The Launching of Roger Brook (51 page)

‘Nay, Mademoiselle, I protest,’ cried Roger. ‘I have loved you since the very first moment that I set eyes on you. And ’twas love that drove me mad that day.’

‘Would you then claim that you love me still?’ she asked, her eyes over-bright from a return of the fever.

‘Indeed, I do!’

‘You lie! ’Tis that you have wormed yourself into my father’s good graces, and fear that I yet may tell of your assault upon me. You seek my pardon only to protect your place.’

‘That is not true! I care not a fig if I remain in your father’s service, or leave it! Except as it affects my chances of seeing you. ’Tis love alone that made me hasten here at breakneck speed, and ’tis love alone that makes me plead for your forgiveness.’

‘I’ll not believe it!’

‘I swear it!’

Her eyes glittered with a feverish light. Then kiss me again! Now! This very moment; hideous as I am and ridden with disease!’

Without the slightest hesitation he stooped and placed
his mouth against her dry and burning lips. He knew full well the danger that he was running but he would have walked through fire to prove his love for her, and he made himself keep his lips pressed against hers for a long moment.

It was the sound of the door opening that made them jerk their heads apart, but Roger had time to step quietly back a pace before Mere Sufflot came round the end of the screen.

Athénaïs’s face was now flushed scarlet between the blotches. Her eyes were lowered and she would not raise them as he said:

There is one more thing, Mademoiselle. An unpleasant one, I fear, but necessary, if we are to save your face from being scarred. Now that your sores are beginning to heal they will itch abominably. Lest the temptation to scratch them prove too much for you we must tie your hands behind your back.’

Her mouth went sullen, but she now seemed dazed and did not reply.

Taking a long strip of the linen that he had already prepared for the purpose, he tied one end of it round her left wrist then, having passed the loose end behind her back, he secured it to her right wrist. This single, soft bond still allowed her to raise her hands in front to breast-height and, as it was imperceptible to lie upon, would not, he hoped, seriously interfere with her sleeping.

Fixing Mére Sufflot with a steely glance he said: ‘You will not untie that bandage even on a direct order from Mademoiselle. On no account are you to let the fire die down, and you are to keep the windows open. Should Mademoiselle grow worse in the night you are to send for me at once. I am the master here now, and these are my orders. If you carry them out fully I will see to it that you are well rewarded, but fail to obey them and I will have you put in the pillory.’

Athénaïs’s eyes flickered up for an instant and her mouth fell a little open; but she said nothing, and made him only a slight inclination of the head as he bowed formally to her, and wished her good rest, before leaving the room.

Up in his own room he washed his face and hands in vinegar and water and, after gargling with the same simple antiseptic, chewed a clove of garlic to a pulp, then spat out
the pieces. He hated the stuff but believed it to be, as in fact is the case, a natural absorbent of poisons, and it was one of the simple hints to the preservation of health that he had picked up from old Aristotle Fénelon.

On getting into bed the familiar room, in which he had slept for so many months, recalled to him his dream about Georgina. He had never received any reply to the long letter he had written to her the previous April, and he wondered if she had, after all this time, become too immersed in her own affairs to bother with him any more, or if it had gone astray. But it was, no doubt, his thinking of her that caused him to dream of her again.

She was standing by his bedside shaking him by the shoulder and saying: ‘Get up, Roger! Get up, d’you hear! That silly little creature you’re so distracted about needs your attention.’

He woke with a start, to find himself shouting angrily: ‘She’s not a silly little creature! She’s…’

Then he broke off with a laugh. No doubt Georgina would regard Athénaïs as spoilt, stupid, and intolerably conceited, but that did not affect the fact that he loved her; and he had no hesitation in taking the dream as a warning.

On looking at his watch he found it to be one o’clock. Slipping on his bed-robe he went down to the floor below and along to Athénaïs’s room. Opening the door he tiptoed inside. On emerging from behind the screen he saw that Athénaïs was asleep, snoring gently through her small, curved nose. But Mére Sufflot was also sleeping soundly; the fire beside which she sat had almost died out, and the chill of the night air coming through the still open windows made him shiver.

