‘Alas! he does not; though ’tis said that he is good-intentioned. By theory he rules through the governors of his provinces, but these are all great nobles who live in luxury at his Court on the huge incomes that their governorships bring them. In fact, the land is ruled by the Intendants appointed by the Comptroller-General of Finance, most of whom are clever upstarts with but one concern—to line their own pockets at the expense of both the King and the people.’
‘But can the gentry do nothing to better matters?’ asked Roger. ‘In England all people who have estates, whether large or small, feel it incumbent on them to protect and succour their dependants. A landlord who allowed his tenants’ cottages to fall into disrepair or left his village folk to starve in a bad winter would at once be cold-shouldered by his neighbours.’
‘Ah, and ’twas so here in the good old days. But the gentry are now almost as helpless as the peasants. All the wealth of the land is drawn either to Versailles in taxes or into the pockets of the lawyers and rich merchants in the cities. The upper tenth of the nobility, that which lives at Court near the King and grabs up the rich plums that fall from his table, does monstrous well; the other nine-tenths lives on its estates, mostly small properties that bring in barely enough to keep a roof on the Chateaux of their owners. They are mostly proud, aloof, hidebound in their ideas and jealous of their privileges; and they have lost both the inclination and the means to help their unfortunate peasantry.’
‘’Tis a parlous state the country has come to, in very truth; and what you tell me interests me mightily. Yet it affects not the fact that I find it ever increasingly repugnant to take their savings off these wretched villagers.’
‘If ’tis that which worries you,’ the Doctor said, after a moment, ‘we will proceed yet further south into Brittany. The ancient kingdom is one of the few provinces in France where the Estates still function to some purpose. Moreover, the nobility there have never brought themselves to feel any strong allegiance to the Crown, and both rich and poor among them rarely leave their properties. I do not say that you will find the Breton peasants wealthy, but at least you will find them more prosperous and better cared for than those in the villages you have so far visited with me.’
So it came about that, having replenished their stock of unguents, balms and ‘sovereign remedies’ in Caen next day, they followed the road south-west through Vire and Avranches towards Brittany. It was the 20th of September before they paid toll to enter the province and, since leaving Caen, in spite of their outlay there, the funds of the partnership had mounted to forty louis, partly as a result of several profitable private consultations that the Doctor had given to patients coming to him after dark.
Roger now no longer participated in these harrowing and gruesome interviews. Apart from the disgust they caused him he had reached the conclusion that there was little point in his doing so, since he knew how many private visitors the Doctor received each evening and approximately what he was likely to make out of them. Moreover, he now felt convinced that the only time his partner was at all likely to attempt to cheat him was when they were in a town and the craving for brandy overcame the old man’s better nature.
From the frontier of the province they struck south towards Rennes, intending to make a wide circuit of its interior after they had once more replenished their store of drugs in its capital.
As the Doctor had foretold, Roger found the Breton peasantry much more alive and human than their neighbours to the north. They showed more independence and even, at times, heckled the great Aristotle Fénelon, questioning his encyclopaedic knowledge and his much-vaunted wisdom. At times, too, the Curés of the villages came out and drove the human benefactor away, upbraiding him as a godless charlatan. But, in spite of this, the Bretons proved a credulous folk and their women bought much more freely of the Doctor’s toilet preparations; so, when they reached Rennes on 5th of October, Roger had fifty-four louis, tucked, literally, under his belt, as he now kept their funds, as he once had Georgina’s jewels, in an elongated pouch round his waist.
On arriving in Rennes they went to the Du Guesclin, a good inn, overlooking the Champe de Mars, as they intended to do themselves well. Having reached the town by mid-morning they were in time to enjoy an excellent déjeuner, but it struck Roger that during it his companion was unusually silent.
After the meal, as had become their custom on reaching any town of importance, they went out for a walk in order that the Doctor might show Roger such items of historic interest as the place contained. As they proceeded towards the Cathedral of St. Pierre, the old man’s quite abnormal uncommunicativeness continued, so Roger asked him if he was not feeling well.
