Читать книгу: «Traitor and True», страница 6

CHAPTER XI

Before the evening came Humphrey had discovered the manner in which he had been able to overhear so plainly all that had passed between La Truaumont and the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville the previous night.

On returning to his room after his conversation with the Duchess, he had at once set about looking for the reason why the sounds of their voices had reached his ears so clearly, and, ere five minutes had elapsed, that reason was forthcoming.

The tapestry-if it was worthy of the name, since, in actual fact, it was nothing but coarse, heavy-coloured cloth which hung in front of the walls from the ceiling to the wainscot-was quite loose and might be lifted aside, or drawn forward, by being grasped at the bottom, as easily as a curtain might be, so that, consequently, when this was done the whole of the bare wall behind it could be observed. Now, since Humphrey very well understood that whatever sound had penetrated to his ears must have come from and through the wall which separated his bedroom from the salon of his neighbour, it was to that wall that he at once directed his attention. A moment later he had done this, and saw that high up in the wall was an orifice of about two feet square which was strongly crossed with iron bars, and was probably, if such a thing could have been thought of in even earlier days than these, intended as a means of permitting air to circulate from one room to another. If this had not been the original intention, Humphrey could think of no other reason for the grating being where it was.

"Yet," he said to himself, as he gazed, or rather peered up, at the thing from where he stood, his head being under the lower part of the coarse tapestry, "what matters the cause of its being there since, by its existence, I have been enabled to hear one portion of this villainous scheme discussed, and, by God's will, may be enabled to hear still more. So, too, I observe that the tapestry on the other side prevents that grating from being visible to any in the woman's salon, therefore none will guess that there is a listener here. 'Tis very well. If I know aught of plotters and conspirators there will be no more talk in there until the night has come and the house is at rest, wherefore, since this is the time of day when the Duchess sleeps, as do all her countrywomen and most of her countrymen, I will go and pass an hour or so with sweet Jacquette. Then will I tell her, from whom I have no secrets, of how I purpose passing part of my night."

At the same time, since he was a young man of method, he looked around his room while pondering if he could not utilise some piece of furniture by pushing it up against the wall so that, by standing on it, he should hear better whatever might be said within that room. All the same he decided, after a moment's reflection, not to do this.

"Last night I heard much," he thought to himself, "though that other and La Truaumont spoke but in whispers: to-night, since I shall not be in bed but under the hangings, I should hear still better. And, also, the maid will doubtless come here at night to fill the ewer and prepare the bed; she would observe the change I have made. Let be. 'Tis best so."

Upon which he went out after locking his door behind him, a precaution never to be neglected in such times as these when nothing worth filching, even down to a plume for a hat or a wisp of lace, was safe from some one or other's thievish hands. After which he made his way to Jacquette's room and tapped lightly on the door to call her forth.

"Sweetheart," he said, when she came to it, "put on thy hood and come out into the streets of this old city. The Duchess should be sleeping now and have no need for thee."

"She is asleep, or seeking sleep. You know, Humphrey, we set out for Geneva and the Milanese territory to-morrow."

"I know, dear one, and we will ride together side by side as we have ridden here from Paris, though by devious ways and far off a straight route. Yet, as you may guess, there is much to be done by me ere we set forth."

"I know. I know. But wait for me below. I will but get my cape and hood-'tis cold here in this damp, mountainous land-and then be with you. But for an hour only, Humphrey. Only one hour."

"It must suffice since it can be no more. Yet we shall still be much together until," looking softly at her, "we are together for ever."

After which he descended and went out to the great place between the inn and the Rhine and waited for his love to descend.

He waited, idling away the moments until Jacquette came, while seeing Fleur de Mai sally forth with Boisfleury, the former having a new plume in his hat and a fresh scarf round him, while the latter swaggered by his side untidy as ever. He saw, too, La Truaumont across the river, sitting in a tavern balcony which overhung the rushing stream, and drinking with an old man of vulpine appearance-the old man who had early that morning descended from the French coach and looked up at the window of the Marquise's salon and leered and stuck his tongue in his cheek, so that Humphrey had felt sure the woman in that salon was visible.