Roger could be completely ruthless where the interests near his heart were concerned. Advancing with catlike tread on the old mid-wife, he suddenly thrust out both hands and gripped her firmly round the neck, so that she could not cry out. She woke with a violent start. Squeezing her neck tighter he gave her a rough shake and, stooping, whispered in her ear:

‘Get on your knees and mend that fire piece by piece. If a log falls and wakes Mademoiselle I’ll have the hide flayed off you. What is more, if when I come down next she is not still sleeping and you awake I’ll strangle you with my own hands.’

It was, he knew, the sort of language that a woman of her type, on having failed in her duty, would expect; and the only sort of treatment that would make any impression on her drink-sodden old brain. When her eyes were bulging he released his grip, and with a smothered cough she obediently set to getting the fire back into a blaze.

On returning to his bed he only dozed, and he went down to Athénaïs’s room again about four o’clock in the morning. She had turned on her side and was now sleeping quietly. The room was fresh but pleasantly warm and the old harridan, still wide awake, was sitting bolt upright in her chair. As he tiptoed in she gave him a terrified glance but, to her amazement, he patted her gently on the shoulder, and tiptoed out again.

From four to seven he slept soundly, and was roused only by his
petit déjeuner
being brought to him. When he had dressed he sought out Aldegonde and insisted on the major-domo taking him round the servants’ quarters. He found that fifteen of the younger members of the staff were down with the sickness, but that several of the older servants, who had already had the disease, were tending them with care. Appropriately enough, he thought cynically, these people are willing to look after one another, but they are quite content to leave their master’s daughter in the hands of a besotted old mid-wife.

Relieved of further worry about the sick servants he went up to see Athénaïs. She was awake; but immediately he came in she turned her back on him, so he refrained from speaking to her. To Mere Sufflot he said: ‘You can doze now if you wish, as I shall be coming in during the morning to keep the fire going.’ He then went down to the library and waited impatiently for the doctor.

It was half-past eleven before Dr. Gonnet, who had ridden ten miles from Montfort, put in an appearance; and when he did Roger was not impressed by him. He was old, not without shrewd common sense, but a country practitioner who made no secret of the fact that he eked out an existence by attending on the peasantry, and had little leisure to keep abreast with the latest discoveries in medicine. He reported that Athénaïs was progressing favourably, approved Roger’s measures for making her more comfortable, but shook his head dubiously over the open windows.

Immediately he had gone Roger went out to the stables in search of Chenou. They greeted one another with their old friendliness and the chief huntsman said feelingly:

‘Thank God you are come to us, Monsieur Breuc. We were in a pretty pickle here, and badly needed someone to take charge inside the house. I would have myself but I was loath to trespass on Monsieur Aldegonde’s province. If there is any way in which I can help you have but to name it.’

‘Indeed there is,’ replied Roger quickly. ‘I want you to ride into Rennes at once; but before you go give orders for a coach to follow you. When you reach Rennes go to Maître Léger and ask him to recommend the best doctor in the city. Seek out the doctor and offer him any price you like to accompany you back here and remain as resident physician until Mademoiselle Athénaïs is well again. Then go to the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy and see the Superior. Say that you come on behalf of Monseigneur and ask her to furnish you with her two most competent nursing Sisters. Bring the doctor and the nuns back in the coach, and do your damnedest to have them here by nightfall.’

‘It shall be done, Monsieur; or I will eat my own beard,’ declared Chenou, and he began to shout for his grooms and stableboys.

During the remainder of the day Roger personally supervised the wants of Athénaïs. She addressed no word to him and he refrained from any approach to her. At ten o’clock that night Chenou returned from his forty-mile trip into Rennes and back, bringing a youngish doctor named Hollier and two Sisters of Mercy. Roger sent Mere Sufflot packing with a
louis
and installed Athénaïs’s new attendants. Then he went to bed and slept like a log.

