The Launching of Roger Brook (53 page)

Everyone knew that a crash was inevitable, and it was an open secret that M. de Calonne was now at his wits’ end to supply the unceasing demands that the King made upon him. For three years he had juggled with the finances of France with all the ability of a super crook, but the day of reckoning was fast approaching. To stave it off he was resorting to the most desperate expedients. The Corporation of Paris decided to spend three millions a year for some time to come on public works, so he forced them to borrow thirty millions at once, left them three and took the other twenty-seven into the Treasury, promising to pay it back as required, as at that junction he could think of no other way of meeting the pensions due to certain courtiers.

The irresponsibility of these favoured few was equalled
only by their arrogance, and in December, Roger heard of a particularly flagrant example of it. The Archbishop of Cambrai being out on a shooting party, trespassed on the property of one of his neighbours. Upon the gamekeeper of the adjoining property protesting, the Archbishop did not even deign to reply, but turned his gun on the man and shot him, wounding him grievously.

Yet, even at the height of the Treasury’s embarrassments, the King did not cease from ordering new battleships to be built, or M. de Calonne from financing the most wildcat schemes. One, that aroused much public interest, was put forward by a Monsieur Montgolfier who asserted that he had discovered a method of directing the flight of balloons and could run an air-freight service between Paris and Marseilles at a profit.

Roger was reminded by this of M. Joseph Fouché, who had given as his reason for blackmailing old Aristotle Fénelon his need for money to finance balloon experiments; and he wondered what had become of the lanky, corpse-like Oratorian teacher. On Roger’s remarking one morning to a group of people at the Abbé de Périgord’s, on M. de Calonne’s folly in adding to his difficulties by backing such hare-brained ventures, the Comte de Mirabeau, who was among them, declared with a laugh:

‘’Tis not that he had the faintest hope of profiting by it, but seeks to divert the people’s attention from far graver issues. He is endeavouring to buy time by the old expedient of giving the populace “bread and games”.’

‘He would be in no need to provide the latter could he but find the means to purchase the former,’ smiled de Périgord.

‘You have said it, Abbé,’ agreed the pockmarked Count. ‘’Tis certain now that half France will be faced with starvation again this winter; and, whether the King likes it or not, before the year is out he will be forced to call an Assembly of Notables. ’Tis the only resource he has left for pulling the country out of the mess it is in.’

‘But surely that would be tantamount to a surrender of the Royal prerogative and the granting of a Constitution,’ Roger objected.

The Count shook his leonine head. ‘Not necessarily. The nobility, the clergy and the provincial Parliaments would all be represented in an Assembly of Notables, so they
would, in the main, express the will of the nation. They would be asked to recommend measures for getting us out of our difficulties; but the monarch would not be bound to accept their advice. Yet it would be a step in the right direction, since once such a body is assembled who knows what powers it might not decide to take into its own hands. Maybe ’twould be the beginning of getting our addle-pated King where we want him.’

‘Think you the Court is not also aware of that?’ said the elegant Louis de Narbonne, with a cynical smile. ‘And ’tis for that reason the Royal Council will use all their weight to prevent such a project. No Assembly of Notables has been convened since 1626, and after having managed for a hundred and sixty years without consulting the nation ’tis unthinkable that the Court should expose itself to the perils of doing so now.’

Nevertheless, de Mirabeau proved the truer prophet, for so desperate were the straits in which M. de Calonne found himself by the end of the year that, on the 30th December, he himself advised the King to convene the Notables.

At this news public excitement reached fever pitch throughout the length and breadth of France, but with Roger it barely registered, as he heard that day that Athénaïs was expected back in Paris early in January.

She arrived on the eighth; Roger’s nineteenth birthday. When asked his age he still gave it as two years more than was the fact but in both appearance and manner he now looked all of twenty-one. During his teens he had had the good fortune to grow steadily, so that he had developed into a tall, dark young man nearly six feet in height and with shoulders in due proportion.

He was out on a mission for the Marquis, at the time of Athénaïs’s arrival; but, having learned of it on his return, he hung about the upper hall that evening in order to see her on her way to join her father in the drawing-room, before they went in to dinner. As she came down the passage she was giving an arm to Madame Marie-Angé, who, he thought, had aged greatly in the past few months and was walking slowly with the aid of an ebony stick.

