Petticoat Rule

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XII

  THE PROMISES OF FRANCE

  Indeed, if Irene de Stainville had possessed more penetration, or hadat any rate studied Lydie's face more closely, she would never haveimagined for a moment that thoughts of petty spite or of femininepique could find place in the busiest brain that ever toiled for thewelfare of France.

  History has no doubt said the last word on the subject of that briefinterregnum, when a woman's masterful hand tried to check theextravagances of a King and the ruinous caprices of a wanton, and whena woman's will tried to restrain a nation in its formidable onrushdown the steep incline which led to the abyss of the Revolution.

  Many historians have sneered--perhaps justly so--at this apotheosis offeminity, and pointed to the fact that, while that special era ofpetticoat government lasted, Louis XV in no way stopped his excessesnor did Pompadour deny herself the satisfaction of a single whim,whilst France continued uninterruptedly to groan under the yoke ofoppressive taxation, of bribery and injustice, and to suffer from thearrogance of her nobles and the corruption of her magistrates.

  The avowed partisans of Lydie d'Eglinton contend on the other handthat her rule lasted too short a time to be of real service to thecountry, and that those who immediately succeeded her were either tooweak or too self-seeking to continue this new system of governmentinstituted by her, and based on loftiness of ideals and purity ofmotives, a system totally unknown hitherto. They also insist on thefact that while she virtually held the reins of government over theheads of her indolent lord and her over-indulgent father, she broughtabout many highly beneficent social reforms which would have becomefirmly established had she remained several years in power; there isno doubt that she exercised a wholesome influence over the existingadministration of justice and the distribution of the country's money;and this in spite of endless cabals and the petty intrigues andjealousies of numberless enemies.

  Be that as it may, the present chronicler is bound to put it on recordthat, at the moment when Irene de Stainville vaguely wondered whetherMadame la Marquise was looking reprovingly at her, when she hoped thatshe had at last succeeded in rousing the other woman's jealousy, thelatter's mind was dwelling with more than usual anxiousness on the sadevents of the past few months.

  Her severe expression was only the outcome of a more than normal senseof responsibility. The flattering courtiers and meddlesome women whosurrounded her seemed to Lydie this morning more than usuallybrainless and vapid. Her own father, to whose integrity and keen senseof honour she always felt that she could make appeal, was unusuallyabsent and morose to-day; and she felt unspeakably lonely here in themidst of her immediate _entourage_--lonely and oppressed. She wantedto mix more with the general throng, the men and women of France,arrogant nobles or obsequious churls, merchants, attorneys,physicians, savants, she cared not which; the nation, in fact, thepeople who had sympathy and high ideals, and a keener sense of thedignity of France.

  While these sycophants were for ever wanting, wanting, wanting,standing before her, as it were, with hands outstretched ready toreceive bribes, commissions, places of influence or affluence, CharlesEdward Stuart, lately the guest of the nation, the friend of many,whom France herself little more than a year ago had feasted andtoasted, to whom she had wished "God-speed!" was now a miserablefugitive, hiding in peasants' huts, beneath overhanging crags on thedeserted shores of Scotland, a price put upon his head, and thedevotion of a few helpless enthusiasts, a girl, an old retainer, assole barrier 'twixt him and death.

  And France had promised that she would help him. She promised that shewould succour him if he failed, that she would not abandon him in hisdistress--neither him nor his friends.

  And now disaster had come--disaster so overwhelming, so appalling,that France at first had scarce liked to believe. Every one was soastonished; had they not thought that England, Scotland and Irelandwere clamouring for a Stuart? That the entire British nation waswanting him, waiting for him, ready to acclaim him with open arms? Thefirst successes--Falkirk, Prestonpans--had surprised no one. The youngPretender's expedition was bound to be nothing but a triumphalprocession through crowded streets, decorated towns and beflaggedvillages, with church bells ringing, people shouting, deputations,both civic and military, waiting hat in hand, with sheaves of loyaladdresses.

  Instead of this, Culloden, Derby, the hasty retreat, treachery, andthe horrible reprisals. All that was common property now.

  France knew that the young prince whom she had _feted_ was perhaps atthis moment dying of want, and yet these hands which had grasped hiswere not stretched out to help him, the lips which had encouraged andcheered him, which had even gently mocked his gloomy mood, stillsmiled and chatted as irresponsibly as of yore, and spoke thefugitive's name at careless moments 'twixt a laugh and a jest.

  And this in spite of promises.

  She had dismissed her _entourage_ with a curt nod just now, when herfather first joined her circle. At any rate, her position of splendidisolation should give her the right this morning to be alone with him,since she so wished it. At first glance she saw that he was troubled,and her anxious eyes closely scanned his face. But he seemeddetermined not to return her scrutinizing glance, and anon, when oneby one M. de Coigni, the Count de Bailleul, and others who had beentalking to Lydie, discreetly stepped aside, he seemed anxious todetain them, eager not to be left quite alone with his daughter.

  Seeing his manoeuvres, Lydie's every suspicion was aroused; somethinghad occurred to disturb her father this morning, something which hedid not intend to tell her. She drew him further back into the windowembrasure and made room for him close to her on the settee. She lookedup impatiently at the Dowager Lady Eglinton, who had calmly stood herground whilst the other intimates were being so summarily dismissed.Miladi appeared determined to ignore her daughter-in-law's desire tobe alone with her father, and it even seemed to Lydie as if a look ofunderstanding had passed between the Duke and the old lady when firstthey met.

  She felt her nervous system on the jar. Thoroughly frank and open inall political dealings herself, she loathed the very hint of a secretunderstanding. Yet she trusted her father, even though she feared hisweakness.

  She talked of Charles Edward Stuart, for that was her chiefpreoccupation. She lauded him and pitied him in turn, spoke of hispredicament, his flight, the devotion of his Scotch adherents, andfinally of France's promise to him.

  "God grant," she said fervently, "that France may not be too late indoing her duty by that ill-starred prince."

  "Nay, my dear child, it is sheer madness to think of such a thing,"said the Duke, speaking in tones of gentle reproof and soothingly, asif to a wilful child.

  "He! pardieu!" broke in miladi's sharp, high-pitched voice: "that isprecisely what I have been trying to explain to Lydie these past twoweeks, but she will not listen and is not even to be spoken to on thatsubject now. Do you scold her well, M. le Duc, for I have done mybest--and her obstinacy will lead my son into dire disgrace with HisMajesty, who doth not favour her plans."

  "Miladi is right, Lydie," said the Duke, "and if I thought that yourhusband----"

  "Nay, my dear father!" interrupted Lydie calmly; "I pray you do notvent your displeasure on Lord Eglinton. As you see, Mme. la Comtessede Stainville is doing her best to prevent his thoughts from dwellingon the fate of his unfortunate friend."

  It was the Duke's turn to scrutinize his daughter's face, vaguelywondering if she had spoken in bitterness, not altogether sorry ifthis new train of thought were to divert her mind from that eternalsubject of the moribund Stuart cause, which seemed to have become anobsession with her. He half-turned in the direction where Lydie's eyeswere still fixed, and saw a patch of bright rose colour, clear andvivid against the dull hangings of M. le Controleur's couch, whilstthe elegant outline of a woman's stately form stood between his lineof vision and the face of his son-in-law.

  The Duc d'Aumont dearly loved his daughter, but he also vastly admiredher intellectual power, therefore at sight of that gra
ceful, rose-cladfigure he shrugged his shoulders in amiable contempt. Bah! Lydie wasfar too clever to dwell on such foolish matters as the vapidflirtations of a brainless doll, even if the object of suchflirtations was the subjugation of milor.

  Lady Eglinton had also perceived Lydie's fixity of expression just nowwhen she spoke of Irene, but whilst M. le Duc carelessly shrugged hisshoulders and dismissed the matter from his mind, miladi boldly threwherself across her daughter-in-law's new trend of thought.

  "My son for once shows sound common sense," she said decisively; "whyshould France be led into further extravagance and entangle herself,perhaps, in the meshes of a hopeless cause by----"

  "By fulfilling a solemn promise," interrupted Lydie quietly, whilstshe turned her earnest eyes on her mother-in-law in the manner socharacteristic of her--"a promise which the very hopelessness of whichyou speak has rendered doubly sacred."

  "His Majesty is not of that opinion," retorted the older womantestily, "and we must concede that he is the best judge of what Franceowes to her own honour."

