Talbot was now furnished with an excellent horse by one of the grooms, and dispensed with the further services of the Farnborough men.
More time had been lost; but the troop galloped on to Otford, keeping a sharp lookout on the way.
At Otford, they learnt that Duval had crossed the downs; and as they mounted the lofty chalk ridge, a shepherd told them he had seen him pass, and that he could not be more than a mile ahead.
They heard of him again at Halstead and High Elms, and hoped soon to come up with him. At Farnborough, however, they missed him, and after some consultation, a division took place in the troop; Talbot, with two of the grooms, proceeding along a lane to Orpington, while the others kept on the high road to Bromley.
Talbot had the best luck. As he and his attendants were speeding along the beautiful valley of the Cray, they discovered the fugitive about a quarter of a mile off.
Whether he had strained his horse, or was resting him, Talbot could not tell; but he was proceeding very leisurely, and though apparently aware of the approach of his foes, did not attempt to accelerate his speed till they were within a hundred yards of him.
He then started off; and while they were making every effort to come up with him, wheeled round with such suddenness, that they could not check their headlong career, but flew past him. Before they could recover themselves and turn about, he had got to a considerable distance.
While he executed this clever manoeuvre, the robber was unmasked, and Talbot obtained a distinct view of his features, which were decidedly English in expression. Moreover, his derisive laughter had a peculiarly English ring about it.
Any notions about the Count de Bellegarde, which the young man might have conceived, were effectually dissipated. The mysterious robber bore no resemblance whatever to the count.
After galloping for nearly half a mile along the banks of the Cray, Duval cleared the little stream, and crossed the broad mead on the further side.
Talbot and his attendants followed; but they soon lost sight of him, and though they continued the chase for more than an hour, they never again got on the right track.
The two nobles were equally unsuccessful. They went on to Bromley, and then turning back, encountered Talbot. The Duke of Buckingham laughed heartily on hearing of Duval’s escape.
“After all, I am glad the rascal got off,” he said. “Since you have seen him without his mask, and affirm that he is not Bellegarde, my interest in the chase is over. Let us get back to Knole as fast as we can, and relieve Old Rowley’s mind.”
“Old Rowley would be more relieved in mind if we could have restored his ring,” laughed Lord Feversham.
“And what will Buckhurst say, when he learns that his favorite hunter has been shot?” cried Talbot. “I shall not dare to face him.”
“Poh! Old Rowley must give him another horse,” said Buckingham. “I’ll add a few more couplets to my song, and put him in good humor.”
The banquet was over when they got back to Knole.
“You have managed badly, to let this confounded Claude Duval escape you,” observed the king to Talbot; “and it is vexatious that Buckhurst’s horse should have been shot. But I am glad you have seen the robber without his mask.”
“Do tell me what he is like?” cried Louise.
“That would be difficult,” cried Talbot. “But he is not like the Count de Bellegarde.”
CHAPTER XXIII
THE COUNT DE BELLEGARDE RESTORES THE RING TO HIS MAJESTY
Next morning, the Count de Bellegarde arrived from Dover, and immediately presented himself to the king, who was on the bowling-green, surrounded by his courtiers.
The count did not seem at all fatigued by his journey; and, indeed, looked much better than the courtiers who had been spending the night in dancing and revelry. He gave his majesty full particulars of the embarkation of the Duchess of Orleans, and delivered a message with which she had charged him.
“Have you no message for me?” asked Louise, who, hearing of the count’s arrival, had followed him to the bowling-green.
“Her highness has sent you a little token, which I will deliver presently,” replied Bellegarde. “But I have something more to relate to his majesty.”
“An adventure, I hope,” observed Charles.
“Yes, sire; a very singular adventure. I have been stopped on the highway by a robber — by no other, in short, than Claude Duval.”
At this announcement, the king expressed great surprise, and all the courtiers gathered round, to listen to the narration.
“I had dined at Canterbury, sire,” commenced Bellegarde, with his customary vivacity,—” dined very well, I may remark, at the “ — and was riding slowly across a wide common, about midway between the ancient city and Maidstone, when I perceived a horseman coming towards me. He was dressed in a scarlet riding-coat, and I might not have suspected him of any ill design, had I not observed that he was masked. I had sent on my servant to Maidstone, where I meant to sleep, so that I was unattended. However, this did not discompose me. I fancy myself a match for any robber.”
“Pardon the interruption, count,” said the Duke of Buckingham, who was among the auditors; “but about what time did this singular rencounter take place?”
“About half-after eight, I imagine,” replied Bellegarde. “It was just beginning to get dusk. Having found an excellent bottle of Bourdeaux at the “I had stopped to finish it, and was, therefore, in excellent cue for an adventure.
“My friend in the scarlet coat did not leave me long in doubt respecting his intentions. As he came up, pistol in hand, he shouted out, “bourse, ou la vie!”Aha, my friend!’ I exclaimed; “thought I could not be mistaken! You are Monsieur Claude Duval.’
