The Launching of Roger Brook rb-1

by Dennis Wheatley

  Even the common people seemed more colourful than those in English provincial cities, as the grisettes aped the fashions of their betters, the postilions and footmen were all dressed in gaudy liveries, and the sober black of the countrywomen who had come into market was relieved by their picturesque local head-dresses of white lace.

  The goods of the shopkeepers in this busy centre were displayed not only in the bow windows but also on trestles outside their shops and the wealth of articles they offered struck Roger as in strange contrast to the dire poverty of the fishermen he had just left.

  The street was so crowded with vehicles and its sides so cluttered with stalls that half-a-dozen times Roger had to dodge beneath the heads of horses, or swerve to avoid the wheel of a coach, in order to escape being run over. But at every opportunity he paused to sniff up the spicy scent that came from an epicene or to stare into a shop window in which, to him, unusual goods were displayed.

  Behind the narrow panes of one halfway down the street he saw an array of swords, and stopped to look at them. In England, civilians no longer wore swords habitually, but he had been quick to notice that here in France, every man who, from his raiment, had any pretension to quality carried a sword at his side: in fact it was obviously the hallmark by which the gentry distinguished themselves from their inferiors.

  His delight in arms had often led him to regret that the fashion of carrying a sword had gone out at home; and the next day or two, until he could get a passage back to England, offered an excellent opportunity to indulge himself in such a foible. For a moment he hesitated, the carefulness inherited with his Scots' blood causing him to wonder if the expense was really justified for a few hours' amusement, but he found a ready pretext in the thought that nothing could make a more satisfactory and lasting souvenir of both his first day alone in the world and of his visit to France; so he entered the shop and, in a carefully chosen phrase, asked to look at some of the swords.

  The armourer at first produced several court swords suitable to Roger's height, but as he would have to put his purchase away on his return to England he decided to buy a proper duelling weapon of a man's length which he could use when fully grown if ever he was called out.

  The man hid a smile and laid a number on a long strip of velvet for Roger's inspection. They varied in price from a pistol to six louis, according to their condition and the ornamentation of their hilts, so most of them were beyond Roger's pocket. After testing several he selected one that had been marked down to a louis and a half, on account of its plain old-fashioned hilt, but had a blade of fine Toledo steel.

  On his taking out his money to pay for it he explained that he had only just landed in France and the armourer readily agreed to send one of his apprentices along the street to have it changed at the nearest bank, so Roger asked for three of his remaining guineas to be changed.

  While the lad was gone Roger chose a frog, which cost a crown, for attaching the sword to his belt, and buckled it on. The change arrived as twenty-four crowns and at first Roger was a little puzzled by it. He knew that a French louis was the equivalent of an English pound, but a crown in England meant five shillings so it looked as if his three guineas had miraculously turned into six louis. The armourer smilingly explained to him. A louis was worth twenty-four litres, or francs as they were now beginning to be called; a pistol twenty and a French crown only three, or half the value of an English one; so he had been given the French equivalent for his money less a shilling in the guinea, which had been deducted for the exchange.

  Having paid thirteen crowns for his purchases he pocketed the remaining eleven three franc pieces, thanked the armourer and left the shop with a little swagger at the thought of the fine figure he must now cut with the point of his long sword sticking out behind him.

  A few doors farther down he noticed a hat shop and suddenly realised that, having lost his own, he probably did not cut such a fine figure after all. The defect was soon remedied by the purchase of a smart high-brimmed tricorne with a ruching of marabout which cost him another three crowns. It was somewhat elaborate by contrast with his plain blue cloth coat but definitely in the fashion of the French gentlemen who were passing up and down the crowded street.

  It next occurred to him that he would need a few toilet articles for the night and a change of linen, so he turned back towards the quay and visited several other shops he had noticed, including a tanner's where he bought himself a leather bag, and a mercer's, at which, amongst other things, he selected a fine lace jabot that he put on there and then in place of his own crumpled linen neck-band.

  His purchases completed, he suddenly realised that he was very hungry so he turned into a patisserie. On looking round he was astonished at the wonderful variety of cakes and sweets displayed, most of which he had never seen in England. Seating himself at a little marble-topped, gilt-edged table, he ordered hot chocolate and soon made heavy inroads into a big dish of cakes, sending in due course for more chocolate Eclairs, as he found this admirable invention of Louis XIV's most famous chef particularly delightful.

  To his relief he had found on his shopping expedition that, whereas the Normandy patois of his rescuers had been almost incomprehensible to him, he had little difficulty in understanding the French spoken by the townsfolk. By asking them to speak slowly he could usually get their meaning, anyhow at a second attempt, and by thinking out carefully what he wished to say himself before speaking he had succeeded quite well in making himself understood.

  On paying his score he asked the white-coated pastrycook behind the counter if he could recommend a good clean inn which was not too expensive.

  "Monsieur," declared the man with a smiling bow, "You could have asked no one better than myself. Go to Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys. down on the Quai Colbert. There your lordship will find soft beds and excellent fare for the modest sum of a crown a day; also a cellar renowned and company of the most distinguished. The host, Maitre Picard, is an honest man and will serve you well. He is my uncle by marriage, so I can vouch for him. Please to mention me and you will lack for nothing."