They both stopped to greet him with the utmost kindness, and remained talking to him for a few moments. Athénaïs was looking ravishing after her sojourn by the sea, and her eyes sent him the sweetest messages that she could
not voice in front of her duenna. He had been puzzling his wits for weeks past as to how he could communicate with her in secret on her return, but he dared not trust any of the servants and had decided that he must wait to see how the land lay when she was actually in residence. To his joy she had evidently been thinking on the same lines and gave him there and then the opportunity that he was seeking.

‘Monsieur Breuc,’ she said sweetly, ‘you are so knowledgeable about books, and now that I am back in Paris I wish to read all the new ones that have been published during my long absence. I pray you make out a list of the best titles and bring it to me in my boudoir some time tomorrow morning.’

‘I will do so with pleasure. Mademoiselle,’ he replied, hiding by a low bow the delight he could not prevent showing in his face.

As they turned away from him the footman-in-waiting threw open the door of the drawing-room, and Roger caught a glimpse of its interior. The Marquis was standing near the fireplace, magnificent as ever in satin and lace, and with him was a younger man, much more plainly dressed.

The visitor was about twenty-five years of age, tall, well-built, and good-looking. Roger could not suppress a twinge of jealousy at the thought that this handsome stranger was about to dine with Athénaïs; and his jealousy was by no means lessened when, on inquiring of Monsieur Roland later that evening, he learned how the young man came to be there.

‘He is the son of M. de la Tour d’Auvergne,’ the major-domo informed him, ‘and he escorted Mademoiselle from St. Brieuc to Paris. I have it from his valet that he met Mademoiselle at her aunt’s and has formed an attachment to her; so decided to accompany her hither.’

Somewhat perturbed, Roger made his way to his room. He could not possibly complain of Athénaïs’s reception of him, yet it was something of a shock to think that she had actually brought a suitor for her hand to Paris with her. Of the young man he knew nothing, except that his lineage was irreproachable. The family of de la Tour d’Auvergne was as old as that of Hugh Capet who had founded the Royal dynasty of France. There were streets in half the towns of Brittany named after them and Roger recalled having heard it said that, so proud were they of their name
that, centuries ago, they had taken for their motto: ‘I am not Marquis, Duke or Prince; I am de la Tour d’Auvergne,’ so it seemed unlikely that M. de Rochambeau could have any grounds for refusing to give the young man his daughter.

Roger tried to console himself with the thought that since Athénaïs must marry someone during the coming summer, and it could not be himself, it was fortunate for her that it should be a man of a suitable age and pleasing appearance. He then sat down to write her a long love letter, putting into it all the things he had thought of and would have liked to include in letters to her, had he dared to write to her during the past two months. After which he made out the list of books, and went to bed.

In the morning, as soon as the Marquis had settled himself in his sanctum, he called Roger in and said to him:

‘Breuc, we have a visitor staying with us; M. le Vicomte de la Tour d’Auvergne. You will, of course, know the name. His is one of the few great families that have consistently rejected the blandishments of the Court for the past three reigns; preferring to live in the old feudal manner on their estates rather than succumb to the attractions of Versailles. In consequence, M. le Vicomte has never before been in Paris; but he now plans to spend some months here. He will require a lodging, but it should not be too expensive, as his family is only moderately well off. As he does not know the town, I wish you to wait upon him this afternoon and go out with him in search of accommodation suited to his means.’

Having assured the Marquis of his diligence in the matter, Roger returned to his work, then at midday went up to Athénaïs’s boudoir.

Madame Marie-Angé was there with her and, in front of the duenna. Athénaïs treated him with casual friendliness; but, in the course of ten minutes’ conversation on the most successful novels of the day, he managed to pass her his letter and receive one from her.