“your service, Monsieur le Comte,’ he replied, with perfect politeness. “have had a rare piece of luck to-day. I have had the honor of robbing his majesty.’ “that will not pass with me, friend,’ I cried, sceptically. “have heard of your exploits with certain court dames, but you will permit me to doubt this assertion.’ “I show you the ring that I took from his majesty, it will perhaps convince you,’ he rejoined. “me see it,’ I said.
“On this, he exhibited a ring, which I immediately recognized. My mind was made up in an instant. I am tolerably quick; and while he was thus occupied, I wrested the pistol from him, and held it to his head. “shall be robbed in your turn, coquin,’ I cried. “me the ring, or I will blow out your brains.’ And he surrendered it with the best grace he could. “have another pistol in your holster,’ I said. “must have it.’ He seemed inclined to resist, but at last yielded up the weapon.
Charles II
After the painting by Sir Peter Lely
““Begone, rascal,” I cried; “thank your stars that you are allowed to escape with life.’ “word before I go, Monsieur le Comte,’ he cried. ‘Is it your intention to restore the ring to his majesty?’— ‘Parbleu! such is my de sign, rascal,’ I exclaimed, affronted by the question. “be pleased to make his majesty understand my inability to wear it in his presence, as I had engaged to do.’ And he rode off, leaving me to pursue my journey.”
The king and all the listeners laughed heartily at the recital.
“But where is the ring, count?” inquired Charles.
Bellegarde took off his glove; and drawing the ring from his finger, presented it, with a low bow, to the king.
“Oddsfish! an excellent conclusion to the story,” cried Charles. “You have done better than those who went in pursuit of the robber.”
“Far better!” cried Talbot. “The glory is the count’s — the trouble has been ours.”
“And the loss mine,” observed Lord Buckhurst, thinking of his hunter.
“Well, this Duval is an amusing rascal,” cried the king. “But I hope we shall hear no more of him. And now for a game at bowls.”
CHAPTER XXIV
LOUISE GIVES THE COUNT ADVICE
The festivities at Knole were continued for two days longer; and, during this
interval, Talbot’s jealousy was excited by the attentions paid by Bellegarde to Dorinda.
As we have already remarked, the count had a fascination of manner that few women could resist, and Dorinda began now to experience its influence. He made himself so exceedingly agreeable, told her so many droll stories, and amused her in so many ways, that the minutes seemed tedious without him. He was ever in attendance upon her, when she rode out in the park, took part in any pastime in which she engaged, and danced with her at the evening revels.
Whether he was really as much smitten as he appeared, we will not pretend to say; but Talbot began to look upon him as a very dangerous rival, and determined to pick another quarrel with him on the slightest pretext, and on the earliest possible occasion that presented itself.
Meantime, the foolish young fellow had become sullen in his deportment towards Dorinda, and by such absurd conduct, naturally incurred her displeasure.
To punish him for his folly, she would not dance with him; and when he saw Bellegarde carry her off in triumph to the cushion-dance, which was danced every night in the Brown Gallery, he was ready to explode with jealous rage.
As may readily be supposed, his anger did not cause the count to discontinue his attentions to the fair one. However, Louise thought proper to give her cousin some advice.
“I must take you to task, Achille,” she said. “You are persuading this charming girl that you are very much in love with her, while I know you are only amusing yourself at her expense. And you are tormenting that poor Talbot out of his life, because he is foolish enough to show that he is jealous. Now, he is really attached to the girl, and is far more deserving of her than you are, even if your intentions were serious, which I am sure they are not, and I therefore insist upon your ceasing to interfere with him. If you were to cause a rupture between them, I should never forgive you. There are many court dames to whom your attentions would be agreeable, and whose husbands would not quarrel with you; and I would recommend you to confine yourself to them.”
“This lecture comes very well from you, fair cousin,” replied Bellegarde, laughing; “and I should endeavor to profit by it, if I thought it in the least called for. But you seem to be far better acquainted with my sentiments than I am myself. Till this moment, I imagined I was really enamored of Dorinda Neville; and though my merits may be inferior to those of Talbot Harland, yet if she prefers me to him, I shall be content. I do not feel bound to make any sacrifice to a rival.”
“I hope you will reflect upon what I have said, Achille,” observed Louise, gravely. “You are wholly unfitted for marriage; and I could not wish Dorinda a greater misfortune than to be united to you!”
“I am obliged by your good opinion of me, fair cousin,” rejoined Bellegarde; “and I have no doubt you have formed a correct estimate of my qualifications for matrimony. Before taking such a decided step, I shall make a point of consulting you.”
“Can you be serious for a moment, Achille?”
“lam perfectly serious, now.”
“Then, be advised by me, and desist from this pursuit, or you will infallibly incur the king’s displeasure.”
“I never was in greater favor with his majesty than at the present moment,” said Bellegarde.
“You are deceived,” rejoined Louise. “Any further indiscretion on your part will be visited by banishment from court. You have gone too far with your jests; and though the king is the easiest person living, there are limits even to his good nature.”
“I will not affect to misunderstand your meaning, fair cousin, because I am aware you have got some absurd notions respecting me into your head; but since I have really done nothing to offend his majesty, I am not in the least uneasy.”
“You calculate on my protection in case of need, do you not?”
