The Launching of Roger Brook

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘There,’ exclaimed Madame Marie-Angé in triumph, ‘’tis the very thing I said myself towards the end of dinner.’

  ‘I only pray you may be right,’ Roger murmured, as the lawyer continued:

  ‘Moreover, if a trial results, Monsieur Fouché will be forced to resort to statements containing much perjury in order to make a case against you. If one of them is proved false not only might the whole case break down but he would find himself in serious trouble. I can see no reason why he should elect to run such a risk when he can terminate the issue by frankly admitting that he killed the doctor himself in self-defence. That was in fact what happened, was it not?’

  ‘Yes, it would be difficult to contend otherwise,’ Roger agreed, after a moment. ‘’Twas all so sudden and so horrible that the thought had not occurred to me; yet I must admit that the Doctor had struck him down with the hilt of my sword, and was about to strike at him again just as he fired his pistol.’

  ‘Are you prepared to swear to that before a magistrate?’

  ‘Yes; if I must.’

  That is well. You must remember that in the moments succeeding your friend’s death Monsieur Fouché had no reason at all to suppose that you would be willing to give evidence which would clear him of a charge of murder. It may be that he believed that you would attempt to get him hanged, if you could, and instantly made up his mind that his best prospect of escape lay in accusing you of the killing. It would then have been your word against his, and as you had taken the money the odds would have been in his favour. But there will be no official inquiry into the Doctor’s death until tomorrow morning, and I will see Monsieur Fouché before the inquiry opens. If I inform him that you will come forward to give evidence that he killed the Doctor in self-defence, I feel there is every reason to hope that he will see the wisdom of admitting to it.’

  ‘I am indeed grateful, Monsieur,’ smiled Roger, now much comforted. ‘What you have said takes a great load from my mind.’

  ‘You are not out of the wood yet,’ Maître Léger warned him. ‘And if complications arise it may be that you will be detained while further inquiries are made; but at least it does not appear that you have any grave reason to fear that you will be hung.’

  ‘I thank you, Monsieur,’ said Athénaïs. ‘You have cheered us mightily, and I rely on you to do your best for Monsieur Breuc.’

  The elderly lawyer bowed. ‘Your wishes, Mademoiselle, are my commands.’

  Madame Marie-Angé then turned to him and said: ‘Did I not hear that you are but just returned from Paris, Maître Léger? What news have you brought with you from the capital?’

  ‘The talk is all of His Majesty’s appointment of Monsieur de Calonne to be the new Comptroller-General of the Finances,’ replied the man in green. ‘’Tis to be hoped that he will make a better showing than those who have held brief office during these past eighteen months; for public confidence has suffered a sad decline since the dismissal of M. Necker.’

  ‘Who was M. Necker, Monsieur?’ inquired Athénaïs, and Roger looked at her in some surprise, since even he knew that Necker was the great Swiss banker whom Louis XVI had called to his assistance in the hope of straightening out the incredible tangle of debt and disorder into which the finances of France had fallen.

  ‘He was for five years His Majesty’s principal adviser, Mademoiselle,’ smiled the lawyer, ‘and a man of great ability. Before he was driven from office, getting on for two years ago, he published his Compte Rendu du Roi, which, for the first time in the history of our country, gave to the public a balance sheet showing how the King derives his revenues and how they are expended. ‘Twas a sad pity that the Court prevented his continuing his progressive measures.’

  Count Lucien frowned. ‘I see no reason why the King should render an account to anyone of how he spends his money.’

  ‘’Tis money obtained from the taxation of the people, Monsieur le Comte, and surely they have some right to know what is done with it.’

  ‘That, I think, is generally accepted now,’ put in the Abbé. ‘But am I not right in believing that M. Neckers Compte Rendu was misleading? Did it not show a credit balance which was later proved to have no real existence?’

  Maître Léger inclined his head. ‘Alas, Monsieur l’ Abbé, that is so. Our state is far worse than we were led to suppose; yet the publication was a step in the right direction, and the alarming deficit was mainly due to our having taken up arms on behalf of the Americans against the English.’

  ‘That burden, at least, is lifted from us now,’ Madame Marie-Angé remarked. ‘’Tis true, is it not, that the final ratification of the peace was signed last month?’

  ‘Yes, Madame. And in Paris there were great rejoicings; particularly on the withdrawal of the English Commissioners from Dunkirk, which formed one of the stipulations of the treaty. It annulled the clause in the treaty of 1763, by which we were compelled to demolish the fortifications of Dunkirk and accept an English Commission there to assure that they were not re-erected. ’Twas a humiliation that the nation was well justified in resenting as long as it continued.’

  Athénaïs was looking bored, and asked suddenly: ‘Did you see my father, Monsieur, when you were in Paris?’

  ‘Yes, Mademoiselle. Monseigneur le Marquis was much occupied as he spends a great part of his time with the Count de Vergennes, His Majesty’s Foreign Minister; but he did me the honour to receive me twice, and I happy to be able to tell you that he is in excellent health.’

  ‘And did you go to Versailles?’

  The lawyer smiled. ‘I have not the privilege of the entrée to the Court, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Yet you must have news of it; and such news is much more exciting than all this dreary talk of money and of foreign treaties?’

  ‘’Tis said to be as gay as ever. There are amusements from dinner at one each day until one the next morning. Three plays or operas are put on for their Majesties’ entertainment each week and two balls on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with great suppers, and cards for those who prefer the tables. The Queen has just recommended the weekly masked balls that she gives throughout the winter, and the principal occupation of the courtiers during the other six days is the preparation of the costumes in which they intend to appear. For some time past, both Paris and Versailles have been full of English visitors, and ’tis reported that Her Majesty shows them especial favour.’

  ‘Why should she?’ Athénaïs demanded, ‘since but eight months ago we were at war with them!’

  The lawyer coughed and replied discreetly: ‘The Queen is a law unto herself, Mademoiselle, and ’tis not always her pleasure to align herself with popular prejudice. In this case popular opinion is represented by many of the younger nobility, who served with Monsieur de la Fayette and the Count, your uncle, in the Americas. They found the way of life there much to their liking. They were greatly impressed by the free and easy manners, the sense of equality and the lack of restrictions on personal liberty, that are enjoyed by the Americans. Who can blame them for desiring reforms which bring about the same state of affairs in France? On the other hand there are many at Court who are strongly opposed to such reform, as they feel that change would result in their having to sacrifice their ancient privileges. These last consider that our intervention on behalf of the Americans was a great mistake, since we aided them to defy their King and overthrow all established custom. Quite naturally they regard the English nobility who come to Versailles as the true representatives of law, order, and the countenance of a privileged caste. Therefore, headed by the Queen, they receive them with all friendliness and sympathy.’

  ‘The Queen is right then,’ declared Athénaïs promptly. ‘and my uncle wrong. Henceforth I’ll take a better view of the English.’

  Maître Léger made no comment, and there was a short silence before he said: ‘If Mademoiselle has no further use for my services tonight, may I beg leave to make my adieux?’

  She nodded regally to him and, having promised Roger that he
would endeavour to see Monsieur Fouché first thing in the morning, he bowed himself out of the room.

  When he had gone they talked for a little, until Athénaïs put up her fan to hide a yawn, then announced her intention of going to bed.

  Aldegonde was summoned and ordered to conduct Roger to a suitable chamber in which he could pass the night; and, having kissed the hand of his protectress, he followed the major-domo to a comfortable but plainly furnished room on the third floor of the mansion.

  As he undressed he endeavoured to sort out his impressions. He was still badly shaken by the Doctor’s death and his own precarious position, yet his thoughts never wandered for long from Athénaïs de Rochambeau.