"Ha," he said to himself, "so he, too, is in it. He is the intriguer of whom the Duchess spoke; the man who was to come here. Well! well! we shall know more to-night."

As he thought this, however, he determined that he would not wait until the full night had come ere he retired to his room and began to keep his watch, since he would thus be ready to hear all that might be said in the next one. A word to the Duchess, a hint of what he was about to do, would absolve him from any attendance on her that evening.

Jacquette came forth from the inn now, her pretty travelling escoffion on her head and her little cape around her shoulders, when, stepping across the place to where he stood with his back to her, she joined him. Then-after looking across the river towards the spot where Humphrey told her La Truaumont was seated (La Truaumont who, having seen her come out of the inn, now waved his hand gracefully to her, though half en camarade and half with the air of a roystering, boisterous soldier) she put her hand on her lover's arm and, together, they walked side by side along the left bank of the swift, rushing Rhine.

Of love 'tis certain they should talk at first-just a little-as is the case with other lovers when first they meet, and always has been since the world was young and fresh and green, and will be until it is worn out and dead and gone. Therefore, so it was now with Humphrey and Jacquette. And once, nay more than once, perhaps, when they had gotten opposite the great wind-mills on the other side and were shielded from view by the overhanging banks of the river, and hidden by the acacias growing wild on those banks, their young lips met and touched as, sometimes, the petals of one drooping crimson flower will meet and touch those of another. But each knew that they were here for something more serious at this moment than even their love, and gradually they fell to talking on the strange environments with which they, who had but lately been boy and girl together, were now surrounded. They talked of the journey that lay before them over the eternal snows of the St. Bernard or the St. Gothard, of which many travellers had spoken and written and over the former of which Humphrey's father had once himself passed on a voyage to Italy. They wondered, too, how the family of the Duchess would receive her and make a new home for her, and even wondered what the mad Duke would do to regain possession of his errant wife. And then, at last, they spoke of the whisper there was in the air-their air; that air by which they were surrounded; of the whisper that De Beaurepaire meditated some mad stroke by which he would set his life upon a cast and either lose all, including life, in that attempt, or soar still higher than even one of his house had ever soared before. "To-night," said Humphrey, in answer to a question from Jacquette, "I shall know more; perhaps all. If that happens which I think will happen, then I may know enough to prevent the Prince from rushing on his ruin. For, sweet one, I do not believe, nor will I ever believe, that he is aught but a tool, a cat's-paw in the hands of these others. La Truaumont pretends to be his follower, his servitor, yet he is, if I mistake not, the one who leads or pushes him towards the end he himself desires to obtain. While for this woman, who lives so close and snug within her rooms and is seen of none, who is she, what is she?"

"I know naught of her, or only that La Truaumont says she secretly, and unknown to him, loves De Beaurepaire."

"I understand," her lover answered. "Yet I believe that-that-as with La Truaumont so it is with this woman; she, too, pushes De Beaurepaire onward to something he would never otherwise attempt. And if she is beautiful-"

"She is beautiful," Jacquette said. "I saw her in Nancy. Poorly clad 'tis true, with poor adornments-"

"She has others now," Humphrey exclaimed, remembering the tray of handsome lace that Emérance's maid carried in her hand when they talked together at the head of the stairs.

"No doubt, no doubt," the colour returning again to Jacquette's cheeks as she spoke. "And you would say that, if she is beautiful she can lead him, wind him round her fingers as a child can wind a silken thread. He is vain and she may play upon his vanity, although-although, Humphrey-even as she does so she still may love him. If all the world speaks true, many women have loved him ere now."

"If she loves him she should not lure him to his destruction. Yet, if what I overheard last night has any truth in it, her own destruction might accompany his. La Truaumont warned her-and, as he spoke, his voice sounded sinister to me-that she might pay a heavy price for his love."

"A woman would not heed that," Jacquette answered softly. "If she loves a man and would have him love her, the price, even though it be her life, counts nought."

"Has he," Humphrey asked now, after gazing into her eyes as she spoke thus, "confided in the Duchess? Does she know all?"