“Most certainly.”
“Then do something to deserve it.”
“You have only to command me, fair cousin. What am I to do?”
“Help me to get rid of an odious creature who troubles me. You recollect that fausse paysanne whose portrait was to have been painted by Lely? I suspect she is an actress. She has been here at Knole during your absence. She danced one night at the revel, in a Spanish costume; and though she was masked, I recognized her, and so did Sir Peter. I have some reason to believe she is here still.”
“Here! in the house? I do not think that likely,” rejoined Bellegarde.
“Here, or in the neighborhood. She has been seen.”
“By whom?” asked the count, quickly.
“No matter by whom. You must have her removed.”
“But I must first discover her,” replied Bellegarde, laughing.
“That will not be a very difficult task to you,” said Louise; “and I beg you will set about it without delay.”
“Well, I will do my best,” he replied.
“Do not play me false in this matter, Achille, or — But I won’t threaten. This girl must not cross my path.”
“She shall not, if I can prevent it,” said Bellegarde. “And I know you have the power,” she rejoined.
The foregoing conversation took place in the garden, and at its close they separated.
CHAPTER XXV
BELLEGARDE AND TALBOT HARLAND ARE BANISHED FROM COURT
In spite of the counsel given him by Louise, the count continued his attentions to Dorinda.
There was hawking that morning in the park, and most of the court dames rode out to witness the sport. Amongst them was Dorinda. Bellegarde was constantly by her side; but Talbot never once came near her.
If the fickle damsel secretly pitied her wretched lover, her looks did not betray the state of her feelings, for she seemed in high spirits, and laughed immoderately at the count’s lively sallies.
On their return to the mansion, Bellegarde assisted her to alight, and was lingering within the inner quadrangle, when Talbot approached, and with forced politeness begged the favor of his company for a moment on the terrace.
“Willingly,” replied Bellegarde, attending him. “I am afraid you did not enjoy the sport, yet it was excellent. Miss Neville was delighted.”
“Enough, sir,” interrupted Talbot, sternly. “I did not bring you here to talk about hawking, but to tell you that your attentions to the young lady whose name you have just mentioned, are disagreeable to me, and that I cannot permit them.”
“On my faith, this is excessively amusing!” cried Bellegarde, laughing derisively. “I should really be very happy to oblige you, but as my attentions, though disagreeable to you, appear to be agreeable to the young lady, I propose to continue them, even at the hazard of giving you offence. I presume you have nothing further to say to me?”
“Yes, there must be another meeting between us.”
“I should have thought that the first might have satisfied you,” rejoined Bellegarde. “Wait till your arm is quite cured, and then we will talk about a second meeting.”
“My arm is strong enough to chastise you, as you will find,” cried Talbot, exasperated by the sneer. “I will force you to meet me, and that without delay. I gave you credit for more courage than you seem to possess.”
“You have no right to call my courage in question, sir,” said Bellegarde, with provoking calmness. “And I might fairly refuse your challenge. But since you are in the mood for fighting, I will not baulk you. We will settle the affair to-morrow morning, as early as you please, in a retired part of the park.”
“Be it so,” cried Talbot. “I will come forth at six o’clock, with Lord Feversham. If you will take the trouble to follow, I will lead you to a convenient spot.”
“I will not fail; and will bring the Duke of Buckingham with me,” rejoined Bellegarde.
They formally saluted each other, and separated.
Bellegarde proceeded to the bowling-green, where he found Buckingham, and told him what had happened.
“I am not surprised,” said the duke, laughing; “for I remarked that Talbot was highly offended by your attentions
to the charmer. I hope you don’t mean to kill him.”
“Kill him — no! But since he is resolved to make himself troublesome, I must keep him quiet.”
“Well, you may count upon me,” said the duke. “But six o’clock is an early hour; I shall be roused out of my first sleep.”
“Better not go to bed till we come back,” observed the count. “We will sit up at piquet, if your grace thinks proper.”
Whether Bellegarde’s proposition was actually carried into effect we know not, but as the turret clock struck six next mom, he and the duke issued forth from the gate-house.
Talbot and Lord Feversham were standing beneath the great sycamore, and, on seeing them, bowed, and set off across the park. Bellegarde and Buckingham followed more slowly in the same direction.
Their proceedings were noticed by another person, who was out before them, and taking exercise in the park. Suspecting their object, this individual watched whither they were going.
It was a most lovely morning, and all nature seemed rejoicing in the sunshine. The rooks were clamoring amid the topmost branches of the trees; the smaller choristers were carolling blithely in the groves; the deer tripped across the wide lawns; and there was a freshness in the air that produced a. most exhilarating effect on the spirits.
Even Buckingham, though rarely alive to the beauties of nature, was charmed by the lovely scene, and paused for a moment to gaze around.
“After all, there is some enjoyment in early rising, as Old Rowley has discovered,” he exclaimed. “Methinks, I shall adopt his plan in future.”
“Adopt mine, and sit up all night,” said Bellegarde. “It comes to the same thing.”
“You are the most extraordinary person I ever met with, count!” cried Buckingham. “You never seem wearied, and your spirits never flag.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 597