Immediately he had taken leave of them he rushed up to his room to read it:

Roger, my dear one
,

The joy of beholding you again yester e’en was almost unbearable, but I beg you for my sake to use the greatest
circumspection. Madame Marie-Angé has I am sure guessed our love but little knows that we have confessed it to one another. She has a great affection for me and a high regard for you. But her sense of duty is stronger than either sentiment and were she to discover that our lips had met she would surely denounce us to my father. For me that would mean confinement within the grey walls of a convent, perhaps for life, and for you such dire punishment as makes me swoon to think upon. Therefore let utmost caution ever be your watchword in all our dealings
.

I have given much thought as to how we may at times be together yet keep our secret, and have devised a plan. There is at the top of the house in its east wing an old playroom. ’Tis dusty and neglected and no one ever goes there. I could on occasion, but not too frequently, go up there to seek out some old book or toy without arousing suspicion. Inquire circumspectly as to its situation and seek if there is not a way by which you could reach it, without danger to yourself across the roof. Its window looks out on some leads so can you but reach them unobserved ’twould be easy for me to admit you, and no one could observe me doing so from the street or any other window of the house
.

Anxious as I am to hear your dear voice and gaze upon you at my pleasure once again, caution dictates that we should not attempt a meeting until my father next goes without me to spend a night or more at Versailles
.

On the first evening of his absence I will await you in the playroom between six of the clock and seven. Come to me if you can, dear Miller’s youngest son
.

Thine in love
,

Athénaïs Hermonie
.

Wild with elation Roger kissed the divine missive a score of times, and could hardly contain his impatience to find out the situation of the playroom which promised him more joys than heaven had to offer. Having thought the matter over during his midday meal he decided that the room probably lay at no great distance from his own, on the far side of the ridge of slates that obstructed the view from his window; since, in the east wing of the house, there seemed no other place where it could be, and he knew that another staircase serving Athénaïs’s apartments ran up in that direction.

As soon as he had finished eating he returned to his room, climbed out of his window on to the leads and made his way round the high, sloping roof on their far side. Sure enough, beyond it lay another flat stretch of leads and a dormer window similar to his own. It was very grimy and the inside of its panes were half covered with cobwebs; but on peering through it he could make out an old rocking-horse, and knew that he had found his goal.

In his excitement he had forgotten all about M. de la Tour d’Auvergne, but on going downstairs he found him quietly waiting in the hall. The Vicomte proved to have a good straight nose, prominent chin, clear grey eyes and auburn hair. He was a little under Roger’s height and was well but simply dressed.

On Roger introducing himself and apologising for his lateness, the Vicomte said in a pleasant voice: ‘Please do not distress yourself, Monsieur Breuc. I have oceans of time, whereas you, as M. de Rochambeau’s secretary, must be a very busy man. ’Tis I who should apologise for adding myself to your other burdens.’

Such words from a noble to a secretary were so unusual that Roger could hardly believe his ears; but his reactions in such circumstances had always been swift, and with a flash of his white teeth he bowed a second time. ‘Monsieur le Vicomte, your charming consideration makes me doubly eager to be of service to you. I pray you to command me not only this afternoon but at any time during your stay in Paris.’

The other laughed. ‘’Tis a rash offer, Monsieur; since I hope to be here till summer at least; and as I like your looks I may take you up on it. But come! I am agog for you to show me this mighty city.’

Putting on their top-coats they went out to the waiting coach and drew the warm furs in it about their legs. When the coachman asked for directions the Vicomte declared that there would be ample time for him to find lodgings later and that this afternoon he wished to see something of the capital; so for the next two hours they drove in and out through the narrow streets while Roger pointed out the sights of interest.

On closer acquaintance he fell more than ever under the quiet charm of M. de la Tour d’Auvergne. The Vicomte was so certain of himself that it clearly never even occurred
to him to make a parade of his nobility. Whenever the coach stopped and they got out to view a church or monument he asked his questions of vergers, and others to whom they spoke, with simple directness, and never failed to thank them courteously for their trouble. His manner had no resemblance to the exquisite grace which characterised the Abbé de Périgord but was so spontaneous and friendly that Roger was reminded by it of the best type of English gentleman. He was, too, extremely frank about his affairs and, as far as Roger was concerned, somewhat embarrassingly so; since on their way home he took occasion to remark: