The Launching of Roger Brook rb-1

by Dennis Wheatley

  Here in France everything was utterly different. The country people lived in the direst poverty and were treated, not like human beings but like animals, by a stupid, hidebound and stony-hearted nobility of whom, Roger felt, little Count Lucien was a typical repre­sentative. Even the townsfolk were a race apart, despising the peasants and in turn despised by the aristocracy. Owing to the decay of feudalism the whole system had become hideously false and distorted so that the links binding one class to another had now utterly disappeared, leaving gaping voids of hatred and envy where good will, trust and mutual service had once held sway.

  In this week of personal bitterness he became an inarticulate but fervid revolutionary; and, while quite illegally divorcing Athenais de Rochambeau from her caste, hoped that the day would soon come when the whole decadent French nobility might be stripped of its antiquated privileges and thrown upon a dungheap. Yet, beyond all, he longed as he had never longed before to return to the green and smiling fields of England.

  Morose and silent he laboured on at his work and did as he was bid by the senior apprentices without a murmur of complaint, but he was now counting the hours until a letter from his mother should bring him release from his bondage.

  At last, on the 16th of November, it arrived. Brochard handed it to him on his entering the office first thing that morning and gave him a look of curiosity as he remarked:

  "You must have friends who travel far afield, young man, to correspond with them in England."

  But Roger ignored the implied question, stuffed the letter in his pocket and, excusing himself hurriedly, dashed upstairs to read it. He was already cursing his short-sighted policy in not having asked his mother for funds with which to return, as now he would have to write again, and another three weeks must elapse before he could receive her reply with the money which would enable him to set out. In his mind he made a swift calculation. Three weeks would bring him to the 7th of December and allowing another four days, which should be ample for his journey, he should reach Lymington by the nth. Even with unforeseen delays he would be home in plenty of time for Christmas.

  With hasty, fumbling fingers he tore the letter open, and ran his eye swiftly down the close-written pages. The letter was only mildly reproachful and full of loving phrases. As he skimmed through it a paragraph near its end suddenly riveted his attention.

  In it, his mother urged him to write frequently, and said how relieved she was to hear that he was comfortably settled as, much as she would love to see him, it would be most ill-advised to return as yet. With time she hoped to bring about a softening of his father's heart, but Roger's conduct had angered him to such a degree that he had sworn never to receive him into the house again. As to the Admiral's going to sea, to her own great joy, apart from the fact that it would deprive her of seeing Roger, there would be no prospect of that for a long time to come. He had, early that month, been appointed C.-in-C, Portsmouth, and his command being so hear Lymington would enable him to practically live at home for the next two years.

  CHAPTER XIII

  FIRST LOVE

  Two years! At Roger's age that sounded like a life sentence. Aghast and dumbfounded, tears welled up into his eyes. As they misted over he could no longer make out his mother's fine writing and he dropped the letter on to his truckle bed. This then, was the price he must pay for his liberty. To slave for eight hours a day, week after week, in a musty office, to feed in a kitchen and sleep with five others in the sordid, depressing attic room. No holidays, apart from the principal Saints' days, were ever given; Saturday was a working day like all the rest and, even had there been some periods of leisure to look forward to, he had neither the money nor the friends with which to enjoy them. Yet, where could he go? What could he do? Other than continue to face this dreary round, which appeared to be his sole means of securing the bare necessities of life.

  Gamely he fought back the tears, blinked his eyes clear and picked up the letter again to read it through properly, in the hope that he might yet discover in it some ray of comfort. But there was none. Evidently his mother had read into his overdrawn picture of the position he had secured that he was content to remain where he was for the present unless his father was prepared to forgive and forget the past. She praised him for his initiative in having obtained a post of responsibility while still so young and said how fortunate he was to have been taken into the house of a kindly and respectable lawyer. The rest of the letter contained only local news and much good advice as to how he should care for his health through the winter.

  Her reference to the winter brought back to Roger's mind a problem that had been causing him much concern of late. Apart from a change of linen he had no clothes other than those he stood up in; and, now that it was mid-November, he sadly needed a warm coat.

  As his prospects of returning home had been so rudely shattered, it occurred to him that, while he could not ask his mother to send him money without loss of face, he could ask her to send him his wardrobe. Monsieur Brochard, who acted as cashier as well as second head in the office, would, he felt sure, give him his November pay in advance if he asked for it. Then he could buy himself a coat at once, still have cash in hand and, by selling some of his things that he did not particularly require when they arrived from England, make good the outlay he contemplated at the moment.

  This project helped a little to take his mind off the sad blow he had just received and, during the course of the day, he carried it out. The possession of the new coat, a good warm garment of maroon cloth with a big triple collar, cheered him considerably; and the next day being Sunday, he went to Mass in it.

  Roger had been brought up with a horror of Popish mummery, as the practices of the Roman Catholic church were then termed in England; but upon going to live at Maitre Leger's he had found himself in a most invidious position. None of the household, apart from the red-headed Douie, appeared to be particularly religious, and from their conversation it was clear that a number of them were actually free­thinkers; yet everyone in the household went to at least one service in the Cathedral every Sunday, and Roger was obviously expected to go too.

  As he was supposed to have come from a German province he had thought of saying that he was a Lutheran, but he soon realised that he would be inviting serious trouble for himself if he did. During his two months in France he had already learned that all Protestants were penalised there even more rigorously than were Catholics in England, and that Brittany was the most rabid of all Catholic strongholds. Not being of the stuff of which religious martyrs are made and fearing to add to the many difficulties with which he was already beset, he had decided, like King Henry of France and Navarre before him, that a quiet life was worth a Mass, and, taking the line of least resistance, had accompanied Julien Quatrevaux to St. Pierre.

  To his relief he found that most of his colleagues neither took Communion or went to Confession with any regularity; so, not being called upon to imperil his immortal soul, as he would have regarded so doing, he was able to attend the service simply as an interested spectator. The gorgeous robes of the priests, the pageantry of the ceremonial, the incense and the music all appealed to his imagination; and he thought the short but colourful ritual a great improvement on the long and uninspiring services he had been accustomed to attend in England; so he had formed the habit of going to Mass without a qualm.

  On this occasion a surprise was in store for him. There were no pews in the nave of the great Cathedral and the bulk of the congregation stood about in little groups, only the richer among them using stools or prie-dieu which were brought to church and carried home again by the servants who accompanied them. This led to people often changing their position during the course of the service and, about halfway through the Mass, a tall man having planted himself in front of Roger, he moved to a less congested place. From it, he suddenly caught sight of Athenais.

  For the remainder of the service he could not take his eyes off her and, at its end, he moved again so that she would have
to pass close to him on her way to the door.

  Flushed and excited he nerved himself to meet her glance as, having moved on an impulse, he was suddenly beset by an awful fear that he had deliberately offered himself to a new humiliation. Count Lucien was not with her, only Madame Marie-Ange and a footman, but her brother might have told her how he had had her uninvited visitor thrown out of the house and Roger, burning with shame at the memory, now dreaded that on seeing him her look would hold only contempt.

  Panicking at the thought he sent up a swift prayer that she would not see him after all; but it was too late—their eyes had met.

  For a second hers showed only surprise, then she made a slight inclination in response to his deep bow. When he raised his head again she was passing within a foot of where he stood. Suddenly she turned her dazzling smile full upon him. His heart missed a beat and he barely suppressed a gasp of astonished delight. By the time he could draw breath again, she was gone.

  For several moments he remained standing where he was, his eyes unseeing and quite unconscious of the crowd that was streaming about him towards the doors of the Cathedral. He knew that he was trembling but he could not collect his wits, then suddenly it dawned upon him how much difference that single radiant smile had made in his life.

  He might be condemned to daily drudgery and nightly irritations; he might be penniless and with only the most slender prospects of bettering his condition for a long time to come. But he still held the interest and friendship of the loveliest and most adorable person in the whole world. By remaining in Rennes, he could see her from time to time. If only he were patient Fate could not be so unkind as to fail to provide him with an opportunity of talking to her again.

  All Sunday afternoon and evening his mind was filled with delicious daydreams. Some powerful noble would besmirch the beautiful Athenais's name and he, Roger, would call the fellow out. As he thought of it he could feel the stretch of his shoulder muscles in the furious lunge by which he would drive his blade clean through the villain's black heart. Her coach would be beset by footpads one dark night and, single-handed, he would drive off the whole brutal gang, to receive as his reward for her rescue Count Lucien's apologies and the grateful thanks of the Marquis, her father. Better still, he would render some amazing service to his own country, for which King George would make him an Earl, or perhaps, a Duke; and he would then return to France as a resplendent nobleman himself to demand from the Marquis, Mademoiselle de Rochambeau's hand in marriage.

  But on the Monday, to the obvious surprise of Ruttot, he threw himself with an entirely new enthusiasm into his work. Overnight he had abandoned his wild imaginings. He had suddenly realised that as long as he remained a copyist he would be tied to his office stool all day, but if he could make himself really useful to Maitre Leger he might, like the senior clerks, sometimes be entrusted to conduct outside missions; he might even be given the de Rochambeau papers to handle, and thus be provided with an adequate reason for making frequent visits to Athenais's home.

  For some days, apart from Ruttot's praise, the great improvement in his work gained no recognition; but towards the end of the week it brought him a quite unexpected amelioration of his lot.

  It so chanced that Maitre Leger, who was generally so absorbed in his own affairs that he had hardly spoken to Roger since engaging him, had to go out on the Saturday morning to keep an exceptionally early appointment. On his return he found Roger and Colas still cleaning out the front office. Pausing in the doorway, a frown of disapproval on his sharp features, he said to Roger:

  'Why are you down so early, Breuc, and thus engaged? 'Tis for the junior apprentice to clean out the offices. And, even if they have counted you as such so far I will have it so no longer. Your work has greatly improved of late and 'tis not right that a competent copyist should be put to such menial tasks."

  Flushing with pleasure, Roger thanked him and determined to redouble his efforts. Little Colas was furious, but there was clearly no appeal from this decision of the master, so, henceforth, Roger was enabled to enjoy an extra half-hour in bed each morning.

  Next day he was at the main door of St. Pierre half an hour before High Mass was due to begin, but, although he stood there until the service had got well under way, he did not see Athenais arrive. Thinking she might have entered the Cathedral by one of the other doors he went in and moved about as discreetly as he could among the crowd, but his search for her was in vain. This was a grievous disappointment as the whole of his leisure during the past week had been given to the anticipation of seeing her again and being the recipient of another of her divine smiles.

  In bed that night he tortured himself with all sorts of probable and improbable reasons for Athenais's non-appearance at Mass. She had been taken ill; was perhaps at death's door, and he was powerless to help her. Madame Marie-Ange had seen her smile at him the previous Sunday and, like Count Lucien, disapproving of the association, had insisted on taking her to hear Mass somewhere else. She had repented of her kindness and later, feeling angered at his presumption in forcing himself upon her notice, had determined not to allow such a situation to arise again. On the other hand, she had, perhaps, been looking forward to seeing him as much as he had been to seeing her, but Madame Marie-Ange had told Count Lucien of the episode and he had told his father; upon which Athenais's harsh and brutal parent had locked her up on a diet of bread and water. This last fantasy filled him with hot indignation and, at the same time, an almost unbearable thrill from its wild assumption that she might conceivably love him and have accepted suffering rather than agree to give him up.

  A surly order from Hutot, to get the rope from under the bed as he meant to go out, brought Roger back to earth. Then, shivering from the cold night air, he snuggled down into his narrow bed again, and told himself that it was no good building "castles in the air" and that he must get through the coming week with such patience as he could, till next Sunday brought mm another possibility of seeing Athenais.

  Yet, when the longed-for day came he had no luck. Neither did he on the following Sunday, although he attended every service at the Cathedral from dawn onwards and searched each crowd of worshippers, with frantic eyes, for his beloved.

  In the week that followed, however, he met with real good fortune in another direction. On the Tuesday word ran round the house that Madame Leger was at last expected back from Paris on the coming Friday, and from the pleased looks of his colleagues it was clear to Roger that this lady was universally popular with her household. She arrived by the diligence that set its passengers down at the Hotel des Postes at six in the evening, and at that hour the whole staff crowded into the hallway to welcome her on her return.

  As one of the most junior among them Roger modestly took his place right at the back of the hall, so on her entrance his view of her was obscured by the tall, pimply Monestot, who was standing in front of him. It was only by peering round Monestot's shoulder that he managed to see that she was a woman of about twenty-seven, with remarkably fine blue eyes but a sadly receding chin.

  For the past few days Roger had been anticipating her home­coming with considerable uneasiness. Although on his first arrival Maitre Leger had given him out to be his wife's cousin no further reference had been made to this fictitious relationship, and Roger was now afraid that by this time the lawyer might have either forgotten all about it or neglected to prime his wife upon the point.

  His fears were soon set at rest. While Madame's baggage was being carried in by willing hands she seemed to have a kind word for every­body; then, suddenly pausing in her loquacious greetings, she looked round the crowded hall and cried: "But where is my young cousin, Roje Breuc?"

  Much relieved, Roger came forward, and was about, to make her his most gallant leg, but, after one quick look of approval, she placed her hands on his shoulders and gave him a hearty kiss on either cheek.

  Next moment she broke into a spate of swift questions about people of whom he had never even heard. How had he lef
t Aunt Berdon? Was Cousin Marote married yet? How was Uncle Edmond's gout? It was so long since she had seen them all and she was positively dying to hear all the news.

  Since none of her questions called for an answer that he could not easily invent, Roger entered into the game with zest, and even went so far as to give her tidings of entirely non-existent people. She appeared much amused at his quick wit and, before going upstairs to change out of her travelling clothes, tapped him on the arm and said: "Thou shalt tell me more of the gossip of Strasbourg, little cousin, over dinner." And when dinner-time came Maitre Leger sent the servant girl Aimee to fetch him.

  The party consisted of Maitre Leger and Madame Leger, Manon Prudhot, Brochard and Roger. The meal was a gala one and all of them were in high good humour. At first, Roger was a little nervous that he might over-play his hand and arouse the suspicions of the sharp-eyed Brochard, but he had ample time to get accustomed to his new surroundings since, to begin with, Madame almost monopolised the conversation by regaling them with an account of her last weeks in the capital.

  In due course, however, obviously enjoying the part she was called on to play, she asked him further questions about her relatives in Strasbourg. His replies were as prompt as before and once more he invented a few amusing stories, but he was suddenly disconcerted by Manon saying:

  "I am, of course, of the Leger side of the family, but I must confess that I have never heard of half these relatives you mention."