Next day he had all the sick servants moved from their own stuffy quarters to the ballroom of the château, and having turned it into a hospital ward, placed Dr. Hollier in charge. He then wrote to the Marquis, giving him a full account of the state of affairs at Bécherel, and suggesting that he should remain there until Athénaïs was fully recovered.

The days that followed left him anxious and now a little uncertain of himself. He did not feel justified in any longer going to Athénaïs’s room, but waited impatiently each
morning for Dr. Hollier’s bulletin about her spots. Most days he rode an hour or two with Chenou, and spent the rest of the time with Madame Marie-Angé; reading the novels of Madame de Villedieu to her, these light romances having been her favourites in her youth.

The motherly old soul’s leg and hip were gradually mending and, as her pain lessened, she became more alert to what was going on in the household. It was her idea that when Athénaïs was well enough to travel, instead of going to Paris for the winter, she should go to her aunt’s château at St. Brieuc, and quietly recuperate there in the good sea air.

Twelve days after his arrival at Bécherel Roger received a reply to his letter to the Marquis. In effect it said little more than: ‘I approve the measures you have taken regarding my daughter, and you have my full authority to carry out any other measures you may think requisite to her wellbeing. However, now that she is in good hands there seems no reason why you should linger unduly at Bécherel, so the sooner you return to Paris with the
Domaine de St. Hilaire
documents, the better.’

There was no message for Athénaïs, no indication that the stony heart of the Marquis had been touched by his young daughter’s affliction; he still appeared to be entirely wrapped up in his own concerns. In disgust Roger stuffed the missive into his pocket and forgot it.

A week later he received another letter from M. de Rochambeau, this time by personal courier. It said:

To my great annoyance I have returned to Paris to find you still absent. Why is this? Paintendre is a fool who understands nothing of my affairs. Get to horse at once, and rejoin me here at the earliest possible moment
.

Again there was no inquiry as to how Athénaïs was progressing, let alone as to the health of his servants. Yet Roger knew that if he wished to keep his job he must obey the summons without delay. He sat down and wrote a note to Athénaïs, which ran:

Mademoiselle, I have received your father’s command to return immediately to Paris. Having followed the progress of your illness through Dr. Hollier I am greatly rejoiced to
know that you are near recovered. I should count it a great favour if you would permit me to take leave of you before my departure
.

Five minutes later he received a verbal reply by the footman who had taken up his note. The man bowed to him and said: ‘Monsieur, Mademoiselle desires you to wait upon her after your evening meal.’

The Marquis’s courier had not arrived until after midday and, for the sake of reaching Paris a few hours earlier, Roger had no intention of forgoing the interview that Athénaïs had granted him. However, he had arranged with Chenou to have a coach ready for him at dawn the following morning, and had the great iron chest containing the documents carried down to the front hall in readiness for loading. Early in the evening he dressed himself in his best suit, which he had brought with him, arranged his hair with care and put a beauty patch on his left cheek. When he looked at himself in the mirror he was satisfied that not even the Abbé de Périgord could have surpassed him in his new rôle of a fashionable exquisite.

After he had supped he went upstairs with a beating heart. He felt reasonably confident that Athénaïs would not have consented to see him unless she intended to thank him for the part he had played in bringing order out of chaos at the château; but, whether her thanks would be purely formal, or couched in the warmer note of renewed friendship, yet remained to be seen.

One of the Sisters of Mercy admitted him to the room. As he came round the corner of the screen he saw that Athénaïs was sitting up in bed with her hair properly dressed, and that the last traces of her sores had completely disappeared under a dusting of rouge and powder.

For a moment she did not look at him, but addressed the nun: ‘Sister Angelique, I have business to discuss with my father’s secretary. While we are talking you would, no doubt, like to give your mind to your devotions. Pray avail yourself of my oratory.’

Without a word the nun obediently crossed the room, and disappeared behind a curtain that concealed an alcove fitted up as a small private chapel. While she knelt there she was still, theoretically, in the room and chaperoning
Athénaïs; but for all practical purposes, Roger was now alone with his divinity.

He thought that she had never looked more beautiful as she turned her big blue eyes on him, and said: