Petticoat Rule Part 38

"Great G.o.d, am I going mad?"

Monsieur Achille had been accompanying Madame la Marquise on her way along the corridors; he was carrying a candelabrum, wherein four wax candles spluttered and flickered in the incessant draught. Lydie had been unconscious of the man's presence, but she had followed the light mechanically, her eyes fixed on the four yellowish flames which looked like mocking mouths that laughed, and emitted a trail of black smoke, foul as the pestilential breath of shame.

Arrived at the door of her own antechamber, she was met by one of her liveried servants, who told her that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont was within and awaiting to see her. To her hastily put query, the man replied that Monsieur le Duc had arrived about half an hour ago, and, hearing that Madame la Marquise was closeted with milor, he had elected to wait.

This visit from her father at this hour of the night meant a grave crisis, of course. At once Lydie's mind flew back to the Stuart prince. She had almost forgotten him since she left her husband's room. It seemed as if the overwhelming misery of that silent and deadly indictment had weighed down all other thoughts, until they sank into complete insignificance.

Vaguely, too, she had the sensation that there was no immediate necessity for her to rack her overtired brain to-night on the subject of the Jacobite's fate. She had at least six clear days before her, before _Le Levantin_, which was to start on the dire expedition, could be ready to put to sea. There was _Le Monarque_, on the other hand, quite ready to sail within an hour of receiving her orders. And Captain Barre was an honest man, a gallant sailor; he would only be too willing to make top speed in order to circ.u.mvent a treacherous plot, which he would abhor if he knew of it.

True, Lydie had now no means of locating the fugitives exactly, but with a six days' start of _Le Levantin_ this want of precise knowledge need not necessarily prove fatal. She could trust to her memory somewhat, for she had repeatedly studied and fingered the map; she could draw something approximate from memory, and Captain Barre's determination and enthusiasm would surely do the rest.

These suggestions all rushed into her mind directly she heard that her father had come to visit her at this late hour. At first her desire was to avoid seeing him at risk even of offending him: but in spite of all that she had gone through, Lydie still retained sufficient presence of mind not to allow any impulse to rule her at such a critical moment. She forced herself to reflect on the Stuart prince and on him alone, on his danger and the treacherous plot against him, for at least twenty seconds, time enough to realize that it was absolutely necessary that she should see her father, in order to glean from him if possible every detail of the proposed expedition. She would indeed be helpless if she remained in ignorance of what had been planned between the King, Gaston, and her father. Perhaps--who knows?--in accordance with the habits of a lifetime, the Duke might even at this moment be anxious to consult his daughter--his helpmeet in all such matters--as to the final arrangements for the equipment of _Le Levantin_.

Satisfied with her conclusions, she therefore went straight into the boudoir where the lacquey said that Monsieur le Duc was waiting.

The first look at his benign face proved to her that he, at least, was not in any trouble. Whatever his daughter's views on the subject might be, he evidently was not altogether dissatisfied with the events of the day. He still wore a perturbed look, certainly; the scene which had occurred in Her Majesty's throne-room would not tend to decrease his mental worry; but beyond the slightly troubled look in his kindly eyes, and the obvious solicitude with which he took her hand and led her 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 stare which puzzled him.

"What should he have said, father dear?" she asked. "I do not understand."

"About the fracas to-night, my child. Was he there when Irene de Stainville spoke up so indiscreetly?"

"No . . . no . . . I mean yes . . ." she said vaguely, "yes, milor was there; 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 am anxious? . . . I have been waiting here for over an half hour in a perfect agony of uncertainty. . . . Your servants told me you were closeted 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 now and met his straight and full. There was obviously no deceit there, no desire to conceal more serious matters from him. He shrugged his shoulders, in token that he gave up all desire to understand. His son-in-law had always been a shadowy personality to him, and this att.i.tude of his now, in face of the public scandal resting on his wife's name, was quite beyond Monsieur le Duc's comprehension.

Had Lydie told him that her husband had heaped torrents of abuse on her, and had concluded a noisy scene by striking her, he would have been very angry, but he would have understood.

"Hm!" he said placidly, "these English are mad, of a truth; we men of honour here cannot really comprehend them. Nevertheless, my dear Lydie, I suppose I, as your father, must be thankful that he did not lay hands on you, for English husbands are notoriously brutal. You are quite sure that you have nothing to complain of in your husband's conduct?"

"Quite sure, father dear."

"I had come prepared to take you away with me. My coach is below and I am driving to Chateau d'Aumont to-night. Would you like to come?"

"Not to-night, dear," she replied serenely, and her father was glad to note 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 on that subject?"

"Yes, father dear. . . . We will talk of that another time. . . . I am very tired to-night."

"I understand that, my child," said Monsieur le Duc rather fussily now, and clearing his throat, as if there was something which still oppressed him and of which he would have liked to speak before leaving her.

There was that awkward pause, the result of a want of mutual understanding between two people who hitherto have been all in all to each other, but whom certain untoward events have suddenly drawn apart. Lydie sincerely wished that her father would go. She had much to think about, a great deal to do, and the strain of keeping up a semblance of serenity was very trying to her overwrought nerves. He on the other hand felt uncomfortable in her presence: he left quite angry with himself for not being able to discuss freely with her the subject matter which was uppermost in his mind. There were one or two details in connection with the expedition to the Scottish coast that he very much wanted to talk over with his daughter. The habits of a lifetime gave him the desire to consult her about these details, just as he had been wont to do on all public and official matters. He had come to her apartments chiefly for that purpose. Was she not at one with him, with the King and Gaston over the scheme? She had given substantial proof that she favoured the expedition. His Majesty had thanked her for her help: she had rendered such a.s.sistance as now made the whole affair not only feasible but easy of accomplishment.

It was therefore pa.s.sing strange that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont still felt an unaccountable bashfulness in her presence when referring to the Stuart prince at all.

So he went to work in a circuitous way, for there was another matter that 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 are sufficiently a woman of the world to understand that some sort of reparation 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 of puzzlement which irritated whilst it half-frightened him.

"You were there, my dear," he said impatiently, "you know . . . and of course you must have seen . . ."

"What?"

"Milor jeered at Gaston, then tripped him up with his foot, so that Monsieur 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 de Stainville the initiative in the necessary reparation. He was the insulted party."

"Oh! a duel, you mean," she said indifferently, "yes, I suppose my husband will fight Monsieur de Stainville if His Majesty will grant them leave."

"Gaston will not appeal to His Majesty, and milor cannot very well refuse to meet him. The King has oft declared his intention of permanently suppressing all duelling just as it has been done in England. Even to-night after the unfortunate fracas, when I had the honour of paying my final respects, His Majesty said to me: 'If milor Eglinton 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 as to her husband's actions in so grave a matter pa.s.sed the bounds of correct behaviour.

"_Mais oui!_ they will fight, my dear!" he said sternly. "You know as well as I do that Gaston could not pocket the slight put upon him by milor without covering himself with ridicule. But the duel need not be serious . . . a scratch or two and no more. . . . Gaston is a perfect swordsman . . . 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."