of lowering his eyes in her presence, as she had ordered, he made no attempt to speak to her. He always bowed politely and she acknowledged his salutations with calm aloofness. But towards the end of September he was destined to see her in an entirely new guise.

  It was on a Sunday morning and, on his way to chapel, he slipped on the marble stairs. By grabbing at the balustrade he managed to save himself from falling, but his nose came in violent contact with a nearby pillar, and started to bleed. Thinking it would soon stop he went on to his usual seat between Aldegonde and Chenou, but all through the service the bleeding continued and by its end his handkerchief was soaked through with blood.

  Immediately they came out Chenou said: ‘You must do something to stop that bleeding. ’Tis Mademoiselle’s hour in her surgery, so you had best go there at once and let her attend to it for you.’

  ‘Surgery!’ snuffled Roger, ‘I did not know she had one.’

  ‘Why, yes! ’Tis in the west wing, round by the Orangery. Come, I will take you there.’

  Roger would have liked to refuse but, as his nose was still bleeding profusely, he did not very well see how he could do so, and as he accompanied Chenou across the courtyard he asked: ‘How long is it since Mademoiselle has taken to practising medicine?’

  ‘From the time she was quite little, when she used to help her mother,’ Chenou replied. ‘But since Madame la Marquise died, three years ago, she has continued to run the surgery with the aid of Madame Velot. The sick poor from the village come up to the château each Sunday after Mass, and she tells them what to do for their ailments.’

  At the entrance to the surgery they found a little crowd of village people patiently waiting their turn, but Chenou insisted that Roger needed immediate attention and pushed him in ahead of them. The walls of the room were lined with shelves carrying an array of big jars and bottles; behind a heavy oak table Madame Marie-Angé and the Curé were busy handing out ointments and medicines; Athénaïs, her clothes covered by a white smock, was dressing an ugly ulcer on the leg of an old peasant.

  As Roger came in she looked at him in surprise, then, seeing the bloodstained handkerchief he was holdi
ng to his face she told the Curé to bandage up the old man’s leg for her, and beckoned Roger over.

  His nose had now swollen up and his eyes were still watering, so he presented a most woebegone appearance and, although for a moment she tried to restrain her mirth, she could not help laughing at him. He hardly knew whether he was pleased or annoyed, but she could not have been kinder or more gentle as she bathed his face, anointed the injured member with a soothing ointment and, having put a cold-water compress on it, made him lie down on a couch until the bleeding should cease.

  It was this episode which convinced him that, if he could only find some way of breaking down this absurd social barrier that lay between them, he might yet gain her friendship and affection. But how to do so seemed an almost insoluble problem.

  He thought of seeking her out and telling her the whole truth about himself—that he was, in fact, the son of an English Admiral and the grandson of an Earl; but he had carried on his imposture as a native of Strasbourg for so long that he did not think she would believe him. Once more he began to conjure up fantastic day-dreams in which she was beset by some dire peril from which he rescued her in the nick of time; yet in the quiet, sheltered life that she led at Bécherel it seemed that no event could possibly occur that would enable him to draw his sword in her defence.

  Nevertheless he began, almost unconsciously at first, to neglect his work in order to seek opportunities of watching her from a distance; and he soon discovered that his best chances of this were when she went out riding. She was always accompanied by a groom and, in any case, he had no intention of forcing himself upon her. But she drew him like a magnet, and, as he could take a horse from the stable at any time, it was easy for him to ride out after her and, while unobserved himself, follow her at half a mile or so for the joy of looking his fill at her slim, elegant figure.