"She will not know. She will not hear. She is resolved to know nothing of De Beaurepaire's share in what is being plotted, I think. For if 'tis against the King, against his crown, that danger threatens, then-then-even though it were to bring death to him she would warn the King. His mother, the Princess, would have told the Duchess at Nancy, she endeavoured to tell her, to beseech her to intercede with De Beaurepaire, to beg him to forgo this mad scheme of which he had whispered the greater part to her, though not mentioning that he was the head and front of it; but madame would not listen to her. She will not know it since, knowing, she would feel impelled to divulge all to the King."

"Then, somehow, I will save him. He has been ever good to me: once he offered me a commission in his guards; also 'twas he who pressed King Louis to make King Charles restore to me all that my father lost in his father's cause. I must save him."

"Yet," Jacquette said, toying with the lace of his sleeve, "it does behove you also to save the King, since, if these conspirators are backed by the power and wealth of Spain, there is a chance they may succeed. He, Louis the King, has also been good to you."

"'Tis true. 'Tis very true," Humphrey said reflectively; "he, too, when my father was dead and my mother and I borne down by bitter, grinding poverty, put in our way the wherewithal to live. He placed her in the suite of Madame Henriette, he made me a page at Vincennes. In very truth I owe him much."

"Therefore repay. Endeavour to serve both of those who, in their time, have served you and yours. Save De Beaurepaire from these huckstering conspirators, or, better still, save him from himself: save the King from their assaults upon his great power and position. Yet-yet-ah! heaven," she broke off to exclaim, "if your knowledge of this plot, if the knowledge you already possess, or may further possess, should bring harm to you! Oh! if they should know that you have discovered all, what-what would they hesitate at? Either here, in this gloomy town, outside the power of France to help or save you, or-or-when, later, we are on those icy passes over which we must ride to reach the Milanese."

"Why, sweetheart, what can they do?" Humphrey asked, with a smile. "What! I am as good a man as any one of them, my rapier as stout, my arm and wrist as strong."

"There are many of them who may come against you. The bravo, La Truaumont, the desperado, Fleur de Mai, his boon companion, Boisfleury. And-and-those others! That old, evil-looking man who came to-day; this adventuress who lies fast hid within her rooms. Ah! Humphrey, Humphrey, my love, 'tis not these men's swords I should fear so much for you as the craft and wickedness of that other pair. For God's sake, Humphrey, be on your guard."

"Ma mie, fear not. And remember this. If I discover aught that it behoves me to know, it will not be on the passes or here, in this auberge, that they will find their opportunity. For, then, soon, I shall be gone from out their ken-"

"Gone!"

"Ay, gone. Either to De Beaurepaire-if he be their tool; to the King if he be a chief mover in this wickedness. Gone to France, to Paris, ere they can do aught to stop or harm me."

"Gone! And the Duchess and I left without you."

"If it must be it must. And you will be well escorted, even though the escort is none too trustworthy. For, think. Reflect. La Truaumont's orders are never to quit Madame la Duchesse until she is safe in the hands of her sister and her family in Milan. While, as for the others, his jackals, what can they do without his will? They whom he pays week by week."

"And the others? Those two. That old man and that intriguing woman!"

"They will not cross the pass. Nor, if I must travel back, can they travel as fast as I on 'Soupir'."

"But you, my heart, you? My love, my companion, my comrade?" Jacquette asked. "What if you are gone without one word, one last farewell?"

"If I am gone, if 'tis necessary that I start even ere dawn, then you will know the why and the wherefore, my own. You will know 'tis for life and death, for the sake of one Louis or the other. In hinting this to the Duchess you will thus obtain my pardon. As for our last farewell-ah! ma mie, we can say it now. We can now take our last embrace until we meet again. While, if I set not out, 'tis one more to the good account."

Whereupon he again drew the girl to him under the shade of the acacias and kissed her long and fondly.

CHAPTER XII

The Duchesse de Castellucchio awoke the next morning an hour after daybreak, which, at this late summer period, took place at about five o'clock, and, since it was her intention to set out early that day for Geneva, thence to commence her journey over the St. Bernard, she called out at once to Jacquette to summon her maid. Then, that being done, Jacquette herself appeared from the adjoining room enveloped in her robe de chamber and asked madame how she had slept that night.

