Lord Montagu's Page: An Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER IV.

  "Who is that boy?" said one of the early shopkeepers of Rochelle,speaking to his neighbor, who was engaged in the same laudableoccupation as himself,--namely, that of opening his shop for thebusiness of the day. At the same time he pointed out a handsome lad,well but plainly dressed, who was walking along somewhat slowly towardthe better part of the city. "Who is that boy, I wonder?"

  "He's a stranger, by that cloak with the silver lace," replied theother: "most likely come over in the ship that nearly ran upon the pierlast night. He carries a sword, too. Those English make monkeys even oftheir children; but he is a good looking youth nevertheless, and bearshimself manly. Ah! there is that worthless vagabond, Pierrot la Grange,speaking to him. And now Master Pierrot is coming here. I will havenaught to do with him or his." And, so saying, he turned into his shop.

  The other tradesman waited without, proposing in his own mind to askPierrot sundry questions regarding his young companion; for, although hehad no curiosity, as he frequently assured his neighbors, yet he alwaysliked to know who everybody was, and what was his business.

  Pierrot, however, had only had time to cross over from the other cornerof the street and ask, in a civil, and even sober, tone, where thedwelling of Monsieur Clement Tournon could be found, when the goodtradesman exclaimed, "My life! what is that?" and instantly dartedacross the street as fast as a somewhat short pair of legs could carryhim.

  Now, the street there was not very wide; but it was crossed by one muchbroader within fifty yards of the spot where the shopkeeper wasstanding, called in that day "Rue de l'Horloge." It may have gone by ahundred names since. The street was quite vacant, too, when Pierrotaddressed the tradesman; but the moment after, two sailors came up theRue de l'Horloge, and one of them, as soon as he set eyes on Master Ned,who was standing with his back to the new-comers, laid his hand upon hisshoulder and said something in a tone apparently not the most civil, forthe lad instantly shook himself free, turned round, and put his handupon the hilt of the short sword he carried. It seemed to the goodshopkeeper that he made an effort to draw it; but whether it fitted tooclose, or it had got somewhat rusted to the scabbard during the previousrainy night, it would not come forth; and in the mean time the sailorstruck him a thundering blow on the head with a stick he carried. Theyouth fell to the ground at once, but he did not get up again, and thetwo tradesmen ran up, crying, "Shame! shame! Seize the fellow!"

  "You've killed him, Tom, by the Lord!" cried the other sailor. "Youdeserve hanging; but get back to the ship if you would escape it. Quick!quick! or they will stop you."

  "He was drawing his sword on me!" cried our friend Tom, whosequarrel--not the first one--with Master Ned we have already seen as theship neared the Isle of Rhe. But, not quite confident in theavailability of his excuse, he took his companion's advice and began torun, turning the corner of the Rue de l'Horloge. One of the tradesmenpursued him, however, shouting, "Stop him! stop him!" and the malevolentscoundrel had not run thirty yards, when he was seized by a strong,middle-aged man, who was walking up the street with an elderly companionand was followed by two common men dressed as porters.

  The sailor made a struggle to get free, but it was in vain; and theshopkeeper, who was pursuing, soon made the whole affair known to hiscaptors.

  The elderly man with the white beard put one or two questions to theprisoner, to which he received no reply; for since that untoward eventof the Tower of Babel the world is no longer of one speech, and Tom wasmaster of no other than his own.

  "Take him to the prison," said the old man, addressing the two men whohad been following him. "Do not use him roughly, but see that he doesnot escape."

  "He shall not get away, Master Syndic," replied one of the porters; and,while the syndic was speaking a few whispered words to his companion,Tom was carried off to durance vile.

  The two gentlemen then walked on with the tradesman by their side, andwere soon on the spot where the assault had been committed. By this timea good many people had gathered round poor Master Ned; and the otherEnglish sailor had lifted the lad's head upon his knee, while Pierrotwas pouring some water on his face. The shopkeeper, to whom the latterhad been speaking when the misadventure had occurred, was trying tostanch the blood which flowed from a severe cut on the head; but themoment he saw the syndic approach he exclaimed, "Ah, Monsieur ClementTournon, this poor lad was inquiring for you when that brute felledhim."