‘I’m well enough in myself, but a trifle worried,’ the Doctor replied.
‘About what?’ Roger inquired.
‘I trust ‘twill prove a matter of no moment; but did you, perchance, notice the man in the grey coat who was sitting alone at a small table in the coffee room, at its far end on the left side of the hearth—a tall, thin, angular fellow with red hair and a somewhat sour expression?’
‘Yes,’ said Roger. ‘I glanced at him more than once because I was struck by the exceptional pallor of his face. I thought him not unhandsome, but there was something vaguely repellent about that small mouth of his, and his heavily lidded eyes that avoided my glance each time I looked at him. Who is he?’
‘His name is Joseph Fouché. He is a lay preacher of the Oratorian Order and a native of Nantes. His father was, I believe, a sea-captain and left him both some small properties in Brittany and a plantation in San Domingo, so he is of independent means. However, as a hobby he interests himself in police affairs, playing the rôle of a private investigator for his own amusement, then acting as an informer. ’Twas in such a matter that I met him.’
‘What part did you play in this?’ asked Roger with some apprehension.
‘I was in Nantes towards the end of last winter and, er—my funds were unusually low. ’Twas on that account that, against my better judgment, I agreed to treat a somewhat stubborn case. ’Twas through no lack of care on my part that I lost my patient. Even then no harm would have resulted to myself had not a wealthy family been involved and Monsieur Fouché, as a friend of theirs, taken it upon himself to investigate the matter. He traced the cause of death to me, then browbeat me into certain admissions, and on his information the police issued a warrant for my arrest.’
‘Phew! That was indeed a tight corner to be in. How did you manage to get out of it?’
The Doctor sighed. ‘By sacrificing the handsome fee that I had received. As you may have gathered police-agents are almost universally corrupt. I bribed the agent sent to arrest me to connive at my escape. But I must confess that seeing Monsieur Fouché again has temporarily unnerved me.’
‘That I can well understand,’ Roger agreed. ‘Yet it does not seem to me that you have aught to fear from him. From what you tell me it appears that his only interest in such affairs is the sport he derives from tracing up a case. If that is so, in yours, he has already had all the satisfaction it could afford him.’
‘It may be that I have allowed myself to be scared without reason but the warrant for my arrest must still be in existence. If Monsieur Fouché chose to be vindictive …’
‘The devil!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘I had thought that as this all happened months ago, and we are many leagues from Nantes, you were not in any actual danger. D’you mean that he might inform again and cause the police of Rennes to arrest you?’
‘If he did I would be hard put to it to escape a hanging.’
‘Then we must leave Rennes as speedily as possible,’ said Roger with decision.
‘He may not have recognised me,’ hazarded the Doctor. ‘And, even if he did, I may be doing him a great injustice to suppose that, having no personal score against me, he would pursue me with such vindictiveness.’
‘Nevertheless I’m sure we’d be wise to quit the town before there is any chance of your running int
o him again. I have our money on me and if we set out at once we could reach some village to the south or west before nightfall.’
‘But how can we do business without our stock in trade?’ the Doctor protested.
‘We have ample funds and can buy more at the next town we come to; we are certain to reach one within a few days.’
‘You forget Monsieur de Montaigne. Never could I bring myself to abandon that faithful beast. Besides, there are my instruments. Many of them are not easy to come by and it would be weeks before I could replace them. ’Twould prove a most serious handicap were we to leave them behind.’
Roger thought for a moment, then he said: ‘I too should be loath to let poor old Monsieur de Montaigne fall into the knackers’ hands; and since we must go back for him, how would it be if we wait till dusk? We could slip into the side door of the inn, collect our things, get him from the stable and be off again, with small chance of meeting this police-cheat on the stairs or being seen by him from one of the windows?’
On the Doctor agreeing that this proposal seemed to offer the best prospect of avoiding any risk of trouble, they proceeded about their inspection of the ancient monuments in the Breton capital. But for both of them it proved an uneasy afternoon, and they were glad when the falling shadows gave them notice that the time had come to go back to the inn.
