The Unspeakable Gentleman

by John P. Marquand

  X

  Mademoiselle, who had risen from her chair, where she had listened, onlyhalf understanding the conversation in a tongue foreign from hers, staredat the closed door, her lips parted, and her forehead wrinkled.

  "What have they been saying?" she asked. "Why are they afraid? Iseveryone afraid of this father of yours?"

  And then, impulsively, she seized me by the arm.

  "But it makes no difference. Come, it is our one chance; come quickly,Monsieur. I must speak to you, where he will not disturb us."

  "But where?" I asked, still staring straight before me; and then Inoticed a bolt on the morning room door. I sprang toward it and drew ithastily. "It will do no good to talk, Mademoiselle. If you hadunderstood--" And as I spoke, the enormity of the thing loomed stilllarger before me.

  "Mademoiselle, this morning he has robbed my uncle of a fortune, snatchedit from him here in this very room, and now he has threatened to movehis ships into midstream, and to open fire on the town! And Mademoiselle,he means to do it. I thought once--but he means to do it, Mademoiselle."

  She pursed her lips, and looked at me from the corner of her eye.

  "Pouf!" she said. "So you are growing frightened also. Yet I canunderstand. The Marquis always said that Captain Shelton could frightenthe devil himself."

  "Frightened!" I echoed, and the blood rushed into my cheeks.

  "Mon Dieu! Perhaps you are not. Listen, Monsieur, I am not taunting you.I am not saying he will not. He is serious, Monsieur, and you must leavehim alone, or perhaps I shall not get the paper after all, and remember,I must have it. My brother must have it, and he shall, only you must notdisturb him. He may shoot at the town, if he cares to, or murder youruncle. He has often spoken of it at Blanzy, but the paper is anothermatter. You must leave it to me."

  "To you!" I cried.

  "Precisely," said Mademoiselle. "You--what can you do? You are young. Youare inexperienced. Pardon me, but you would be quite ineffective."

  My cheeks flamed again. Somehow no sarcasm of my father's had bitten asdeep as those last words of hers. I do not know whether it was chagrin oranger that I felt at the bitter sense of my own futility. And she hadseen it all. As coldly and as accurately as my father, she had watchedme, and as coldly she had given her verdict. She was watching me now witha cool, confident smile that made me turn away.

  "Ah," she said, "I have hurt you, and believe me, I did not mean to."

  Something in the polite impersonality of her voice gave me a vagueresentment. She had moved nearer, and yet I could not meet her glance.

  "I am sorry" she said, and paused expectantly, but I could only stare atthe floor in silence.

  "Believe me, I am sorry."

  It might have been different if I had detected the slightest contrition,but instead I seemed only to afford her mild amusement.

  "There is no need to be sorry," I replied.

  "Ah, but there is!" she said quickly, "Last night you were very kind.Last night you tried to help me."

  I seemed to see her again, standing pale and troubled, while myfather watched her, coldly appraising, and Brutus grinned at heracross the room.

  "Mademoiselle" I began, "Anything that I did last night--"

  "Was quite unnecessary," she said, "And very foolish."

  I drew a sharp breath. The bit of gallantry I had on my mind to speakseemed weak and useless now.

  "Mademoiselle is mistaken" I lied smoothly, "Nothing that I did lastnight was on her account."

  "Nothing!" she exclaimed sharply, "I do not understand."

  "No, nothing," I said, "Pray believe me, anything I did, however foolish,was solely for myself. I have my own affair to settle with my father."

  "Bah!" cried Mademoiselle, tapping her foot on the floor, and oddlyenough my reply seemed to have made her angry, "So you are like all therest of them, stupid, narrow, calculating!"

  "If Mademoiselle will only listen," I began, strangely puzzled andsingularly contrite.

  "Listen to you!" she cried, "No, Monsieur, I have listened to you quitelong enough to know your type. I see now you are quite what I thought youwould be. I say you are entirely ineffective, and must leave your fatheralone. You do not understand him. You do not even know him. With me it isdifferent. I have seen the world. He is temperamental, your father, agenius in his way, and a little mad, perhaps. Leave him to me, Monsieur,and it will be quite all right. Last night, it was so sudden, that I wasfrightened for a moment. I should have remembered he is erratic and aptto change his mind. I should have guessed why he changed it. It is you,Monsieur. You have had a bad effect upon him. You have made him turnsuddenly grotesque. What did you do to him last evening?

  "Do to him?" I asked, stupidly enough. "Why, nothing. I listened to him,Mademoiselle, just as I have been listening to him all this morning."