  "Indeed!" said the old man, with less appearance of interest than mightperhaps have been expected. "Leave stopping the blood: its flow will dohim good; and some one carry him to my house, where he shall be welltended."

  Pierrot had risen from his knee as the syndic spoke, and now whispered aword in his ear, which he evidently thought of much consequence; but theold man remained unmoved, merely saying, "Not quite so close, my friend!I tell you he shall be well tended. Neighbor Gasson, for charity, calltwo or three of your lads and let them carry the poor lad up to mydwelling."

  At this moment the younger and stouter man who had seized and heldMaster Ned's brutal assailant suggested that it would be better to takethe boy to his dwelling, as it was next door but one to the house of thefamous physician Cavillac.

  "Nay, nay, Guiton," replied the syndic, "my poor place is hard by; andyours," he added, in a lower tone, "may be too noisy. You go and senddown the doctor,--though I think the lad is but stunned, and will soonbe well again. Pierrot la Grange, follow us up, if you be, as you say,his servant,--though how he happened to hire such a drunken fellow Iknow not. Yes, I know you, Master Pierrot, though you have forgottenme." Thus saying, he drew the personage whom he had called Guiton asideand spoke to him during a few moments in a whisper. In the mean time,two or three stout apprentices had been called forth from theneighboring houses; and the youth, being raised in their arms, was beingcarried along the Rue de l'Horloge. Clement Tournon followed quickly,leaving his friend Guiton at the corner; and at the tenth door on theleft-hand side the party stopped and entered the passage of a tall housestanding somewhat back from the general line of the street. It wasrather a gloomy-looking edifice, with small windows and heavy doorsplated on the inner side with iron; but whether sad or cheerful matteredlittle to poor Master Ned, for the state of stupor in which he lay wasnot affected by the act of bearing him thither, nor by the still moretroublesome task of carrying him up a narrow stairs. That he was notdead his heavy breathing showed; but that was almost the only sign oflife which could be discovered by a casual observer.

  "Carry him into the small room behind the saloon," said ClementTournon, who was at this time following close; and in another minute thelad was laid upon a bed in a room situated in the back of the house,where little noise could penetrate, and which was cheerful and airyenough.

  "Thank you, lads; thank you!" said the syndic, speaking to theapprentices. "Now leave us. You, Pierrot la Grange, stay here: undresshim and get him between the sheets."

  The noise and the little crowd going up the steps had brought forthseveral women-servants, belonging to Monsieur Tournon's household, inlarge, helmet-shaped, white caps; and, after gazing in silence for amoment or two, with wonder and compassion, upon the handsome palecountenance, all bedabbled with blood, of the poor lad, they began tomake numerous suggestions to their master, who answered nothing, butinquired, "Where is Lucette?"

  She was gone, they told him, to Madame Loraine's school; and then,rejecting all their counsels, and merely telling them that Dr. Cavillacwould soon be there, he ordered the room to be cleared of every one butPierrot and himself.

  The old syndic paused for a moment or two after his commands had beenobeyed, gazing upon the pale face before him with a look of greaterinterest than he had yet suffered to appear upon his countenance. Then,suddenly turning to Pierrot, he said, "Now tell me all you know aboutthis youth. Who is he? What did he come hither for? What is his businesswith me?"

  "What is his business with you, Monsieur Tournon? I do not know,"replied Pierrot la Grange. "What he came hither for was to
bring lettersor messages from England; and as to who or what he is or was, that isvery simple. He is Lord Montagu's page."

  "And his name?" asked the syndic.

  "We used to call him Master Ned," replied Pierrot. "That was when I waswith the English army in the Isle de Rhe; but his name by rights, Ibelieve, is Edward Langdale." The old man continued silent; and Pierrot,whose tendency to loquacity easily broke bounds, went on to tell howEtienne Jargeau had received, some days before, information that MasterNed would arrive upon the coast on business of importance, withdirections to have a small beacon-fire lighted that night, and everynight after, on a little hill just above the _trou bourbe_, till the ladappeared. "You know Jargeau used to be a retainer of the Prince deSoubise, monsieur," Pierrot continued; "but of late he has left hisservice and has gone over--some say bought--to the French party."

