CHAPTER XXIX
THE FATE OF THE STUART PRINCE
Lydie hardly knew how she reached her apartments. Earlier in the dayshe had thought once or twice that she had reached the deepest abyssof sorrow and humiliation into which it was possible for a woman ofpride to descend. When her husband first asked an explanation fromher, and taxed her with lending an ear to the King's base proposals;when she found that her own father, whom she respected and loved, hadhimself delved deeply in the mire of treachery; when she stood face toface with Gaston de Stainville and realized that he was an infamousliar and she a weak, confiding fool; when Irene had accused herpublicly of scheming that which she would have given her life's bloodto avert, all these were moments when she felt that the shame of themwas more than she could bear.
Yet how simple and childish, how paltry seemed the agony of thosemental tortures in comparison with that she endured now.
She felt as if she had received a blow in the face, a blow which hadleft a hideous, disfiguring mark on her which everyone henceforthwould see: the scarlet letter of ignominy with which in the New Worldbeyond the seas a puritanic inquisition branded the shamelessoutcasts. By her husband's silence rather than by his words she hadbeen branded with a mark of infamy.
Ye saints and angels above, how terribly it hurt!
Yet why did she suffer so? Was it only because she had failed toobtain that which she almost begged for on her knees? Lydie, proud,dictatorial, domineering Lydie, felt that she had humiliated herselfbeyond what she would have thought possible less than twelve hoursago, and she had been refused.
Was it that, that made her heart, her head, her very limbs ache withalmost unendurable agony?
Her mind--though almost on the verge of madness--retained just oneglimmer of reason. It answered "No! the pain has deeper roots, moremysterious, at present incomprehensible, and death-dealing in theirtenacity."
Her husband thought that if he entrusted her with a letter for theStuart prince, she might use that letter for treacherous ends. Thatwas the reason of his refusal. He so hated, so despised her that hismind classed her as one of the most ignoble of her sex!
Well! Awhile ago, in the Queen's antechamber, Irene de Stainville hadpublicly accused her of selling her royal friend for gold. Most peoplethere had believed Irene readily enough! That had hurt too, but not somuch.
Then why this? Why these terrible thoughts which went hammering in hermind? whispers of peace to escape from this racking torture? peacethat could only be found in death!
"Great God, am I going mad?"
Monsieur Achille had been accompanying Madame la Marquise on her wayalong the corridors; he was carrying a candelabrum, wherein four waxcandles spluttered and flickered in the incessant draught. Lydie hadbeen unconscious of the man's presence, but she had followed thelight mechanically, her eyes fixed on the four yellowish flames whichlooked like mocking mouths that laughed, and emitted a trail of blacksmoke, foul as the pestilential breath of shame.
Arrived at the door of her own antechamber, she was met by one of herliveried servants, who told her that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont waswithin and awaiting to see her. To her hastily put query, the manreplied that Monsieur le Duc had arrived about half an hour ago, and,hearing that Madame la Marquise was closeted with milor, he hadelected to wait.
This visit from her father at this hour of the night meant a gravecrisis, of course. At once Lydie's mind flew back to the Stuartprince. She had almost forgotten him since she left her husband'sroom. It seemed as if the overwhelming misery of that silent anddeadly indictment had weighed down all other thoughts, until they sankinto complete insignificance.
Vaguely, too, she had the sensation that there was no immediatenecessity for her to rack her overtired brain to-night on the subjectof the Jacobite's fate. She had at least six clear days before her,before _Le Levantin_, which was to start on the dire expedition, couldbe ready to put to sea. There was _Le Monarque_, on the other hand,quite ready to sail within an hour of receiving her orders. AndCaptain Barre was an honest man, a gallant sailor; he would only betoo willing to make top speed in order to circumvent a treacherousplot, which he would abhor if he knew of it.
True, Lydie had now no means of locating the fugitives exactly, butwith a six days' start of _Le Levantin_ this want of preciseknowledge need not necessarily prove fatal. She could trust to hermemory somewhat, for she had repeatedly studied and fingered the map;she could draw something approximate from memory, and Captain Barre'sdetermination and enthusiasm would surely do the rest.
These suggestions all rushed into her mind directly she heard that herfather had come to visit her at this late hour. At first her desirewas to avoid seeing him at risk even of offending him: but in spite ofall that she had gone through, Lydie still retained sufficientpresence of mind not to allow any impulse to rule her at such acritical moment. She forced herself to reflect on the Stuart princeand on him alone, on his danger and the treacherous plot against him,for at least twenty seconds, time enough to realize that it wasabsolutely necessary that she should see her father, in order to gleanfrom him if possible every detail of the proposed expedition. Shewould indeed be helpless if she remained in ignorance of what had beenplanned between the King, Gaston, and her father. Perhaps--whoknows?--in accordance with the habits of a lifetime, the Duke mighteven at this moment be anxious to consult his daughter--his helpmeetin all such matters--as to the final arrangements for the equipment of_Le Levantin_.