  "And yet," she said, "it is your fault. Usually he is most well behaved.He is moderate, Monsieur. At Blanzy a glass of wine at dinner was all heever desired. For days at a time, I have hardly heard him say a word. TheMarquis would call him the Sphinx, and what has he been doing here?Drinking bottle after bottle, talking steadily, acting outrageously. Whatis more, he has been doing so ever since he spoke of returning home. Itell you, Monsieur, you must keep away from him, or perhaps he will dowith the paper exactly what he says. Pray do not scowl. Laugh, Monsieur,it is funny."

  "Funny?" I exclaimed, as stupidly as before. Mademoiselle sighed.

  "If the Marquis had only lived--how he would have laughed. It was odd,the sense of humor of the Marquis. Strange how much alike they were, theMarquis and your father."

  "It is pleasant that Mademoiselle and I should have something incommon," I said.

  Her gaze grew very soft and far away.

  "Not as much as they had. We never shall. I think it was because theyboth were embittered with life, both a trifle tired and cynical. Myfather thought there should be a king of France, and yet I think he knewthere could not be one. Your father--it is another story."

  "Quite," I agreed. "And yet Mademoiselle will pardon me--I fail to seewhat they had in common."

  "You say that," said Mademoiselle, "because you do not know him as wellas I do. Do you not see that he is a bitter, disappointed man? They wereboth disappointed."

  I examined the bolt on the door, and found it firm, despite its age. Iglanced over the long, low studded room, and moved a chair from thecenter to a place nearer the wall. Her glance followed me inquiringly,but I forestalled her question.

  "Mademoiselle," I observed, "was pointing out that she found somethingdroll in the situation."

  "And is it not droll you should have changed him?" she inquired, and yetI thought she looked around uneasily. "You have, Monsieur. He wascautious before this. He foresaw everything. He was willing to risknothing. He even warned the Marquis against attacking the coach."

  I began to perceive why the Marquis honored my father with hisfriendship.

  "Was attacking coaches a frequent habit of the Marquis?" I asked.

  "Has he not told you?" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.

  "One would hardly call our conversation confidential," I explained. "Isthat what you find so droll?"

  And indeed, she seemed in a rare good humor, and inexplicably gay. Acurious Mona Lisa smile kept bending her lips and twinkling in her eyes.The lowering clouds outside, the creakings of the beams and rafters underthe east wind, nor even the drab gloom of her surroundings seemed todampen her sudden access of good nature. The events she had witnessedseemed also to please her. Was it spite that had made her smile when shewatched my father and his visitors? Was it spite that made her smile now,as she gazed at the room's battered prosperity, and at my grandfather'sportrait above the mantlepiece, in the unruffled dignity of itsblackening oils?

  "It was the coach," said Mademoiselle, "of Napoleon at Montmareuil. Adozen of them set upon the coach. The lead horses were killed, and in aninstant they were at the doors. They flung them open, but he was notinside. Instead, the coach was filled
with the consular police. Thepaper, the paper they had signed, was at Blanzy, and your father hadagreed to rescue it in case of accident. He would not leave me, Monsieur,and he would not destroy the paper."

  She paused, and regarded me with a frown that had more of curiosity in itthan displeasure.

  "It was all well enough," she added, "until he heard of you, until youand he had dinner. It is something you did, something you said, that hasmade it all different. I ask you--what have you done to him? He was ourfriend before he saw you. Or why would he have ridden through half ofFrance with Napoleon's police a half a league behind him? Why did he riskeverything to bring out the paper when he might have burned it? Why didhe not sell it there? He might have done so half a dozen times. Why doeshe wait till now?

  "Do you know what I would say if you were older and less transparent? Doyou know?"

  An imperious, ringing note had entered into her voice, which made meregard her with a sudden doubt. About her was the same charm and mysterythat had held me silent and curious, the same unnatural assurance, andcold disregard of her surroundings; but her eyes had grown watchful andunfriendly.

  "I would say that you had turned him against us, and if you had--"

  "Mademoiselle is overwrought," I said.

  She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently, and compressed her lips.

  "I am never overwrought," said Mademoiselle. "It is a luxury my familyhas not been allowed for many years. I say your father was an honest man,as men go, and a brave one too, and that you have changed him, and I warnyou to leave him alone in the future. You do not know him, or how to dealwith him. I tell you his trifling about the paper is a passing phase, andthat you must not disturb him. No, no, do not protest. I know well enoughyou are not to blame. You must leave him to me. That is all."

  "It pains me not to do as Mademoiselle suggests," I said.

  "You mean you will not?" she flashed back at me angrily.