  She was, he knew, abominably spoilt and self-willed, but he attributed that entirely to her upbringing; and she possessed both courage and self-confidence—qualities which he greatly admired. But, beyond all, she was the most perfect expression of beauty that he had ever seen. The play of emotions on her face, and her every movement, were a joy to watch; and the strange mixture of child and woman that she embodied he found entirely fascinating. No other girl that he had met even remotely resembled her, and he knew now that he had never been in love with Georgina.

  As he fell asleep his last thought was of the bright blue eyes and golden hair of Athénaïs, and he realised that he was already profoundly, desperately in love with her.

  Yet neither his anxieties nor his new-found passion disturbed his slumbers, and he slept right on until one of the footmen called him by bringing his breakfast up to him on a tray. Except when ill of childhood complaints he had never had a meal in his bed in his life, so he was considerably surprised at this, and he was not quite sure if he liked the custom; but it did not interfere with his appetite. He would have much preferred a good, meaty English breakfast to eat either upstairs or down, but he had to admit to himself that a petit déjeuner in the house of a French nobleman was not without its attractions. Instead of the simple rolls, butter and jam served at the inns where he had stayed, his tray was loaded with a pot of frothy chocolate, rolls with caraway seeds in them, feather-light brioches, crisp horseshoe croissants, honey, three kinds of confiture and a dish of fresh fruit.

  Having tried them all he got up, dressed and went downstairs. A score of servants were sweeping and cleaning in the great apartments, and the yellow drawing-room proving untenable he descended to the hall, since he was anxious now to be on hand and learn Maître Légers’ news the moment the lawyer should arrive.

  Aldegonde, appearing on the scene, seemed to regard his presence there with surprised disapproval, and when Roger asked him what time Mademoiselle de Rochambeau would be down he replied stiffly: ‘Mademoiselle is rarely visible before ten o’clock.’

  Since it was only just after eight, this was small comfort, and Roger found his wait a dreary business as he was compelled to hang about for the best part of an hour. But, at last, a bell jangled somewhere and one of the footmen, slipping on his coat, went to the front door.

  When the man threw it open, to Roger’s amazement, not only Maître Léger, but also Monsieur Fouché, walked in.

  ‘Good day to you, Monsieur Breuc,’ said the lawyer, as they bowed to one another; then, turning to Fouché, he added: ‘Would you be good enough to wait here while I have a word in private with my client.’

  Leaving Fouché he came over to Roger, led him further away into an embrasure behind two of the tall marble pillars, and said in a low voice:

  ‘I think matters will arrange themselves satisfactorily, but that now largely depends upon yourself. The Court sits to inquire into the death of Doctor Fénelon in half an hour and if Monsieur Fouché and yourself tell the same story I doubt not that they will be satisfied and discharge you both. However, this desirable result depends on you both giving the same account of the way in which Doctor Fénelon met his death, and Monsieur Fouché has already stated to the police that the doctor committed suicide.’

  He paused for a moment then went on: ‘You will appreciate, I am sure, that it is not for me, a lawyer, to suggest that you should attempt to deceive the Court, but what you choose to say before the magistrates is entirely your own affair. Mademoiselle de Rochambeau has given me implicit instructions to save you from trouble if I can, and while such a step is highly unorthodox, it occurred to me that the best hope of doing so lay in bringing Monsieur Fouché and yourself together for a private conversation before the Court opens. I need scarcely add that your interests in this matter are now absolutely identical. Namely that the whole affair should be dismissed without further inquiry. Do you consent to talk with him?’

  ‘If you advise it, and ’tis unavoidable,’ Roger agreed with some reluctance.

  ‘Very well, then; come this way.’

  Recrossing the hall, and beckoning Fouché to join them, Maître Léger led the pair into a lofty room which, from the rows of shelves filled with ledgers that lined its walls, looked like an office. Having ushered them in he closed the door behind him and left them together.

  Fouché walked over to the wide fireplace, turned, and with his back to the carved mantel stood there for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, then, without looking at Roger, he said:

  ‘It has always been against my principles to make enemies needlessly. Your lawyer tells me that you are willing to compose this matter. If that is so, I am your man.’