  The recommendation sounded so good that Roger did not hesitate to accept it and, having secured directions from the pastry-cook, he set off to Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys.

  When he reached it he was a little disappointed. The inn was a small one in an old and poor part of the town, and its exterior had long lacked paint, but it overlooked the Bassin Vauban where much interesting shipping activity was in progress and Roger felt that he could not expect to lodge in a palace for three francs a day; so he went in and asked for the host.

  Maitre Picard proved to be a fat, oily-looking man of lethargic habits, but he was quick enough to smell money in Roger's smart feathered hat and fine lace jabot. Washing his hands with invisible soap and bowing at every sentence with the servility of his tribe he confirmed the terms that Roger had been given and took him up to an attic room. As he saw his prospective guest's look of distaste at such poor accommodation he hastened to explain that there were rooms more suitable to a gentleman of his quality on the lower floors, but they ran from six francs to a half pistol a day.

  Having turned down the bed and seen that the cotton sheets were clean, Roger decided that even small economies now would help him to make a better show when he got to London; so he told the landlord that as he would not be staying for more than a few nights the room would serve.

  Mattre Picard then inquired about supper. A pot-au-feu followed by a dish of vegetables and petit coeurs a la Reine—the cream cheese of the locality—were in with the price of the room. But the English milor would not find such simple bourgeois fare at all to his taste. No doubt he would wish a turbot and a chicken cooked to supplement them?

  Full as he was with cream-filled chocolate eclairs, Roger felt that at the moment there was nothing he would wish less, and he said so; adding that when supper-time came he felt sure that a bowl of soup and some cheese would prove ample for his needs.

  Resentful now that he should
have been deceived into believing his customer a man of wealth by the feathers and lace he wore, the landlord gave a surly nod and shuffled from the room.

  Roger unpacked his few belongings, then, bolting the door, undid his clothes and took the knobbly sausage of gold trinkets from round his waist. It had chafed him considerably so he was much relieved to be free of it, but he wondered now what to do with his treasure. As he knew, its bulk and weight made it awkward to carry done up in a packet in one of the pockets of his coat yet if he distributed it about his person he felt that here, in this crowded city, he would run a considerable risk of losing some of it through having his pockets picked. After a little thought he decided that if he could find a safe place his best course would be to hide it for the night somewhere in the room.

  A careful inspection of the floor revealed a loose board under the deal washstand, so he prized it up and thrust his hoard as far under it as he could reach. He had hardly got the board back into place when there came a knock on the door.

  Swiftly adjusting his clothes he opened it to find outside a spotty, depressed-looking little chambermaid who had come up to ask if he required anything.

  Taking off his crumpled blue coat he asked her if she could press it for him and let him have it back as soon as possible.

  When she had gone he re-examined his business-like-looking sword with the keenest pleasure and made a few passes with it; but he soon wearied of this and began to wonder how best to amuse himself. The window of the attic did not look out on the Bassin Vauban but on to the narrow, dirty stableyard of the inn. The dinner hour was long since past and that of supper, even if he had wanted it, not yet come. So he decided to take a turn along the quays and look at the shipping, while it was still light. As soon as the chambermaid brought back his coat he put it on and, going downstairs, went out on to the wharf.

  After an hour's walk he returned to Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys and went into its parlour. The "company of the most distinguished" promised by the pastry-cook turned out to consist of two men engaged in a game of backgammon, who looked like ill-paid sea captains, an old man in a blue cloth suit, with a shock of white hair, a fine forehead and watery blue eyes, and a lanky fellow of about thirty dressed in a red velvet coat that looked somewhat the worse for wear. The old man was staring vacantly in front of him while he toyed with a tot of spirits and Roger decided that he was either dotty or three-parts drunk; the man in the red velvet was reading a badly-printed news-sheet through a quizzing glass, but he lowered it as Roger came in, gave him a sharp glance, and, bowing slightly, said: "Good evening to you, Monsieur."

  As Roger returned the bow and the greeting, the man went on in an amiable tone: "Pray, pardon my apparent curiosity, but are you a casual visitor here? Or have you, perchance, taken a room in this pestiferous hostelry?"

  Roger admitted to the latter and asked: "And you, Monsieur?"

  "For my sins I have been lying here some ten days," came the prompt reply. "And I am near dying of boredom; so 'tis a most welcome diversion to see a new face."

  "If you dislike it here, why do you remain?" Roger inquired with a smile.

  "I am forced to it," the lanky individual answered, his long face breaking into a wry grin. "I owe the plaguey landlord a trifling sum— a mere bagatelle of eighty crowns or so—and he has had the impudence to seize my baggage as surety for its payment. So I must needs remain here till the funds that I am expecting daily, reach me."

  Roger had to ask for parts of this to be repeated more slowly, explaining that he was an Englishman who had only that day arrived in France.

  "You astound me," exclaimed his new acquaintance. "The little French you have spoken is so excellent that I had no idea you were a foreigner."

  "You flatter me, Monsieur," said Roger, a flush of pleasure mount­ing to his face. "But 'tis the fact."