  "I mean I will not," I answered with sudden heat, "No," I added moreharshly, as she attempted to interrupt, "Now you will listen to me. Yousay I am a fool. You say I can do nothing against him. Perhaps not,Mademoiselle, but what I see is this: I see you in a dangerous situationthrough no fault of your own, and whether you wish it or not, I am goingto get you out of it. He has done enough, Mademoiselle, and this is goingto be the end. By heaven, if he looks at you again--"

  "But you said--" she interrupted.

  I did not have the chance to continue, for a hand was trying the latch ofthe door, and then a sharp knock interrupted me. My father was standingon the threshold. With a smile and a nod to me, he entered, and proceededto the center of the room, while I closed the door behind him, and boltedit again. If he noticed my action, he did not choose to comment. Instead,he continued towards the chair where Mademoiselle was seated.

  "I had hoped that you might get along more pleasantly, you and my son,"he observed. "Surely he has points in his favor--youth, candor, even acertain amount of breeding. You have been hard on him, Mademoiselle. Takemy word for it--he is to blame for nothing."

  "So you have been listening," she said.

  "As doubtless Mademoiselle expected," said my father. "I had hoped--"

  "And so had I," I said.

  He turned and faced me.

  "Hoped," I continued, raising my voice, "that you might enter here, andleave your servant somewhere else. I have wanted to have a quiet talkwith you this morning."

  If he noted anything unusual in my request, he did not show it, not somuch as by a flicker of an eyelash.

  "It has hardly been opportune for conversation," he admitted. "But now,as you say, Brutus is gone. He is out to receive a message I amexpecting, which can hardly be delivered at the front door. You weresaying--Doubtless Mademoiselle will pardon us--"

  "Mademoiselle," I went on, "will even be interested. I have wanted tospeak to you so that I might explain myself. Since I have been here Ifear I have been impulsive. You must lay it to my youth, father."

  He nodded a grave assent.

  "You must not apologize. It has been quite refreshing."

  "And yet I am not so young. I am twenty-three."

  "Can it be possible?" exclaimed my father. "I had almost forgotten thatI was so near the grave."

  "I came to see you here," I continued, "because, as my uncle said, youare my father. I came here because--because I thought--" I paused anddrew a deep breath, and my father smiled.

  "Why I came is aside from the point, at any rate," I said.

  "Indeed yes," agreed my father, "and have we not been over thematter before?"

  "If you had accorded me one serious word, it might have been different,"I continued; "but instead, sir, you have seen fit to jest. It is not whatyou have done this morning, sir, as much as your manner towards me, whichmakes me take this step. That you have brought a lady from France androbbed her, that you have robbed my uncle, and have threatened to fire onthe town--somehow they seem no particular affair of mine except for this:You seem to think that I am incapable of doing anything to hinder you,and frankly, sir, this hurts my pride. You feel that I am going to sit bypassively and watch you."

  I came a step nearer, but he did not draw back. He only continuedwatching me with a patient intentness, which seemed gradually to mergeinto some more active interest. His interest deepened when I spoke again,but that was all.

  "You feel I am going to be still, and do nothing, even after youdrugged me last evening. Did you think I would not resent it? You aremistaken, father."

  My father rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "I had not thought of it exactly so," he said, "yet I had to keepyou quiet."

  "So, if the tables were turned, and I were you, and you were I, you wouldhardly let matters go on without joining in?"

  "Hardly," he agreed. "You have thought the matter out very prettily, myson. It is an angle I seem to have neglected. It only remains to ask whatyou are going to do. Let us trust it will be nothing stupid."

  "I am glad you understand," I said, "because now it will be perfectlyclear why I am asking you for the paper, and you will appreciate anysteps I may take to get it."

  He cast a quick glance around the room, and seemed satisfied that we werequite alone.

  "Do I understand," he inquired, "that you have asked me for the paper?"

  I nodded, and his voice grew thoughtfully gentle.

  "You interest me," he said. "I have a penchant for mysteries. May I askwhy you believe I shall give it to you?"

  "I shall try to show you," I said, and tossed aside my coat and drew mysmall sword.

  He stood rigid and motionless, and his face became more set andexpressionless than I had ever seen it; but before he could speak,Mademoiselle had sprung between us.

  "You fool!" she cried. "Put up your sword. Will you not be quiet as Itold you?"

  "Be seated, Mademoiselle," said my father gently. "Where are your senses,Henry? Can you not manage without creating a scene? Put up your sword. Icannot draw against you."

  Mademoiselle, paler than I had seen her before, sank back into her chair.

  "I am sorry you find yourself unable," I said, "because I shall attackyou in any event."

  "What can you be thinking of?" my father remonstrated. "Engage me with asmall sword? It is incredible."

  "I have been waiting almost twelve hours for the opportunity," I replied."Pray put yourself on guard, father."

