The Rising Storm rb-3 Read online

  He needed no telling that it was one thing to lounge about Paris listening to any idler who cared to air his views and quite another to be­come acquainted with those of the King and his advisers; so on his arrival at Fontainebleau, five nights before, he had been very conscious that only then had his real mission begun, and from the first he had been extremely perplexed how to set about it.

  Short of some unforeseen stroke of fortune, or the exercise of an ingenuity which seemed to have entirely deserted him in these past few days, the only means of securing the entree to the royal circle was the normal one of being formally presented at the French Court; and during his previous stay in France his only visits to Versailles had been in the guise of a confidential secretary bringing papers to his master, the Marquis de Rochambeau, when that nobleman occupied his apartment in the Palace overnight.

  Any travelling Englishman of good family could easily arrange for the British Ambassador to present him, but it was obviously impossible for Roger to do so and at the same time preserve his incognito. To abandon it would, he felt, be to throw away his best card for finding out the true situation at the very opening of the game; although to maintain it at Court would entail a certain risk, as the de Rochambeau family knew him to be English.

  However, he had made careful enquiries before leaving Paris and learned that the old Marquis had for the past year or more retired to his estates in Brittany, his son, Count Lucien, was with his regiment in Artois, and the beautiful Athenais, whom he had loved so desperately, was also living in Brittany with her husband, the Vicomte de la Tour d'Auvergne. There remained the factor that a number of the Marquis's friends would also almost certainly remember him, but he doubted if any of them had chapter and verse about his antecedents and felt reasonably confident that he would be able to fob off any inconvenient questions concerning his past with a convincing story.

  So, having weighed the pros and cons of the matter, he had decided to continue using his soubriquet of M. le Chevalier de Breuc, thus allowing everyone to assume that he was a Frenchman, but to leave himself an open door in case of trouble by refraining from any definite statement that he was one. He was still far from happy in his mind about this uneasy compromise, but felt that it was the best at which he could arrive for the moment, and that it would be time enough to develop a more definite policy, according to events, if, and when, he could devise a way to be received behind those golden doors.

  To walk in to a reception without knowing anyone there to whom he could address a single word would be to invite discovery and expulsion— if not actual arrest. So he had felt that his best hope lay in making the acquaintance at his fashionable inn of some well-placed courtier who would in due course invite his company to a levee or entertainment, on the assumption that he had already been presented; for, once inside, it was a hundred to one against the King remembering if he was one of the thousands of young nobles who had been presented to him in their teens or not.

  But the trouble was that he had found no stool-pigeon suitable for such a manoeuvre staying at the inn; neither had one appeared since his arrival, and it looked as if he might kick his heels there for weeks before one did. Moreover, frequent walks in the grounds of the Chateau and many .hours spent lounging about its long, lofty corridors had equally failed to produce the type of chance acquaintance that he was seeking.

  The factor that he had failed to take into his calculations when making this somewhat vague plan on his way from Paris was the election of Deputies to the States General. It was not only the People who were electing candidates to represent them in the Third Estate, but the First and Second—clergy and nobles—were not to sit by right of their epis­copal ranks and hereditary titles; they too were to elect representatives from their own Orders. In consequence, for the first time in genera­tions, nearly the whole nobility of France had gone to the provinces, where they were either intriguing to get themselves sent to Versailles as Deputies or supporting the candidates they favoured in their districts; so the Court and Fontainebleau were practically deserted.

  Roger had been riding for well over an hour and, cudgel his wits as he would, could still see no way out of his difficulty, when up the long ride through the greenwood he saw a horseman coming towards him at a gentle canter. As the approaching figure grew nearer he could see it to be that of a lanky gentleman with narrow shoulders and a long, lean face, who appeared to be in his middle thirties. He was well mounted on a powerful bay but his dress, although of rich materials, was too flashy to be in good taste.

  As the two horsemen came abreast both gave the casual nod which is habitual to strangers passing one another in the country, and as they did so each looked straight into the other's eyes for a moment without either showing any sign of recognition. Roger was still deeply absorbed by his own problem, and it was only after the lanky man had cantered on for a hundred yards or so that he began to wonder vaguely where he had seen that lantern-jawed countenance before.

  Having gazed at it only a few moments since from less than a dozen feet away it was easy to recall the man's quick, intelligent brown eyes, his full, sensual mouth, slightly receding chin, and the small scar on his left cheek that ran up to the corner of his eye, pulling the lower lid down a little and giving him a faintly humorous expression.

  For a good five minutes Roger's mind, now fully distracted from its task, strove to link up those features with some memory of the past. His thoughts naturally reverted to the time when he had lived at the Hotel de Rochambeau in Paris, and the many nobles who used to throw him a nod or a smile when they came there to see his master; but he did not think, somehow, that the lean-faced man was a noble, in spite of his fine horse and expensive clothes. After a little he tried to thrust the matter from his mind as of no importance; but the lean face would per­sist in coming back, so he began to range over the public dance-places and the inns that he had frequented while in Paris.