  The man in red stood up and bowed: "Permit me to introduce myself. I am the Chevalier Etienne de Roubec. Your servant, Monsieur. I am charmed to welcome you to my country. My only regret is that this temporary lack of funds deprives me of the happiness of doing its honours towards you in a fitting fashion."

  Standing up Roger bowed and introduced himself in turn, then as they sat down again he said: "You were telling me, Monsieur le Chevalier, why it is that you remain on at Les Trois Fleur de-Lys?"

  "Ah, yes," the Chevalier smiled and using simple phrases he went into a somewhat longer explanation, including an account of how he had had his pocket picked of a purse containing a hundred and twenty Louis, this being the original cause of his present embarrassment.

  As Roger listened, striving to get the meaning of the less usual words through their context, he had ample opportunity to study the Chevalier's face. His brown eyes were quick and intelligent; a small scar on his left cheek ran up to the corner of one of them pulling it down a little and giving him a faintly humorous expression. His mouth was full and sensual, his chin slightly receding and his teeth bad, but he had a cheerful, vivacious manner and, as Roger had been feeling distinctly lonely during his hour's walk, he was glad to have someone with whom he could talk as a friend.

  De Roubec, was, it transpired, the younger son of the Marquis of that name, and he obviously expected Roger, even though an English­man, to have heard of this rich and powerful Seigneur. The family had great estates in Languedoc but his father was, of course, at Versailles, where he held a high appointment near the person of the King. On being robbed of his money the Chevalier had at once written to his parent and expected any day now to receive a considerable remittance from him. In the meantime his principal worries were, that he was ashamed to appear in the clothes he was wearing, since he had had on his oldest things and been out on a fishing expedition when the pestiferous landlord had confiscated all his better garments; and that lack of cash made it impossible for him to buy Roger a drink.

  Roger obligingly stepped into the breach, and, on the Chevalier declaring that Malaga was his favourite tipple, ordered a couple of glasses. He then gave a somewhat fictitious account of himself; saying that he had come to Le Havre, only to transact some business for his father, who was an English Admiral, and that having arrived by the packet boat from Southampton that morning he hoped to com­plete his business next day and return to England the following night.

  After they had been talking for about half an hour supper was announced by a wizened little fellow who did duty, both as waiter and barman. The old man in the blue suit, who, in the meantime, had been drinking steadily, remained where he was; but the two seafarers, De Roubec and Roger, crossed the narrow hallway of the inn to the coffee room, and the two latter agreed to share a table.

  Having by this time digested his surfeit of cream cakes Roger was agreeably surprised by the meal that was now served to them. In England, where few people except the poorest considered that a meal was not a meal at all unless it included an ample portion of red meat, the repast would normally have given rise to aggrieved complaint. But the soup had an excellent flavour, the dish of vegetables cooked in fresh butter proved a revelation as to how good vegetables could be when not swamped in water, and the cream cheeses were delicious. For the modest sum of a franc Roger found that he was able to buy a bottle of Bordeaux, and by the time it was empty the two new acquaintances were in splendid spirits, laughing together as though they had known each other for years.

  De Roubec set down his glass with a little sigh. '"Tis now," he said, "that I find my lack of funds provoking almost beyond endurance. 'Twould have been such a pleasure this evening to take you forth and show you something of the town. Le Havre is a poor place compared to Paris or Lyons but, even so, it has a few passably diverting establish­ments and 'tis a sad pity that as you are leaving for England again so soon you should not see them while you are here."

  " 'Tis monstrous good of you to suggest it," Roger replied "Un­fortunately I'm plaguey short of cash myself for the moment. I'll have ample when I've completed my business to-morrow, but I brought over only some twenty louis for
my immediate expenses and I laid out considerably more than half of that on my passage and in purchases this afternoon."

  The Chevalier shrugged his lean shoulders. "For twenty or thirty crowns we could have quite a good evening's sport. That is if you care to act as banker? But it must be on the firm understanding that I am host and will repay you any sum we expend when my money arrives. If you are already gone I will send it to you to England by a safe hand."

  Roger barely hesitated. His native caution warned him that it would be tempting providence to run himself right out of cash before he had sold Georgina's jewels; but he reflected that he still had over six pounds so would have an ample safety margin if he blew three of them, and the idea of celebrating his first night as a free, grown man by going on the spree in this strange, foreign city, was tremendously exciting.

  "If twenty crowns will serve, I'm your man, and mighty obliged to you into the bargain," he declared with a laugh.

  So they left the table and collecting their hats and swords, went out on to the dark quay.

  Turning westwards along it De Roubec led Roger past the Arsenal into the narrow Rue de Paris and there knocked loudly on the door of a tall, shuttered house. The door was opened by a pock-marked manservant in a grey and silver slivery. He evidently knew the Chevalier and ushering them into the hall asked them to wait a moment while he fetched his master.

  A dapper little man clad in white breeches and a sky-blue silk coat then appeared.

  "Ah, my dear Chevalier!" he exclaimed with an elegant bow and a quick glance at Roger. "What a pleasure to see you again. You are, I take it, once more in funds and come to challenge Dame Fortune at my tables?"