  "I trust we are all of the true French party," replied Monsieur Tournon."But the lad landed last night, you say. Had he no baggage with him?"

  "Yes, two large leather bags with padlocks on them," rejoined Pierrot:"they are left safe under lock and key at the Coq d'Or, where we wereobliged to rest last night because the guard was so sound asleep that wecould not wake them to let us in."

  "Ay? so sluggardly? This must be amended," said the syndic. "At the Coqd'Or, in the suburb? That is no safe place for such bags."

  "So I was just thinking," replied Pierrot: "I will go up and fetch them.He has got the key of the room in his pocket."

  The worthy gentleman made a movement toward the bed, as if to takethe key; but Clement Tournon stopped him with a somewhat sarcasticsmile, saying, "If the Coq d'Or is no safe depository, Pierrot la Grangeis no safe messenger."

  The man's face flushed. "You do me wrong, sir!" he exclaimed. "Badenough I may be; but I never stole a thing in my life."

  "Not a cup of brandy?" asked the syndic, with another smile.

  Pierrot laughed. "Fair booty, fair booty!" he cried: "strong waters arefair booty everywhere, monsieur."

  "Well, I suspect you of nothing worse," replied Tournon; "but, if youwere once to go for the bags, Heaven knows when we should see you again;and then you would come without the bags; for there would be plenty ofpeople to lighten you of your load. Besides, the people of the cabaretwould not let you take them. I will send my head-polisher with you andgive him an order to receive the baggage in my name. They dare notrefuse my order. Get the key gently. I do not love putting my hands intoother people's pockets."

  As soon as the key had been obtained, Clement Tournon led his companioninto a large, curious-looking apartment on the floor below, where roundthe room appeared a number of dingy glass cases, through the small panesof which came the gleam of various articles of gold and silver, while indifferent parts of the room were several anvils and work-benches, withsome half-dozen men filing, hammering, and polishing. Near the windowwas a tall desk within a sort of iron cage, and two clerks writing.Every thing was orderly in the house of Clement Tournon; and, advancingto one of the scribes, he directed him to write the order he hadpromised, saw it made out and signed it, and then called a strong,middle-aged man from a bench, whom he ordered to accompany Pierrot tothe tavern and return with him. He then took his way back to the littleroom behind the great saloon and sat down by the bedside of Master Ned,murmuring, "Poor boy! poor boy! He reminds me of my own poor Albert."

  Ere five minutes were over, he was joined by the physician,--a mancelebrated in his day, well advanced in years, and with that peculiarlook of mysterious noncompromising solemnity which many a doctor stillaffects, and which was then as necessary to the profession as rhubarb.As a description of medical treatment in those times, though it mightprove in some degree interesting to those who are fond of "picking thebare bone of antiquity," would neither interest nor instruct the generalreader, I will pass over in silence all the remedial means resorted toin the case of Master Ned. I only know that cataplasms were applied tothe soles of his feet, and that some blood was taken from his arm. Thedoctor, after examination, declared that the skull was notfractured,--which might well have been the case; for, by a curiousarrangement of nature, those whose brains are the best worth preservinghave uniformly the thinnest cases in which to put them. "No, the skullwas not fractured," Monsieur Cavillac said; but the lad had received asevere concussion of the brain, which was sometimes worse. He, however,held out good hope, though he told the syndic that he did notanticipate any change till the sun went down, and read him a lectureupon the effect of the various changes of the moon, and even of the day,upon the human frame, assuring him--a fact in which many stillbelieve--that a scotched viper never dies till the sun sets.

  After he was gone, Clement Tournon took care to have all the directionscarried out to the letter, and the cataplasms had just been prepared andapplied when Pierrot and the polisher returned with the bags.

  "Take him below," said the syndic, addressing his workman, andindicating Pierrot by a nod of his head toward him,--"take him below,and let him feed with our people; but take care that he does not get atstrong drink. Now, keep this place as quiet as possible, but tell oldMarton to come here in half an hour: for I have affairs, and must go atthat time."