  Suddenly something clicked in Roger's brain. Upon the instant he tightened his rein, turned his surprised mount right about and set off up the glade at a furious gallop. The fellow's name was Etienne de Roubec and he styled himself M. le Chevalier, but Roger thought his right to the title extremely dubious. He had met de Roubec at an inn in Le Havre on the very first night he had spent in France; but that was now nearly six years ago, and the Chevalier had then been a seedy-looking, down-at-heel individual in a threadbare red velvet coat.

  As Roger urged his mare on over the soft, spring turf he was cursing himself for the time he had taken to identify his old acquaintance. He had a score to settle with de Roubec and the angry determination to call the fellow to account that now surged up in him seemed to have lost nothing of its violence during the five years and nine months since they had last met. His only fear was that as they had passed one another going in opposite directions and de Roubec had been moving at a canter he might, in the past seven or eight minutes, have turned down a side glade and ridden along it so far that it would prove impossible to find and overtake him.

  Breasting the slight rise with a spurt, Roger peered anxiously for­ward along the downward slope. It stretched for nearly a mile but de Roubec was not to be seen. He might easily have ridden that far in the time and passed out of sight round the distant bend, so Roger rode on at full tilt. On reaching the bend he found that the ride continued for only a short way then ended in a wide clearing where four other rides met. Hastily he cast about from one to another; of de Roubec there was no sign, but up one of the rides a carriage was approaching.

  While he was still frantically wondering which ride de Roubec had taken the vehicle entered the clearing. It was a closed carriage drawn by four fine greys which were moving at a smart trot. Evidently it was the equipage of some wealthy person, but there was no coat of arms decorating the panels of its doors and the coachman, as well as the footman who stood on the boot clinging to straps at its back, were both dressed in plain, sober liveries.

  As it passed Roger caught a brief glimpse of its interior t
hrough the open window. Two women were seated inside; both wore their hair dressed high in the fashion of the day and upon the coiffure of each reposed an absurd little beflowered straw hat tilted rakishly forward; and both of them were masked.

  In Paris, or any other city, there was at that time nothing at all unusual about a lady unaccompanied by a cavalier wearing a black silk mask while she drove through the streets, either by night or day. The custom had originated as a form of protection for young and attractive gentlewomen from the unwelcome attentions of street gallants, but it had proved such a boon to ladies wishing to make their way unrecognized to secret rendezvous with their lovers that, in this century when illicit tove affairs were the fashion, the practice had continued to flourish. But it struck Roger as most surprising that two ladies should wear masks while taking a drive through the almost deserted forest of Fontainebleau in the middle of the afternoon.

  As he stared after them with swiftly awakened curiosity, his glance fell upon some fresh hoof-marks plainly outlined on a muddy patch to one side of the track that the carriage had taken. Unless some other solitary horseman had recently passed that way they could only have been made by de Roubec's bay. With fresh hope of catching his quarry, Roger set spurs to his mount and cantered on in the wake of the mysterious ladies.

  Some three hundred yards from the glade the ride curved sharply. The carriage was just about to round the bend as Roger came up behind it. Guiding his mare a little to the left, he made to pass. As he did so he saw that a quarter of a mile ahead there was apparently another clearing. A giant oak rose in solitary splendour from the place where the centre of the track would otherwise have been, and immediately beneath it, quietly sitting on his horse, was de Roubec.

  The second Roger caught sight of the Chevalier he dropped back behind the carriage. The fact that de Roubec had halted under the giant oak suggested that he had come there to keep a secret rendezvous with the masked ladies. From the outset Roger had realized that de Roubec's mount was much faster than his own hired hack, and had feared that if the Chevalier thought himself pursued he might easily use the superior speed of his bay to escape an unwelcome encounter. Therefore it seemed to him now that his best hope of getting within speaking dis­tance of his quarry unseen lay in continuing on in the wake of the carriage.

  As he trotted along, crouched low over his mare's neck so that his hat should not be visible to de Roubec above the line of the carriage roof, he feared every moment that the footman perched on the boot would turn and see him. But the hoof-beats of his mare were lost in those of the four greys, and, even when they pulled up under the great oak, the man did not glance behind him. Like a well-trained servant he instantly leapt from his stand and ran round to the side of the carriage to open its door for his mistress.

  As he did so Roger slipped from his saddle to the ground. For a moment he stood there, holding his mare by the bridle; but she was a quiet old nag and, seeing that she at once started to nibble the grass of the track, he let her go, then stepped forward and peered cautiously from his hiding-place.

  De Roubec, hat in hand, was bowing low over his horse's neck. One of the ladies was leaning out of the carriage door. In her hand she was holding out to him a fat packet. Roger had himself once entrusted a fat packet to de Roubec, with dire results. At the sight of the present scene the memory of all that he had suffered in consequence of placing his trust in the Chevalier smarted like an open wound. On the instant he decided that he would not stand by and see this unknown lady tricked as he had been. But if he was to prevent it immediate action was called for; the second de Roubec saw him he might snatch the packet, gallop off with it and be lost for good.

