The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Lewis Wingfield

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  WILL JEAN BOULOT COME?

  Two persons, from entirely opposite motives, were thinking aboutJean Boulot. Toinon, her wits sharpened by eavesdropping, saw plainlythat not a moment must be lost if she and her mistress were to besaved. It stood to reason that if the marquise was doomed, so was herfoster-sister, in order that the voice of the accuser might besilenced. The daring of the poor harassed lady had been admirable--shehad conspicuously shown the moral courage which in extreme peril goeswith breeding; but it would have been more prudent to have temporised.What use is there in making of oneself a sublime spectacle of defiantvirtue if there is no public to applaud? How many malefactors havemade "fine exits" sustained by the murmurs of a sympathetic mob, who,if executed in private, would have died screeching? Truth is a nicething in theory, but the practice of it in our sinful sphere too oftenleads to complications which would be avoided by appropriatemendacity.

  Toinon, much as she adored her mistress, had frequently deplored herblunt and uncompromising truthfulness. Knowing that she had a nooseabout her neck, which only required a pull from the abbe to tighten tostrangulation point, it was vastly foolish to cry out, "Do yourworst." She ought to have pondered and asked for time, have argued andimplored, have even shown signs of yielding, have trembled andblushed--have murmured in one breath that she would, yet wouldn't.Where is the man, however cunning, who cannot be hoodwinked by a womanif she seriously sets about the operation? Precious hours might thushave been gained--nay, days, by a skilful display of comedy. Boulotmight be even now upon the road, and arrive too late to be of use,owing to the inopportune sublimity of the too artless chatelaine.Having defied the arch-conspirator, he would certainly act promptly.If Jean Boulot was to come to the aid of the two women, it must be atonce, or there was no use in his coming at all. The anxious abigailfelt that they were in precisely the same harrowing position as SisterAnne and Fatima. Was there nobody coming? The sand in the glass wasdripping all too swiftly. Was there no sound of approaching hoofs, nocurl of dust upon the way? Quite idly, in obedience to a whimsicalfancy due to restlessness, Toinon put on her hood, resolved to take astroll upon the road that led to Blois. She would see the cloud ofdust and rush towards it, cry out to honest Jean to use his spurs,chide him for his culpable delay.

  But Toinon, while deploring the mistakes of her mistress, was unawarethat she had herself been guilty of an error. It had been an act ofgross imprudence to threaten the abbe with Boulot as she had done whenshe met him on the landing. It set the abbe thinking of Boulot, whoseexistence he had well-nigh forgotten. Though there had been a tiff oran estrangement, the gamekeeper and the abigail were lovers. They hadbeen, and possibly still were, betrothed. It struck the abbe as not atall improbable that Mademoiselle Toinon had written to him anent thecake fiasco, and that her lover might inopportunely arrive to lookafter her safety. It was most obliging of the young woman to havevouchsafed a hint suggestive of such a contingency, and he would beguilty of gross ingratitude if he failed to act on it forthwith.Hence, when in pursuance of her fancy she moved across the yard to thearchway, where of old a portcullis used to hang, she was surprised toperceive that the ponderous entrance gates were closed, and that thekey had been removed from the lock. The concierge was leaning againstthe stonework smoking pensively, his hands plunged deep into hisbreeches pockets.

  "What does this mean?" cried the abigail, with an imperious frownwhich served to mask a new-born terror.

  "It means that the gates are locked, and will remain so," was thecomposed answer.

  "But I want to go out--I have a mission from madame to one of thecottagers hard by."

  "So sorry," returned the concierge, smiling roguishly. "Mademoisellemust remain within--a pretty little bird within a cage. Nay, I butobey my orders. If mademoiselle will deign to discuss the point,yonder is the porter's room. We shall be quite alone and undisturbed,and I will make myself agreeable to mademoiselle."

  There was a studied insolence about the man's manner--he had beenengaged quite recently--which made Toinon tremble. The fowler's netwas closing in; she already fluttered in the toils, but would attemptanother struggle to make assurance sure.

  "This castle is the property of the Marquise de Gange," she said,haughtily, "and the lacqueys who dwell therein eat her bread. I havewarned you that I am sent by her. Open that door immediately."

  The man puffed slowly at his pipe and gave a long reflective whistlethat spoke volumes. "Bread? Ah yes," he observed, abstractedly. "Thebread is excellent, but it is not hers. Such, at least, are myinstructions."

  "Impudent brute!" cried Toinon, stamping her foot. "I will report youinstantly to our mistress, and you will be dismissed at once. A prettypass, indeed! when I, her confidential maid, am to stand by and hearher insulted."

  "What is all this about?" demanded a big base voice behind, at soundof which the man put away his pipe and assumed an obsequious attitude.