Satisfied with her conclusions, she therefore went straight into theboudoir where the lacquey said that Monsieur le Duc was waiting.
The first look at his benign face proved to her that he, at least, wasnot in any trouble. Whatever his daughter's views on the subject mightbe, he evidently was not altogether dissatisfied with the events ofthe day. He still wore a perturbed look, certainly; the scene whichhad occurred in Her Majesty's throne-room would not tend to decreasehis mental worry; but beyond the slightly troubled look in his kindlyeyes, and the obvious solicitude with which he took her hand and ledher to a low divan, he seemed fairly serene.
"Well?" he said in a tone of anxious query.
"Well, father dear?"
"Your husband . . . what did he say?"
She looked at him, a little bewildered, with a stupid, vacant starewhich puzzled him.
"What should he have said, father dear?" she asked. "I do notunderstand."
"About the fracas to-night, my child. Was he there when Irene deStainville spoke up so indiscreetly?"
"No . . . no . . . I mean yes . . ." she said vaguely, "yes, milor wasthere; he heard every word which Irene de Stainville said."
"Well? What did he say?" he repeated with marked impatience. "Lydie,my child, this is not like you. . . . Cannot you see that I amanxious? . . . I have been waiting here for over an half hour in aperfect agony of uncertainty. . . . Your servants told me you werecloseted with milor. . . . You must tell me what he said."
"He said nothing, father," she replied simply.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
Monsieur le Duc looked at her very keenly, but her eyes were clear nowand met his straight and full. There was obviously no deceit there, nodesire to conceal more serious matters from him. He shrugged hisshoulders, in token that he gave up all desire to understand. Hisson-in-law had always been a shadowy personality to him, and thisattitude of his now, in face of the public scandal resting on hiswife's name, was quite beyond Monsieur le Duc's comprehension.
Had Lydie told him that her husband had heaped torrents of abuse onher, and had concluded a noisy scene by striking her, he would havebeen very angry, but he would have understood.
"Hm!" he said placidly, "these English are mad, of a truth; we men ofhonour here cannot really comprehend them. Nevertheless, my dearLydie, I suppose I, as your father, must be thankful that he did notlay hands on you, for English husbands are notoriously brutal. You arequite sure that you have nothing to complain of in your husband'sconduct?"
"Quite sure, f
ather dear."
"I had come prepared to take you away with me. My coach is below and Iam driving to Chateau d'Aumont to-night. Would you like to come?"
"Not to-night, dear," she replied serenely, and her father was glad tonote that a slight smile hovered round her lips. "I am a little tired,and will go straight to bed. . . . But to-morrow I'll come."
"Permanently?"
"If you will have me."
"Well! until you go to your Chateau of Vincennes, you know my views onthat subject?"
"Yes, father dear. . . . We will talk of that another time. . . . I amvery tired to-night."
"I understand that, my child," said Monsieur le Duc rather fussilynow, and clearing his throat, as if there was something which stilloppressed him and of which he would have liked to speak before leavingher.
There was that awkward pause, the result of a want of mutualunderstanding between two people who hitherto have been all in all toeach other, but whom certain untoward events have suddenly drawnapart. Lydie sincerely wished that her father would go. She had muchto think about, a great deal to do, and the strain of keeping up asemblance of serenity was very trying to her overwrought nerves. He onthe other hand felt uncomfortable in her presence: he left quite angrywith himself for not being able to discuss freely with her the subjectmatter which was uppermost in his mind. There were one or two detailsin connection with the expedition to the Scottish coast that he verymuch wanted to talk over with his daughter. The habits of a lifetimegave him the desire to consult her about these details, just as he hadbeen wont to do on all public and official matters. He had come to herapartments chiefly for that purpose. Was she not at one with him, withthe King and Gaston over the scheme? She had given substantial proofthat she favoured the expedition. His Majesty had thanked her for herhelp: she had rendered such assistance as now made the whole affairnot only feasible but easy of accomplishment.
It was therefore passing strange that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont stillfelt an unaccountable bashfulness in her presence when referring tothe Stuart prince at all.
So he went to work in a circuitous way, for there was another matterthat troubled him, but less so than the expedition: therefore,perhaps, he spoke of it first.
"I presume, my dear child," he said lightly, "that you aresufficiently a woman of the world to understand that some sort ofreparation is due from your husband to Monsieur de Stainville."
"Reparation? . . ." she asked. "For what?"