  With one swift, well-practised movement Roger drew his long sword. At the same instant he sprang forward. De Roubec was just taking the packet from the masked lady and each still held a corner of it. Simultaneously both let out a gasp of amazement at Roger's totally unexpected appearance. As they stared at him, transfixed by surprise, his sword flashed in an unerring lunge and the tip of the bright blade passed through the centre of the flat parcel.

  He gave one upward jerk of his strong wrist and the packet slipped from between their fingers. Holding it on high he cried to de Roubec: "You have forgotten me, Chevalier, but I have not forgotten you! And I mean to slice off your ears in payment for what you owe me."

  ‘Who ... who are you, Monsieur?" gasped de Roubec.

  During their swift exchange the lady had emerged from the carriage. She was standing now upon the lowest of the folding steps that had been let down outside its doors. Roger saw at a glance that she was tallish with a mature but slim figure. As she drew herself up the additional height lent her by the step, coupled with her high headdress, gave her the appearance of towering over him. Next second he caught the angry flash of bright blue eyes through the slits in her mask, as she exclaimed impetuously:

  "Monsieur! How dare you interfere in my affairs! And do you not know that it is a criminal offence to draw a sword in..."

  She never finished her sentence, breaking it off abruptly as a quick, warning cry of "Madame I pray you have a care!" came in French, but with a strong foreign accent, from her companion who was still inside the vehicle.

  But the lady on the step had already said too much to preserve her incognito. On several occasions in the past Roger had seen that deter­mined chin, slightly protruding lower lip, and delicate but imperial nose. Her uncompleted sentence, pronounced with such icy dignity, had given him the clue to her identity and he knew that she had meant to end it with the words "in my presence".

  Within a second his stupefaction was overcome by a wave of glowing elation. Where his wits had failed him it seemed that the goddess For­tune had dealt him a hand of her highest cards, and that he had now only to play them properly to be received at Court on the most favourable terms.

  By preventing the packet from being given to the scoundrelly de Roubec, he had every reason to believe that he had rendered a most valuable service to no less a person than Marie Antoinette, Queen of France.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE MASKED LADIES

  ROGER still held the packet high above his head spitted on the point of his sword, so he was in no situation to make a graceful obeisance; but he could, and did, sweep off his hat with his free hand, lower his sword to the ground and go down on one knee before the Queen.

  "I see you know me, Monsieur," she said coldly. "That makes your conduct even more inexcusable."

  "I did not recognize Your Majesty until you spoke," he replied in quick protest.

  "Then I excuse your having drawn your sword, but not your interference." She spoke more calmly now. "Rise, Monsieur, and give that packet to the gentleman to whom I was handing it, instantly."

  Roger stood up, removed the packet from the point of the sword, and sheathed his blade; but he made no movement to obey her last command. Instead, he said: "At the risk of incurring an even further degree of Your Majesty's displeasure I was about to add that had I recognized you when first I came up I would still have acted as I did."

  "What mean you by this fresh impertinence, Monsieur?" Her voice was high and sharp again.

  It was not the first time that Roger had been called upon to talk with royalty. In the preceding year he had held several long conversations with King Gustavus III of Sweden, and others of a far more intimate character with that bold, cultured, licentious woman Catherine the Great of Russia; so he knew very well that it was regarded as a most scandalous breach of etiquette to ask any sovereign a direct question. But his experience had taught him that, although crowned heads showed themselves to their subjects only as beings moving in an almost god-like aura of pomp and splendour, they were, behind it all, just as human as other people; and that provided they were treated with the respect which was their due, they responded much more readily when talked to naturally than with slavish obsequiousness. So with a wave of his hand towards de Roubec, who, still sitting his horse, was staring at him with an expressio
n of puzzled anxiety, he said:

  "Madame, I pray you pardon my temerity, but what do you know of this man? I'd take a big wager that you know little or nothing."

  To put such a question to the Queen of France was a bold gamble, but it came off. She was so taken by surprise that she overlooked the impertinence and replied with her usual impetuosity: "Then you would win your wager, Monsieur; for I have never seen him before. I know only that he was recommended as a trustworthy courier to carry a letter of some importance for me."

  "Then I beg Your Majesty to excuse me from obeying your last command," cried Roger, swiftly following up his advantage. "I know the fellow for a rogue. He is unfitted to be entrusted with the scrapings of a poor-box, let alone a weighty despatch from your own august hand. Though, when I first came on the scene, I thought 'twas a package of jewels that you were handing him."

  "Why so?" asked the Queen, in fresh astonishment.

  "Madame, in your own interests I crave your indulgence to relate an episode from my past, which is highly relevant to this present matter."

  "Do so, Monsieur. But be brief."

  Roger bowed. "I thank Your Majesty, and in advance swear to the truth of what I am about to say. I am of noble birth upon my mother's side, but when I was a lad I decided to go out into the world and pick up a living as best I could, rather than be sent to sea. When I ran away from home my purse was lined with near twenty . . ." He had been about to say guineas, but swiftly substituted the word "Louis” and con­tinued: "But various expenses had reduced that sum to no more than a handful of silver by the time I entered the city of Le Havre."