  To this challenge it was obviously impossible to reply in thenegative, and if Lydie's heart whispered "Not always!" her lipscertainly did not move.

  She looked appealingly at her father; she wanted more than ever to bealone with him, to question him, to reassure herself as to certainvague suspicions which troubled her and which would not be stilled.She longed, above all, to be rid of her mother-in-law's interferingtongue, of the platitudes, which she uttered, and which had the knackof still further jarring on Lydie's over-sensitive nerves.

  But the Duke did not help her. Usually he, too, was careful to avoiddirect discussions with Lady Eglinton, whose rasping voice was wont toirritate him, but this morning he seemed disinclined to meet Lydie'sappealing eyes. He fidgeted in his chair, and anon he crossed oneshapely leg over the other and thoughtfully stroked his well-turnedcalf.

  "There are moments in diplomacy, my dear child----" he began, after amoment of oppressive silence.

  "My dear father," interrupted Lydie, with grave determination, "let metell you once for all that over this matter my mind is fully made up.While I have a voice in the administration of this Kingdom of France,I will not allow her to sully her fair name by such monstroustreachery as the abandonment of a friend who trusted in her honour andthe promises she made him."

  Her voice had shaken somewhat as she spoke. Altogether she seemedunlike herself, less sure, less obstinately dominant. That look ofunderstanding between her father and Lady Eglinton had troubled her ina way for which she could not account. Yet she knew that the wholematter rested in her own hands. No one--not even His Majesty--had everquestioned her right to deal with Treasury money. And money was allthat was needed. Though the final word nominally rested with milor, heleft her perfectly free, and she could act as she thought right,without let or hindrance.

  Yet, strangely enough, she felt as if she wanted support in thismatter. It was a purely personal feeling, and one she did not care toanalyse. She had no doubt whatever as to the justice and righteousnessof her desire, but in this one solitary instance of her masterfuladministration she seemed to require the initiative, or at least theapproval, of her father or of the King.

  Instead of this approval she vaguely scented intrigue.

  She rose from the settee and went to the window behind it. Theatmosphere of the room had suddenly become stifling. Fortunately thetall casements were unlatched. They yielded to a gentle push, andLydie stepped out on to the balcony. Already the air was hot, and thesun shone glaringly on the marble fountains, and drew sparks of firefrom the dome of the conservatories. The acrid, pungent smell ofcannas and of asters rose to her nostrils, drowning the subtler aromaof tea roses and of lilies; the monotonous drip of the fountains was asoothing contrast in her ear to the babel of voices within.

  At her feet the well-sanded walks of the park stretched out likeribbons of pale gold to the dim, vast distance beyond; the curly headsof Athenian athletes peeped from among the well-trimmed bosquets,showing the immaculate whiteness of the polished marble in the sun. Acouple of gardeners clad in shirts of vivid blue linen were stoopingover a bed of monthly roses, picking off dead leaves and twigs thatspoilt the perfect symmetry of the shrubs, whilst two more a fewpaces away were perfecting the smoothness of a box hedge, lest a tinyleaflet were out of place.

  Lydie sighed impatiently. Even in this vastness and this peace, manbrought his artificiality to curb the freedom of nature. Everything inthis magnificent park was affected, stilted and forced; every tree wasfashioned to a shape not its own, every flower made to be acounterpart of its fellow.

  This sense of unreality, of fighting nature in its every aspect, waswhat had always oppressed her, even when she worked at first inperfect harmony with her father, when she still had those utopianhopes of a regenerate France, with a wise and beneficent monarch, anera of truth and of fraternity, every one toiling hand-in-hand for thegood of the nation.

  What a child she had been in those days! How little she had understoodthis hydra-headed monster of self-seeking ambition, of politicalwire-pulling, of petty cabals and personal animosities which foughtand crushed and trampled on every lofty ideal, on every clean thoughtand high-minded aspiration.

  She knew and understood better now. She had outgrown her childishideals: those she now kept were a woman's ideals, no less pure, noless high or noble, but lacking just one great quality--that of hope.She had continued to work and to do her best for this country whichshe loved--her own beautiful France. She had--with no uncertainhand--seized the reins of government from the diffident fingers of herlord, she still strove to fight corruption, to curb excesses and tocheck arrogance, and made vain endeavours to close her eyes to thefutility of her noblest efforts.

  This attitude of King Louis toward the Young Pretender had brought itall home to her; the intrigues, the lying, the falseness ofeverything, the treachery which lurked in every corner of thissumptuous palace, the egoism which was the sole moving power of thoseoverdressed dolls.

  Perhaps for the first time since--in all the glory and pride of heryoung womanhood--she became conscious of its power over the weaker andsterner vessel, she felt a sense of discouragement, the utterhopelessness of her desires. Her heart even suggested contempt ofherself, of her weak-minded foolishness in imagining that all thoseempty heads in the room yonder could bring forth one single seriousthought from beneath their powdered perruques, one single whollyselfless aspiration for the good of France; any more than thatstultified rose-tree could produce a bloom of splendid perfection orthat stunted acacia intoxicate the air with the fragrance of itsbloom.

  Solitude had taken hold of Lydie's fancy. She had allowed her mind togo roaming, fancy-free. Her thoughts were melancholy and anxious, andshe sighed or frowned more than once. The air was becoming hotter andhotter every moment, and a gigantic bed of scarlet geraniums sent acurious acrid scent to her nostrils, which she found refreshing. Anonshe succeeded in shutting out from her eyes the picture of thosegardeners maiming the rose-trees and bosquets, and in seeing only thatdistant horizon with the vague, tiny fleecy clouds which were hurryingquite gaily and freely to some unknown destination, far, no doubt,from this world of craft and affectation. She shut her ears to thesound of miladi's shrill laugh and the chatter of senseless foolsbehind her, and only tried to hear the rippling murmur of the water inthe fountains, the merry chirrup of the sparrows, and far, very faraway, the sweet, sad note of a lark soaring upward to the serenemorning sky.

  The sound of a footstep on the flag-stones of the balcony broke in onher meditations. Her father, still wearing that troubled look, wascoming out to join her. Fortunately miladi had chosen to remainindoors.

  Impulsively now, for her nerves were still quivering with the tensionof recent introspection, she went straight up to this man whom shemost fully trusted in all the world, and took his hands in both hers.

  "My dear, dear father," she pleaded, with her wonted earnestness, "you_will_ help me, will you not?"

&nbs
p; He looked more troubled than ever at her words, almost pathetic in hisobvious helplessness, as he ejaculated feebly:

  "But what can we do, my dear child?"

  "Send _Le Monarque_ to meet Prince Charles Edward," she urged; "it isso simple."

  "It is very hazardous, and would cost a vast amount of money. In thepresent state of the Treasury----"

  "My dear father, France can afford the luxury of not selling herhonour."

  "And the English will be furious with us."

  "The English cannot do more than fight us, and they are doing thatalready!" she retorted.

  "The risks, my dear child, the risks!" he protested again.

  "What risks, father dear?" she said eagerly. "Tell me, what do we riskby sending _Le Monarque_ with secret orders to the Scottish coast, toa spot known to no one save to Lord Eglinton and myself, confided tomy husband by the unfortunate young Prince before he started on thismiserable expedition? Captain Barre will carry nothing that can inany way betray the secret of his destination nor the object of hisjourney--my husband's seal-ring on his finger, nothing more; thistoken he will take on shore himself--not even the ship's crew willknow aught that would be fatal if betrayed."

  "But the English can intercept _Le Monarque_!"

  "We must run that risk," she retorted. "Once past the coast ofEngland, Scotland is lonely enough. _Le Monarque_ will meet no othercraft, and Captain Barre knows the secrets of his own calling--he hasrun a cargo before now."

  "This is childish obstinacy, Lydie, and I do not recognize thestatesman in this sentimental chit, who prates nonsense like aschoolgirl imbued with novel-reading," said the Duke now with markedimpatience; "and pray, if His Majesty should put a veto on your usingone of his ships for this privateering expedition?"

  "I propose sending _Le Monarque_ to-morrow," rejoined Lydie quietly."Captain Barre will have his orders direct from the Ministry ofFinance; and then we'll obtain His Majesty's sanction on the followingday."

  "But this is madness, my child!" exclaimed the Duke. "You cannotopenly set at defiance the wishes of the King!"