Again she stared at him blankly, and with that vague expression ofpuzzlement which irritated whilst it half-frightened him.
"You were there, my dear," he said impatiently, "you know . . . and ofcourse you must have seen . . ."
"What?"
"Milor jeered at Gaston, then tripped him up with his foot, so thatMonsieur de Stainville measured his full length on the floor."
"I did not notice. . . ." she said simply.
"But many people did . . . enough at all events to give Monsieur deStainville the initiative in the necessary reparation. He was theinsulted party."
"Oh! a duel, you mean," she said indifferently, "yes, I suppose myhusband will fight Monsieur de Stainville if His Majesty will grantthem leave."
"Gaston will not appeal to His Majesty, and milor cannot very wellrefuse to meet him. The King has oft declared his intention ofpermanently suppressing all duelling just as it has been done inEngland. Even to-night after the unfortunate fracas, when I had thehonour of paying my final respects, His Majesty said to me: 'If milorEglinton and Monsieur de Stainville fight and one of them is killed,we'll hang the survivor!'"
"Then they'll not fight, you think?"
Monsieur le Duc stared at his daughter. Such complete indifference asto her husband's actions in so grave a matter passed the bounds ofcorrect behaviour.
"_Mais oui!_ they will fight, my dear!" he said sternly. "You know aswell as I do that Gaston could not pocket the slight put upon him bymilor without covering himself with ridicule. But the duel need not beserious . . . a scratch or two and no more. . . . Gaston is a perfectswordsman . . . he never misses his man," added the Duke hesitatingly."Is milor clever with the foils?"
"I do not know."
"He has never fought a duel to your knowledge?"
"I think never."
"Whilst Gaston's skill is famous. . . . But, my dear, you need have noanxiety. . . . It was also with a view to reassuring you on thesubject that I have sought you so late. . . . You will believe yourfather's word, Lydie, if he tells you that your husband is in no gravedanger at the hands of Gaston."
"I thank you, father dear," she rejoined with the same natural, eventone of voice which should have tranquillised him as to her mentalcondition, but which somehow failed to do so.
"Gaston must take up the matter . . . you understand that. . . . It isquite public and . . . he would be laughed at if he appealed for leaveto fight from His Majesty . . . the matter was not serious and theresult will be likewise. . . . Gaston will administer a slightpunishment to milor . . . such a perfect swordsman, you understand,can select the very place on his opponent's body where he will inflictthe scratch . . . it will be the shoulder perhaps . . . or . . . or. . . the cheek . . . nothing to be anxious about. . ."
"I am not anxious, father dear," she said with a serene smile, amusedin spite of herself at his many circumlocutions, his obviousconfusion, and his still quite apparent wish to speak of one morematter which seemed to be weighing on his mind.
"Is that all that you wished to say to me, dear?" she said gently,"for if so I can assure you that you need not be troubled on myaccount. I am neither anxious nor upset. . . . Milor I feel confidentwill take tender care of his shoulder . . . or of his cheek just as hedoes of his comfort and of his . . . his dignity."
"And you will not take it amiss from me, my dear, if I do not offer tobe one of your husband's seconds in the affair?" he asked suddenly,throwing off his hesitation and speaking more frankly.
"Certainly not, father dear. . . . I feel sure that milor himselfwould not have suggested it. . . ."
"My position near His Majesty . . . you understand, my dear," heexplained volubly, "and also my . . . our association with Gaston.. . ."
"Certainly--certainly," she repeated, emphasizing her words, "ourassociation with Gaston. . . ."
"And he really is acting like a perfect gentleman . . . a man ofhonour. . . ."
"Indeed?"
"His enthusiasm, his courage, and devotion have been quite marvellous.And though we shall primarily owe the success of our enterprise toyou, my dear, yet His Majesty feels as I do, that we also owe much toMonsieur de Stainville. Ah! _mon Dieu!_ what it is to be young!"
"What has Monsieur de Stainville done, dear, to arouse your specialenthusiasm?" she asked.
"You shall judge of it yourself, my dear. After the esclandre provokedby Irene to-night, the publicity given to our scheme, we held ahurried boudoir meeting, at which His Majesty and Madame de Pompadourwere present, as well as myself and Gaston. We all felt that you tooshould have been there, dear, but you had gone with milor, and . . ."
"Yes, yes, never mind about me, father," she interrupted impatiently,seeing that he was getting lost in the mazes of his polite apologies."You held a boudoir meeting. What did you decide? . . ."
"That after the publicity given to the main idea of our scheme, youunderstand," he rejoined, "it would be no longer safe to wait for itsexecution until _Le Levantin_ was ready for sea. Something had to berisked, of course, but on the whole we all thought that now that thematter had become 'le secret de Polichinelle' a six days' delay wouldbe dangerous, if not fatal to success. You were not there, Lydie," herepeated diffidently, "we could not consult you. . . ."