  "It means, Mademoiselle Brunelle," retorted Toinon, trembling withire, "that Madame la Marquise is reaping the earthly reward of divineforbearance. But you can goad even her too far, as you had cause toknow when you were ignominiously expelled from the chateau."

  The dusky face of Algae darkened a shade, and her heavy mobile browslowered over her eyes with menace. She crossed her arms over her chestand gave vent to a rumbling laugh.

  "Circumstances alter cases," she observed, with exasperatingcomposure. "You always did me the honour to dislike me. When I ammistress here, it is you who will be expelled. You are silent?Come--that is better. Go to your room and mind your business, andperhaps no harm will come to you."

  "I will send over to Montbazon," returned Toinon, striving hard toconceal her growing terror. "M. de Vaux and the Seigneurie willinterfere for madame's protection."

  "Do you think so?" inquired Algae, with interest. "The de Vaux arenice people, if timid, who were always kind to me. I hardly think theyare likely to interfere."

  "What have you done?" asked Toinon, her heart sinking within her.

  "I had the honour to send a messenger to Montbazon this morning toannounce with deep regret that Madame la Marquise de Gange had beenseized with a malignant fever."

  "You did that?" gasped the abigail. "You know, you wicked woman, thatthe marquise is in perfect health."

  The concierge had withdrawn discreetly out of hearing, and with sturdylegs straddled apart, was softly whistling.

  No help was to be hoped for from that quarter, or from any other,apparently. The possibility of a casual visit from the inhabitants ofMontbazon had been skilfully prevented. The household was on the sideof the conspirators, just as this concierge was, no doubt of it.

  What sound was that? A horse's hoofs. Jean Boulot at last! The heartof the abigail gave such a leap that she staggered and would havefallen but for Algae's sustaining hand.

  The latter had also heard the ominous ring of hoofs, and seizingToinon roughly, began to push her towards the house.

  "Go in, you little fool," she hissed. "Cannot you see that you are aprisoner, and that your treatment depends upon your conduct."

  "I will not go," Toinon cried, tussling with all her strength againstthe iron grip of Algae. "It is Jean, by the goodness of Heaven, sentto succour us in time. Jean, Jean," she shouted; "it is I, Toinon. Weare alive, but in sorest peril."

  The cries of the luckless waiting maid died away in a gurgle. She wasrapidly pushed along by the ex-governess, who hurriedly unwound ascarf and twisted it tight about her mouth. Toinon was fainting andhalf-stifled when Mademoiselle Brunelle flung her within a door,closed it, and turned the key.

  With a supreme effort, Toinon freed herself from the scarf, and risingto her knees, applied an ear to the keyhole. Oh for a sound of thewelcome voice of Jean! Would he be deceived by a plausible tale and goas he had come? Surely not. After what she had told him in her letter,the fact of the closed gates would make suspicion certainty. He woulddemand admittance or depart to rouse
the neighbourhood. Perhaps he hadheard her outcry before she was gagged. Toinon crouched down inprofound thankfulness, and as she prayed glad tears poured down herface. Till this moment she had not quite realised the imminence of thedanger, and now that she fully knew it it was past, for Jean woulddemand to see his betrothed and the marquise. He was a great man now,and a powerful leader of the dominant party at Blois; always fearlessand honest, not now a man to dally with. Would the conspirators giveway at once, confess themselves beaten, sue for mercy? or would he becompelled to rouse the country and storm the grim fortalice as theother day the Bastille had been stormed? And then Toinon wondered whatwould come of that. Would he climb over the smoking ruins to find thetwo women murdered? No, no. Toinon's prayers had been answeredtardily, but they had been answered. The decree of Heaven had goneforth, and the wicked were to be discomfited.

  Vainly she strained her hearing to catch a sound of the dear voice,dearer, far dearer than she had ever dreamed. She could hear a leaf ofthe ponderous gate revolve on its rusty hinges, a horseman ride intothe courtyard. There was a colloquy in low tones. Heavens! what if shehad been mistaken! Yet who could the horseman be but Jean Boulot, thedeputy, or some one sent by him? She heard Mademoiselle Brunelle bidsome one, in commanding tones, to go in search of the abbe. "Tell himthere is important news," she said. "Here is a letter despatched inhaste from Blois. M. le Marquis de Gange intends to come hometo-morrow."

  Not Jean, then? The marquis home to-morrow! How by his arrival wouldthe position of the prisoners be bettered? Why was he coming hometo-morrow? Had something fresh transpired? He was a tacit accessory tothe villainous plot of the schemers. He was led in leash, a willingslave, by that wicked man and woman.

  No hope! No hope! Heaven had abandoned the victims. Overwhelmed by thequick revulsion from nascent hope to hopelessness, Toinon gave a moan,and sank swooning on the marble floor.