  "The wishes of the King?" she cried, with sudden vehemence. "Surely,surely, my dear, dear father, you cannot mean what you suggest! Think!oh, think just for one moment! That poor young man, who was our guest,whom we all liked--he broke bread with us in our own house, ourbeautiful chateau de la Tour d'Aumont, which has never yet beendefiled by treachery. And you talk of leaving him there in thatfar-off land which has proved so inhospitable to him? Of leaving himthere either to perish miserably of want and starvation or to fallinto the hands of that Hanoverian butcher whose name has become aby-word for unparalleled atrocities?"

  She checked herself, and then resumed more calmly:

  "Nay, my dear father, I pray you let us cease this argument; for oncein the history of our happy life together you and I look at honourfrom opposite points of view."

  "Yes, my dear, I see that, too," he rejoined, speaking now with somehesitation. "I wish I could persuade you to abandon the idea."

  "To abandon the unfortunate young Prince, you mean, to break everypromise we ever made to him--to become the by-word in our turn fortreachery and cowardice in every country in Europe--and why?" sheadded, with helpless impatience, trying to understand, dreading almostto question. "Why? Why?"

  Then, as her father remained silent, with eyes persistently fixed onsome vague object in the remote distance, she said, as if acting on asudden decisive thought:

  "Father, dear, is it solely a question of cost?"

  "Partly," he replied, with marked hesitation.

  "Partly? Well, then, dear, we will remove one cause of yourunexplainable opposition. You may assure His Majesty in my name thatthe voyage of _Le Monarque_ shall cost the Treasury nothing."

  Then as her father made no comment, she continued more eagerly:

  "Lord Eglinton will not deny me, as you know; he is rich and CharlesEdward Stuart is his friend. What _Le Monarque_ has cost forprovisioning, that we will immediately replace. For the moment wewill borrow this ship from His Majesty's navy. _That_ he _cannot_refuse! and I give you and His Majesty my word of honour that _LeMonarque_ shall not cost the Treasury one single sou--even the pay ofher crew shall be defrayed by us from the moment that she sails out ofLe Havre until the happy moment when she returns home with PrinceCharles Edward Stuart and his friends safe and sound aboard."

  There was silence between them for awhile. The Duc d'Aumont's eyeswere fixed steadily on a distant point on the horizon, but Lydie'seyes never for a second strayed away from her father's face.

  "Will _Le Monarque_ have a long journey to make?" asked the Dukelightly.

  "Yes!" she replied.

  "To the coast of Scotland?"

  "Yes."

  "The west coast, of course?"

  "Why should you ask, dear?"

  She asked him this question quite casually, then, as he did not reply,she asked it again, this time with a terrible tightening of herheart-strings. Suddenly she remembered her suspicions, when first shecaught the glance of intelligence which passed swiftly from him tomiladi.

  With a quick gesture of intense agitation she placed a hand on hiswrist.

  "Father!" she said in a scarce audible murmur.

  "Yes, my dear. What is it?"

  "I don't know. I--I have been much troubled of late. I do not thinkthat my perceptions are perhaps as keen as they were--and as you say,this matter of the Stuart Prince has weighed heavily on my mind.Therefore, will you forgive me, dear, if--if I ask you a questionwhich may sound undutiful, disloyal to you?"

  "Of course I will forgive you, dear," he said, after a slight momentof hesitation. "What is it?"

  He had pulled himself together, and now met his daughter's glance withsufficient firmness, apparently to reassure her somewhat, for she saidmore quietly:

  "Will you give me your word of honour that you personally know of noact of treachery which may be in contemplation against the man whotrusts in the honour of France?"

  Her glowing eyes rested upon his; they seemed desirous of penetratingto the innermost recesses of his soul. M. le Duc d'Aumont tried tobear the scrutiny without flinching but he was no great actor, nor washe in the main a dishonourable man, but he thought his daughter undulychivalrous, and he held that political considerations were outside theordinary standards of honour and morality.

  Anyway he could not bring himself to give her a definite reply; herhand still grasped his wrist--he took it in his own and raised it tohis lips.

  "My father!" she pleaded, her voice trembling, her eyes still fixedupon him, "will you not answer my question?"

  "It is answered, my dear," he replied evasively. "Do you think itworthy of me--your father--to protest mine honesty before my ownchild?"

  She looked at him no longer, and gently withdrew her hand from hisgrasp. She understood that, indeed, he had answered her question.