"Excellently well," Hortense said, sitting up in her bed, and presenting a charming sight to the girl-who, however, had seen it often enough before-since her long hair streamed down over her lace-adorned night attire until it mingled with the great bear-skin thrown over the bed. "Excellently. A quieter neighbour than Monsieur West next door no traveller need wish to have. The young man moves not, neither does he have the nightmare. A pretty youth is Humphrey, with soft and gentle manners even in his sleep, it would seem. And you, child, have you too slept well?"

"Nay, madame, none too well. I was not drowsy and, when I slept at last, I dreamed. Horrible dreams, madame, of swords and rapiers, and, oh! – of blood being shed. Yet I know not wherefore I should have dreamed thus. The house was peaceful, no travellers arrived in the night, there was no sound to startle sleep; nothing to tease a would-be sleeper but the noise of that river rushing on and on and swirling past the crazy wooden bridge in front of us."

"It may be your rest was disturbed by some haunting recollection in your brain of the journey that lies before us. Well! it has to be taken; we cannot abide in this gloomy old place for ever. Therefore, Jacquette, let us prepare for the day. Bid Suzanne go get my chocolate ready, forgetting not to put a glass of ratafia in it; and knock on the wall, child, and arouse that slumbering lover of yours. 'Tis time he awoke and, awaking, should bid La Truaumont also leave his bed, since he too, in his turn, must awaken those two brigands who ride with us and of whom, Dio mio! I like the look none too well."

Obedient to Hortense's order Jacquette crossed to the other side of the room and, feeling under the tapestry for the spot where she knew the closed and heavily bolted door to be, rapped on it with her knuckles, while saying, "Humphrey, arise! The clocks have struck seven. Awake, sluggard!"

But there came no answer to her summons. All was as still as though she had knocked at, and spoken to, an empty room.

"Knock again," the Duchess said. "Basta! how the young man sleeps."

But Jacquette's second knock was productive of no more response than the first had been, whereon the girl-though turning somewhat white with a feeling of apprehension in her mind, while recalling at the same time her dreams of swords and rapiers and blood-whispered to herself, "He has discovered all and he is gone. Gone to save one Louis or the other, as he said. Madame," she cried, turning round to the Duchess who still sat up in her bed listening intently now for some sound from Humphrey's room, "he is not there. Or being there sleeps so soundly that I cannot waken him."

"Doubtless," the Duchess said, "he has awakened before us, and, knowing of what lies before us, has descended to make preparations for the journey. That being so, he has done all we would have him do without being bidden to do it. His is a brave, trustworthy heart. Yet I do wonder if he has also bethought him of awakening La Truaumont. The man is, may be, a heavy sleeper: each night he empties his wine flask to the dregs ere seeking his bed. If Humphrey has not thought to rouse him, I will dare to say he is still snoring as heavily as a tired dog."

"It may be so," Jacquette said aloud, with reference to the Duchess's opinion that Humphrey had already risen; yet to her heart she whispered, "but not risen as you think. Instead, more like he has not sought his bed at all but, overhearing much of the plots of those conspirators, has set out hours ago. By now he has doubtless been long in France, the frontier being so near. By now, also, 'tis certain he is riding post-haste either to save De Beaurepaire or to warn the King. Oh! Humphrey, Humphrey, my lover, may Heaven have and keep you."

"Call Suzanne," the Duchess said at this moment, since, always self-indulgent in her tastes, she saw no reason why her cup of chocolate should be longer delayed, no matter whether Humphrey West still slumbered late or had risen betimes: "Call Suzanne and bid her bring the morning drink. Likewise tell her to go and beat on La Truaumont's door. 'Tis time he was out of bed. And, Jacquette," as she always called the girl, "go out into the passage and beat yourself on Humphrey's door as loud as may be, while, if he answers not, open it if 'tis not locked and wake him."

Suzanne was now at hand and, receiving her instructions, set about obeying them by first going to La Truaumont's room to summon him. At the same time, and when she had departed on her two missions, Jacquette going out into the corridor ran to the next room and began another tintamarre on the other door, calling loudly as she did so, "Humphrey! Humphrey! Humphrey! Awake! Awake!"

But there was no more answer from within to this second summons than there had been to the first.

"He has gone," she whispered to herself. "He has gone. He has overheard more strange matter and has deemed it well to set out on the instant. What an ending to our projects of a happy ride into that southern land of sunshine, to all that we had dreamt of being to each other for some weeks or months! To all our hopes of being so much together."

Thinking, however, that, ere her lover had set out, as now she felt sure he must have done, he might by chance have left some carefully worded line for her, something that she should understand very well, though, should it chance to fall into the hands of others, it would to them be unintelligible, she lifted the latch of his door meaning to go in and see if, on some table or chair, and prominently in view, a billet might be lying. If that were not so, she would by one glance be able to discover through the disorder of the room-the absence of his riding cloak and feathered hat and rapier and pistols-whether he was definitely gone or only away for some little while.

As she lifted the latch, however, while pressing on the catch under her thumb thereby to push open the door, she discovered that either the latter was locked or the bolt on the inside shot.

"Locked or bolted!" the girl whispered, her face pale now and her breath coming fast and short. "Locked or bolted, and from the inside! And he there. There and silent-speechless. My God! what has happened to him? What?"

Faint with fear of some horror she could not express, with some hideous apprehension of impending evil-nay, of evil that had already fallen; dreading what might be in that room now, wondering if Humphrey had been discovered listening to those plotters in that other room and, in some way, reached, attacked and done to death, the girl leant helplessly against the door-post endeavouring to think what she should do next.

Should she alarm the house, already awakened for the work of the day; cry to some faquin or waiting woman passing up and down the stairs, or descend those stairs herself and summon the landlord to come and burst open the door? What-what should she do?

Suddenly, however, another thought whirling in her brain, dispersing and driving forth those which had possessed that brain a moment earlier, brought ease to her.

"He has not gone," she whispered to herself, the glow returning to her bosom that, an instant before, had felt like ice; "he cannot have gone. He has not discovered or overheard anything to cause him to set out for France. It must be so. He has descended, as madame supposed, to take steps for our journey, and, some of his effects being worth stealing, has locked his door and taken the key with him. Ah! yes. It must be so. Had he set forth, had he quitted this room for ever, he would not have locked the door after leaving nothing of his behind."

Eased therefore by these reflections, Jacquette made her way back to the Duchess and was about to enter the sleeping-room when she paused at hearing the voice of Hortense raised shrilly, as though in excitement.

"What!" she heard her say. "La Truaumont makes no reply! You cannot awaken him and his door is locked inside. Dio mio, what does it mean! Have all failed in their trust! All deserted me!"

"Ah! madame," Jacquette exclaimed, as now she entered the room, "it must be with the captain as with Humphrey. Both have descended to make preparations for our departure after leaving their doors locked behind them for security."

"It may be so," the Duchess exclaimed. "Yet if it is, 'tis strange. Humphrey sleeps on my left, yet I heard no sound of movement in his room late or early, nor did you hear any in the room on your right where the captain slept. 'Tis passing strange."

"Yet easily solved, madame," Jacquette replied, "if all is as you suspect, and I," to herself, "hope. I will but don my clothes and then descend myself."

"Instead, send Suzanne. She is dressed and can go down at once."

Whereupon Suzanne, who had by now returned with the chocolate and chip bread for their early meal, was bidden to go at once below and see what had become of the absent men.

"And," said the Duchess to her ere she went, "seek out that other, if they are not about. That matamore who styles himself Fleur de Mai. If you cannot find them bring him here to my presence."

The girl sped away to do as she was bidden, and, while she was gone, Hortense, sitting up in her bed, drank her chocolate and seemed more puzzled at the circumstance that neither she, on one side, had heard a sound from Humphrey, nor Jacquette, on the other, from La Truaumont, than at aught else. Then, when five minutes had elapsed, Suzanne, forgetting in her excitement to knock, and forgetting also all deference due to her mistress, rushed into the room, exclaiming: -

"Oh! madame, neither the illustrious captain nor monsieur the Englishman have been seen below this morning. Yet-yet-the horses are all in their stalls, not one is missing."

"Oh! great heavens," moaned Jacquette at this significant piece of intelligence.

"And the other," cried the Duchess, "the great truculent one? The fellow called Fleur de Mai. What of him? Why is he not here as I commanded?"

"Madame," the maid cried, her voice rising almost to a shriek, "he, too, is missing. He slept before the fire in the great room wrapped in his cloak, but at daybreak, when the house was opened, he was no longer there-and-madame, neither can he be found."

"Not found. Yet there was still another, the meaner one; the one called Boisfleury," the Duchess cried, springing out of her bed in beauteous disarray. "What of him? Is he too, missing? And the landlord, where is he?"

"The landlord, madame, is bewildered. He comes with the pass-keys to open all the doors of their rooms. As for the man, Boisfleury, he is outside. He waits on Madame la Duchesse."

"Take him into the salon. And, Jacquette, give me my robe. Quick. 'Twill cover this négligé." While, as she spoke, she seized the masses of long hair that hung down her back and twisted them up into a huge knot upon her head. After which she thrust her little feet into a pair of warm, soft slippers and entered the salon followed by Jacquette.

Before her there stood the man, Boisfleury, white and shaky looking, so that, as Hortense shrewdly suspected, he had been hastily summoned from his bed, wherein, she did not doubt, he had been sleeping off the potency of the draughts in which he and his companion nightly indulged.

"What know you of these absent men?" she asked now, while her usually soft, velvety eyes looked anything but softly into those of the man before her so that, either from their piercing glance, or from the vision of beauty en déshabille which confronted him-or, perhaps, from that other cause which the Duchess had suspected-he shivered and shook before her.

"What know you, I say? Answer, man, and stand not trembling thus. Speak, fellow."

"Most gracious lady, I know nothing. Last night I sought my bed early, the better to be ready for our departure this morning and-"

"Got you that wound on your face in your bed? 'Tis a strange place to encounter such a thing."

"Madame la Duchesse, I fell upon the stairs and hurt myself."

"It resembles not a bruise. More like unto a sharp cut. Yet this is nought to me. Tell me, I say, what you know of the absence of those three. Of the young English seigneur, of your leader, the captain, and your boon companion?"

"Gracious lady," Boisfleury said again, "I know nothing. The young English seigneur I saw not at all. Madame la Duchesse will remember that he abode not with us but with madame and mademoiselle," directing his eyes towards Jacquette. "The noble captain supped alone very early and then retired at once. As for Fleur de Mai and me, we supped together; he drank more than was good for him-as-as I warned him-and then rolled himself in his cloak and slept before the fire. Whereon I sought my bed."

"I will have the house ransacked to find one at least of them," the Duchess exclaimed, her eyes ablaze; "nay, I will have the whole of this heretical, canticle-singing town ransacked, if I can do so, to find him. For the others I care not, no, not even if they have gone to their master the devil! While as for you-"

"As for me, most noble dame?" Boisfleury repeated, cringingly, though with a strange gleam in his eye. "As for me, Madame la Duchesse?"

"I do not believe you. If we were in Paris you should be sent to the Bastille or La Tournelle-"

"Madame la Duchesse has shaken the dust of Paris off her feet," the man answered, with an insolent leer. "We shall not meet in Paris when I return to it."

"Out, dog!" the Duchess cried, advancing towards the fellow, her hot Italian blood aflame at his insolence and also at the certainty that he was lying to her. "Out, animal! Or the landlord-"

At this moment, however, the landlord himself appeared at the door, and, with many bows and genuflexions, announced that he had opened the doors of the rooms of all the missing men with his pass-keys-and-and-it was very strange, but all their effects were there untouched.

Then, ere the Duchess could reply to this ominous statement a cry from Jacquette startled her, and, a moment later, she had rushed toward the girl and caught her in her arms ere she swooned.

"Can I lend assistance?" a soft voice asked as this occurred, and Emérance de Villiers-Bordéville appeared at the open door of the room, clad, like the Duchess, in a long robe de chamber.

"No," the latter said, looking at her with a glance that would have withered many another woman, a look full of disdain. "No. And, madame, this is my private room, therefore I desire to possess it in privacy."