When they reached it Roger felt that he had chosen this hour for their flitting well, as the twilight had deepened sufficiently to obscure the faces of passing pedestrians when they were at a little distance, yet the windows of most of the houses still remained unlighted, so the hallway and staircase of the inn would be in semi-darkness.
They went to the stable first, and swiftly saddled up Monsieur de Montaigne; then they entered the inn by its yard door and went cautiously along a gloomy passage. As they had treated themselves to a special déjeuner they had paid for it at the time, so they had no bill to settle. The Du Guesclin was an expensive place so they had taken one of the cheaper rooms beneath its eaves. It only remained for them to collect the two old portmanteaux containing the Doctor’s implements from their attic and get down the staircase without running into Monsieur Fouché.
Roger reached the room first. As it had only a dormer window it was now almost dark in there and on his opening the door he could barely distinguish the outlines of the furniture. The Doctor followed him in and began to fumble with his tinder-box.
‘Hurry!’ exclaimed Roger, snatching up a candle and holding it out to him. ‘’Tis a pity we must strike a light, but we’ll see the better to pack our things and so the more quickly get away.’
‘We will need a light to see each other by; but why this hurry?’ said a quiet voice from the bed, and as the wick of the candle flared they swung round to see the tall form of the man in grey reclining on the bed.
‘Surely, Monsieur le Docteur, you were not thinking of leaving Rennes without allowing me the opportunity of paying my respects to you?’ he went on mockingly. ‘That would have been churlish indeed.’
‘Why, no, Monsieur Fouché: I—I would not have dreamed of such a thing,’ stammered the Doctor, as Roger set down the candlestick on the chest of drawers.
‘That is admirable; and, as you see, I have spared us both the trouble of arranging an interview by coming to your room. In fact, I have been waiting for you here most of the afternoon. But I am happy to be able to tell you that I found your bed quite passably comfortable. Tell me, Monsieur le Docteur, what have you been doing all this time? Are you still upon the road?’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
‘So I gathered on finding that old mule of yours in the stable, and the panniers he bears stuffed with the noisome messes that you peddle to the peasantry. Whence have you come?’
‘From Le Havre, Monsieur, by way of Rouen and Caen.’
‘A nice step that; and I trust profitable. After so long a tour your pockets should be positively bursting with shekels.’ After a moment the man in grey added quite casually: ‘Have you killed anybody recently?’
‘Monsieur, you do me a great injustice,’ the Doctor burst out. ‘My medicines do no one any harm if taken as directed. That tragic accident in Nantes last winter came about through the poor girl taking too much of the drug I gave her.’
‘’Twas the sort of accident that leads to old men like you meeting the executioner one fine morning before breakfast. You knew well that the Demoiselle Bracieux was five months gone with child, and that the odds were all against your being able to save her from the results of her indiscretion so late in her pregnancy.’
‘I have known similar cases where success was achieved, Monsieur; and the poor girl begged of me so hard to help her.’
‘’Twas the ten louis d’or she offered you that softened that rogue’s heart of yours.’
‘Nay, Monsieur, ’twas not only that. She swore to me that her parents would put her into a convent for life if they discovered her shame. I warned her that there was some risk, but both she and her lover decided that for her the lesser evil was to take it. ’Twas her foolish impatience in taking an overdose that killed her, and a terrible misfortune for all concerned.’
‘Your misfortune, my friend, was not the killing but in the person whom you killed. Had you made corpses of a dozen village wenches you’d have heard no more of it, but ’twas the height of folly to run such a risk with the daughter of a Councillor of Parliament.’
Again Fouché remained silent for a moment, then he went on: ‘But ’tis all over and as good as forgotten now, is it not, Monsieur le Docteur?’
‘Why, yes, Monsieur Fouché,’ sighed the Doctor with obvious relief. Thanks to a fortunate explanation I was able to give the police, they refrained from executing the warrant that Councillor Bracieux took out against me.’
‘But the warrant is till valid, so I would not show your face in Nantes for a year or two if I were you.’
‘No, no. Be sure I shall give that fine city a wide berth in future.’
‘That would be wise, but I thought I should warn you.’
‘’Twas most kind of you, Monsieur Fouché.’
‘Then there remains little more to be said.’
‘No; only for me to thank you again for having spent the afternoon here in order to warn me not to return to Nantes.’
‘’Twas a pleasure,’ murmured the man in grey, but he made no move to get off the bed, and continued to lie there propped up on one elbow with his head resting on his hand.
By the light of the candle Roger could now see his features clearly. He looked about twenty-four and was handsome in a way. His features were well cast though long and bony and the high cheekbones in conjunction with his deathly pale face suggested that, although tall and wiry, he might be delicate. The most disturbing thing about him was his hooded eyes and the fact that whenever he spoke he seemed to deliberately avoid the gaze of whoever he was addressing.
‘Then if there is nothing else …’ hazarded the Doctor suggestively.
Fouché’s thin lips broke into a smile. ‘You seem very impatient to be rid of me.’
‘No, no, Monsieur, not in the least. But my young friend here and I made a change in our plans this afternoon. Big places like Rennes are no good for our business and we—well, we decided to push on to a smaller place tonight, and darkness is already falling.’
‘Indeed! You wish to get on with your packing, then. Well, do so by all means. I am quite comfortable here, and there will be ample time for me to mention another little matter before you go.’
Roger saw that their sinister visitor was only playing with the poor old Doctor, so he blurted out:
‘What do you want, Monsieur? Give it a name, or leave us!’
Without a second’s warning Fouché sprang from the bed, seized Roger’s wrist and twisted it up behind his back, causing him to let out a cry of pain.
‘I’ll tell him what I want in my own good time, you impudent young puppy,’ snarled Fouché. ‘Meanwhile, let’s have your name, and hear ho
w you came to join this old codger?’
‘My name’s Rojé Breuc!’ gasped Roger. ‘Let me go! You’re hurting!’ Then, as he felt the tall man’s grip ease a little, he went on: ‘I come from Alsace. I’m a native of Strasbourg and I ran away from home to seek adventure.’
‘You lie!’ Fouché snapped. ‘You’re no Frenchman of German stock. You are English. I could tell it by your accent from the first words you spoke on entering this room. Try again. But I want the truth, now, or it will be the worse for you.’ And to emphasise his point he gave Roger’s arm another savage twist.
‘All right, then!’ Roger panted, as the pain caused tears to spring to his eyes. I am English, and my name is Roger Brook. It’s true, though, that I ran away from home.’
‘Where is your home?’
‘At Lymington, in Hampshire.’
‘You mean the little port near Southampton?’
‘Yes.’
‘You look like a youth of good family. Are you wellborn?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is the name of your father?’
‘Christopher Brook. He is an Admiral in the English Navy.’
‘Is that the truth?’ Fouché again exerted his full strength on Roger’s arm, forcing him up on tiptoe with it twisted behind him.
‘Yes, yes!’ moaned Roger, ‘I swear it!’
‘And when did you become the apprentice of this old charlatan?’
‘About eleven weeks ago. I met him soon after I landed at Le Havre.’
Fouché suddenly released Roger, flinging him with a contemptuous jerk half across the room and turned to the Doctor, who, during Roger’s swift interrogation, had been standing impotently by, wringing his hands.
‘Now!’ said the man in grey, ‘I have amused myself long enough. I know how you succeeded in escaping your due deserts in Nantes. You bribed the police-agent with the ten louis that you received in payment for the Ergot of Rye that you sold to the demoiselle Bracieux. ’Tis my policy never to persecute people or make enemies needlessly, and the matter would have ended there, as far as I am concerned, had we not met again today and it so chances that the moment finds me in dire need myself. The annual remittances from my plantations in the Indies have failed to reach me this year, and I am committed to heavy expenses in connection with certain experiments in ballooning, in which I am interested. But why should I tell you all this? The fact is that I need money urgently and, after your long summer journey, you must have a nice sum put by. I trust you will see the wisdom of lending me fifty louis without argument.’
The Launching of Roger Brook Page 21