  "Can I not stay and attend upon my young master?" asked Pierrot, in arespectful tone.

  "No," said the syndic, dryly: "men who drink are always noisy."

  When left alone with the door shut, what imaginations came upon the goodold merchant! "Would that I knew the lad's errand!" he thought; and hiseyes turned toward the bags, which had been set down at the foot of thebed. "His letters must be in there," said Tournon to himself, "and thekey of the padlocks is doubtless in his pocket."

  Ah, Mr. Syndic, it is a moment of temptation.

  "Perhaps his business is matter of life and death, and an hour even maybe of vast consequence to me, to the city, to the Protestant cause.Indeed, it must be so, or they never would have sent him over in suchstormy weather." So said fancy,--a quality much more nearly allied tocuriosity than people think; and Clement Tournon rose from his seat. Butthe fine moral sense that was in him interfered. "No, never!" he said;"no, never! I will not touch them so long as he lives. They shall not befingered by any one in my house."

  Still, he felt strongly tempted; and after a while he rose again andwent to call Marton, feeling it would be better for him not to remain inthat room alone. His large-capped pippin-faced maid-servant was thenduly imbued with all the doctor's directions, warned to change thecataplasms every two hours and to keep the wet cloths on the head cool;and then Clement Tournon walked forth from his house toward the fine oldtown-hall.

  Marton sat and sewed. The invalid did not stir, and an hour passed by."It must be time to change the cataplasms," she thought: "he will notwake till I come back: would Heaven he could, poor lad!" and down shewent to the kitchen where what she needed had been left to keep warm.

  In the mean time, we may as well look about the room. It was a verypretty little chamber, well and even luxuriously furnished withal. Twowindows looked out to the back court, and the sunshine came in over alower house behind. The rays first fell upon a small writing-desk ofdark carved oak, then touched upon a small bookcase in the same style,well provided with books, and then upon a large armory, as it was thencalled, or wardrobe, as we should now term it. There was moreover acorner cupboard, also richly carved, with a glass door on two sides,showing a number of little knick-knacks selected with great taste, someivory figures exquisitely cut, and a child's sampler of not the bestneedlework.

  Suddenly the door opened, and, with a quick step, but so light that onecould not hear a footfall, there entered a creature that seemed like adream, or a fairy, or a wreath of morning mist with fancy to shape itinto the form of a young girl. She could not be more than fifteen yearsof age; but yet there were traces of early womanhood in neck andshoulders and rounded limbs. But we may have to describe her hereafter,and here we only stop to speak of the look of strange surprise whichopened the long, blue, deeply-fringed eyes more wide, and expanded
thenostril of the delicate nose, and raised the arched eyebrow, and showedthe pearl-like teeth between the rosy lips, as she beheld the pale andbloody figure of the poor lad lying upon her own bed. She stood for amoment in silent astonishment, and then was approaching slowly ontiptoe--as if her foot could have made any noise--toward the bedside,when a soft voice behind her said, "Lucette."

  She started and turned round, and the old syndic, who stood in thedoorway, beckoned her into the passage beyond.

  "My dear child," he said, "I have been obliged to give your room to apoor young lad who has been sadly hurt, because it was the only onewhere he could have perfect quiet. I will put you in the blue room onthe other side, where you may have some noise; but I know your goodheart will not let you feel annoyed at giving up your chamber for a dayor two to him and our good Marton, who has to nurse him."

  "I will nurse him myself," said the young girl, "or at least helpMarton. Annoyed, grandfather? Could you think I would be annoyed in sucha case as his? Poor fellow! I will go and speak to him." And, before theold man could tell her that it was in vain, she ran up to the bedside,and said, in a low, sweet voice, "Be of good cheer, young gentleman: wewill nurse and tend you till you are quite well."

  Her lips almost touched his ear as she spoke; and, whether it was thatthe soft breath fanned him sweetly, or that the sound of a woman'stongue had something that found a way to his heart when even hearingfailed, Ned Langdale turned suddenly in his bed, murmuring, "Mother,dear mother, do not leave me."