  ‘I am naturally anxious to avoid being held for a lengthy period while an exhaustive investigation takes place,’ replied Roger frankly. ‘Yet I find it difficult to regard the murderer of my old friend as anything but an enemy.’

  ‘Your assumption that I murdered Doctor Fénelon has positively no foundation,’ said Fouché, his pale face remaining quite inscrutable. ‘I killed him in self-defence. You were a witness to it, and must have seen that had I not shot him he would have brained me with the hilt of the sword with which he had already struck me down.’

  Roger was forced to admit to himself the justice of this and asked: ‘Well, what is it that you propose?’

  ‘I have already informed the officers of the law that some eight months ago I caused a warrant to be taken out for the Doctor’s arrest. That can easily be verified by reference to the authorities in Nantes. I went on to state that finding the Doctor still to be at large I told him last night that, in the interests of justice, I intended to raise the matter with the authorities here. And that, in a fit of despair, he then pulled out a pocket pistol and before either you or I could stop him, shot himself through the head. As I had the good sense to leave the pistol beside the body such an account of the matter provides a loophole for us both; so all you will be called on to do is to verify my statement and, perhaps, testify that you knew the pistol to be the Doctor’s property.’

  ‘It seems that you thought better of accusing me of murder,’ said Roger shrewdly. ‘And I see no reason why I should tell lies to get you out of trouble.’

  ‘Do you not, Monsieur Breuc?’ Fouché’s small mouth broke into a thin smile. ‘Yet on entering this house this morning I found you still to be living a lie. You have passed yourself off here as a native of Alsace. As for last night, I took such measures as I thought might get you stopped and enable me to obtain possession of your money-belt. I failed in that, but today is another day. Do you wish me to inform your noble friends, the de Rochambeaux, that they have taken up the cause of an impostor?’

  Roger had been under no compulsion to deceive Athénaïs at the time of their meeting and it flashed upon him how utterly shamed he would feel if he were now shown up as having lied to her.

  By a swift sideways glance from his heavily lidded eyes Fouché saw Roger’s discomfiture and pressed home his advantage. ‘Besides, Mister Brook. I have not yet said my piece before the magistrates, and I have long made a practice of trimming my sails to every emergency. I can still tell them that, touched by your youth, on an impulse of compassion for you, when questioned last night, I sought to shield you from the results of your criminal act; but
, today, my conscience smiting me, I feel constrained to tell the truth: That is, that, on informing the Doctor I intended to have him arrested you attempted to shoot me, but missed your aim and shot him instead, then panicked and endeavoured to escape with his money.’

  With growing trepidation Roger realised that behind the pale high forehead of this red-haired Oratorian teacher there lay a subtle and cunning brain. Such a story would square quite well fit what Fouché had told the police the previous night, yet leave him, Roger, to face a charge of attempted murder or manslaughter, at the very least. He knew that he dared not face it, and said slowly:

  ‘So be it. I will do as you suggest.’

  Fouché smiled down at his boots. ‘You may not have inherited the boldness associated with English Admirals, but in this you show a wisdom which will prove more profitable to you than any rash display of courage. You can leave me to do the talking. All you need do is to say that I have given a full and true account of the affair and, if you are asked, state that for as long as you had known him the Doctor had always carried that little two-barrelled pistol. ’Tis time now that we went, for the Court will soon be sitting.’

  On their leaving the room young Monsieur Fouché’s pale face was enough to tell Maître Léger that they had reached agreement, and he hurried them both into his carriage.

  At the Court House everything went according to plan. In a quarter of an hour the inquest was over. There was no jury, but after consulting for a few moments the magistrates declared their verdict: that Doctor Aristotle Fénelon had taken his own life while his mind was temporarily deranged owing to his having just been told that he was to be arrested on a charge involving the death penalty.

  Afterwards, without a glance at Roger, the tall, thin Fouché left the Court House and walked away. As Roger watched him go Maître Léger said: ‘What have you in mind to do now, my young friend?’