  His stony look of repression had left him. The lines about his mouthrelaxed again. For a moment I thought the gaze he bent upon me was almostkindly. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, and began slowly tounwind a handkerchief which he had tied about his right hand, disclosingseveral cuts on his knuckles.

  "I forgot that Captain Tracy might have teeth," he said. "Positively, myson, you become disappointing. I had given you credit for moreimagination, and instead you think you can match your sword against mine.Pray do not interrupt, Mademoiselle," he added, turning to her with abow, "it will be quite nothing, and we have neither o
f us had muchexercise."

  He paused, and carefully divested himself of his coat, folding it neatly,and placing it on the table. When it was placed to advantage, he drew hissword, and tested its point on the floor.

  "Who knows," he added, bending the blade, "perhaps we may have sportafter all. Lawton was never bad with the foils."

  We had only crossed swords long enough for me to feel the supple playof his wrist before I began to press him. I feinted, and disengaged,and a second later I had lunged over his guard, and had forced him togive back.

  "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed my father gaily. "You surprise me. What! Again?Damn these chairs!"

  A fire of exultation leapt through me. I grinned at my father over thecrossed blades, for I could read something in his face that steadied myhand. My best attack might leave him unscathed, but I was doing more,much more, than he had expected. I lunged again, and again he steppedback, thrusting so quickly that I had barely time to recover.

  "Excellent!" said my father. "You are quick, my son. You even have aneye."

  "Mademoiselle!" I called sharply. "The paper! In the breast pocket of hiscoat. Take it out and burn it."

  "Good God!" exclaimed my father.

  "You see," I said, "I have my points."

  "My son," he said, parrying the thrust with which I ended my last words,"pray accept my apologies, and my congratulations. You have a better mindand a better sword than I could reasonably have expected. Indeed, youquite make me extend myself. But you must learn to recover more quickly,Henry, much more quickly. I have seen too many good men go down for justthat failing. It may be well enough against an ordinary swordsman, myson, or even a moderately good one, but as for me, I could run youthrough twice over. Indeed I would, if--"

  "The paper, Mademoiselle," I called again. "Have you got it?"

  "Exactly," said my father. "The paper. If the paper were in my pocket,you, my son, would now be in the surgeon's hands. The paper, however, isupstairs in my volume of Rabelais. And now--"

  His wrist suddenly stiffened. He made a feint at my throat, and in thesame motion lowered his guard. As I came on parade, my sword was wrenchedfrom my grasp. At the same time I stepped past his point, and seized himaround the waist.

  "You heard, Mademoiselle," I cried. "The door!" and we fell together.

  My father uttered something which seemed very near a curse, and clutchedat my throat. I loosened my grasp to fend away his hand, and he brokeaway from my other arm, and sprang to his feet. Just as he did so therewas a blow, a splintering of wood. The door was carried off its hinges,and Brutus leapt beside him. The floor had not been clean. My fatherbrushed regretfully at the smudges on his cambric shirt.

  "My coat, if you please, Mademoiselle," he said. "I see you have it inyour hands. Gad, my son! It was a nearer thing than I expected. On myword, I did not know that Brutus was back."

  "He is like you, captain," said Mademoiselle, handing the coat to him."You are both stubborn."

  For some reason I could not fathom, her good nature had returned. It wasrelief, perhaps, that made her smile at us.

  "It is a family trait," returned my father.

  As though kicking down the door had been a simple household duty, Brutusturned from it with quiet passivity, and adjusted the folds of the bluebroadcloth with an equal thoroughness, while my father straightened thelace at his wrists.

  "Huh," said Brutus suddenly. Then I noticed that his stockings were cakedwith river mud, and that he had evidently been running. My father,forgetful of his coat for the moment, whirled about and faced him.

  "To think I had forgotten," he cried. "What news, you black rascal?"

  "Huh," said Brutus again, and handed him a spotted slip of paper. Myfather's lips parted. He seized it with unusual alacrity, read it, andtossed it in the fire. Then he sighed, like a man from whose mind a heavyweight of care has been lifted. The tenseness seemed to leave his slimfigure, and for an instant he looked as though the day had tired him, andas though another crisis were over.

  "He's there?" he demanded sharply.

  "Huh," said Brutus.

  "Now heaven be praised for that," said my father, with something that wasa close approach to fervor. "I was beginning to wonder if, perhaps,something had happened."

  Mademoiselle looked up at him demurely.

  "The captain has good news?" she asked.

  He turned to her and smiled his blandest smile.

  "Under the circumstances," he said, "the best I could expect."

  Still smiling, he smoothed his coat and squared his shoulders.

  "Our little melodrama, my lady, is drawing to its close."