"No, no! Then what did you decide?"
"That we must send _Le Monarque_ off at once."
"_Le Monarque_? . . . at once? . . ."
"Yes! she is quite ready, so you told me this morning. And though wefeared that Captain Barre might be too firm an adherent of the Stuartcause to be a
ltogether reliable, still--as we had your own letter--wefinally decided that we had better trust him now, rather than wait for_Le Levantin_. . . . I think we did right, do you not? . . . Lydie.. . . Lydie . . . child, what is it?"
The desperately anxious query had its justification in Lydie'sterrible pallor, the wild dilation of her pupils, the dark purplerings which circled her eyes.
As her father spoke she had risen from the divan, and now she seemedunable to stand; she was trembling from head to foot, her hands wereheld out before her, as in a pathetic appeal for physical support. Ina moment his arm was round her, and with gentle force he drew her backto the couch, pressing her head against his shoulder.
"Lydie . . . Lydie, dear . . . I am sure you are ill."
But already she had recovered from this sudden attack of faintness anddizziness, of which, with characteristic impatience for all feminineweaknesses, she was now thoroughly ashamed. Her nervous system hadreceived so many severe shocks in the course of this terrible andmemorable day, that it was small wonder that this last awful blowstruck her physically as well as mentally.
"No, no, dear father," she said as lightly as she could for she stillfelt very faint and ill, "I am quite well, I assure you . . . please. . . please . . ." she urged earnestly, "do not worry about me now,but tell me quite clearly--and as briefly as you can--exactly what areyour plans at this moment . . . yours and Gaston's, with regard to theexpedition against the Stuart prince . . . you spoke of a duel justnow . . . and then of Monsieur de Stainville's enthusiasm and courage.. . . I . . . I am a little confused . . . and I would like tounderstand."
"I will tell you as briefly as I can, my dear," he rejoined, notfeeling altogether reassured, and regarding her with loving anxiety."We decided that, instead of waiting for _Le Levantin_ to be ready forsea, we would send _Le Monarque_, and instruct Captain Barre inaccordance with the plan and the letter which you gave us, and thesecret orders framed by His Majesty and myself. _Le Monarque_ havinggot the Stuart and his friends on board will make straight for thenorth-west coast of England, and land the Jacobites at the firstpossible port, where they can be handed over to the Englishauthorities. Once this was settled, Gaston immediately offered tostart for Le Havre at dawn with the secret orders. We are not reallyafraid of Captain Barre's possible disloyalty--and, of course, he iscompelled to obey orders or suffer for his insubordination, which heis not likely to contemplate. On the whole I think we may safely saythat we run far less risk by sending _Le Monarque_ than by waiting for_Le Levantin_: and Gaston has full powers to promise Captain Barre aheavy bribe in accordance with the speed which _Le Monarque_ willmake. After that His Majesty was pleased to dismiss Monsieur deStainville and myself, being most specially gratified with Gaston'senthusiastic offer to ride at breakneck speed to Le Havre, as soon ashe could get to horse. Outside the boudoir, Gaston explained to me,however, that he could not shirk the duel with Lord Eglinton: hisseconds, Monsieur de Belle-Isle and Monsieur de Lugeac, already hadhis instructions and would wait on milor to-night: to put it off nowwould be to cover himself with ridicule and to risk social ostracism;the affront put upon his wife could not be allowed to rest until afterhis own return. But the duel could take place at dawn, and then hecould get to horse half an hour later. . . . So you see, my dear,that the duel cannot--because of these weighty reasons--have anyserious consequences. As for our expedition, methinks everything nowis most satisfactorily arranged, as Gaston swears that he will reachLe Havre ere the shades of the evening fall upon the sea."
Lydie had listened quite quietly to this long explanation, taking inevery detail of the project, lest anything should escape her. Herfather could indeed be completely reassured. She was perfectly calm,apparently cheerful, and when he had finished speaking she thanked himquite naturally and expressed approval of all that had been done.
"Everything is beautifully planned and arranged, my dear father," shesaid pleasantly, "methinks I cannot do better than take a rest. I fearI have been overwrought all day and have caused you much anxiety. Allis for the best now, is it not? . . . Shall we both go to bed?"
Monsieur le Duc sighed with satisfaction. He seemed to have found along-lost daughter. This was the one he knew, self-possessed,clear-headed, a comfort and a guide.
He drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, and if there was asuggestion of shrinking, of withdrawal in the young body, he wascertainly too preoccupied to notice it. He bade her "good-night," andthen with obvious relief and a light, elastic step, he finally wentout of the room.