The Launching of Roger Brook

by Dennis Wheatley

  Roger had duly sent all such purely military information to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, but he was a little afraid that it might prove misleading to the British Government, since he was now personally convinced that all these measures were no more than bluff. Standing as he did at M. de Rochambeau’s elbow, it seemed perfectly clear to him that the Marquis meant at all costs to avoid war, and the one thing of which he was frightened was that Prussia should intervene in the affairs of the United Provinces by giving military aid to the Stadtholder before the Republicans could pull off their coup d’état and present Europe with a fair accompli.

  Frederick-Wilhelm II was becoming slightly more bellicose and had moved a certain number of troops down to the Dutch frontier, but the Marquis was convinced that he did not wish to fight, and evidently considered that the best way of preventing him from actually sending troops over the border was for France to show equal readiness and a greater concentration of forces.

  Athénaïs was now very frequently in Paris as, to keep up the pretence that she meant to go through with the marriage that had been arranged for her, she had ordered an elaborate trousseau; and this necessitated her dressmakers, furriers, mantle makers and milliners waiting upon her several days a week and occupying hours of her time.

  Madame Marie-Angé had long since become accustomed to her charge’s strange whim of browsing through the collection of old toys and books in the neglected playroom and, as her hip still pained her when negotiating any flight of stairs, she never came up there. In consequence, from the latter part of July onward, Athénaïs and Roger had met there at least once, and often twice, a week.

  Having each sworn to take no rash action without first consulting the other they seemed to have reached a stalemate. At every meeting each snatched at the caresses that the other offered so eagerly and strove to put out of their minds the inexorable approach of the fatal day.

  M. de la Tour d’Auvergne’s wound had healed well and, by mid-August, he was able to get about again; but he still wore one arm strapped to his side in order to prevent any sudden movement reopening the wound. Roger went often to see him and, again and again, they talked gloomily of Athénaïs’s situation. The Vicomte still had no idea that Roger saw her alone in secret, but knew that he was devoted to her and the two of them racked their brains in vain for a way to save her from the nightmare of a marriage with M. de Caylus. The Vicomte said that he would willingly fight again but, having fought him once, the Count was under no compulsion to do so a second time, and, in any case, the wound received in the first combat rendered another out of the question until long after the date fixed for the wedding.

  Athénaïs herself brought matters to a head. On the evening of Sunday the 20th of August, after she and Roger had both attended Vespers, they kept a tryst in the playroom. He had hardly taken her in his arms, before she said:

  ‘My dear love, let us make the most of this hour, for ’tis the last we will have together.’

  Roger began to speak, but she put a soft hand over his mouth, and went on: ‘There are but ten days left, and I can bear the strain of evading this terrible issue no longer. I have had ample time to search my mind and I cannot face marriage with M. de Caylus. I have now formed a definite resolve to tell my father tomorrow night that it is my intention to seek refuge from the world in a convent.’

  For a moment Roger did not reply. He had hoped to the last moment that Providence would intervene and provide some way of escape for her; but with only nine clear days left there now seemed little chance of that. He felt as if, somehow, deep down inside himself, he had always known that if she was to be saved it would depend upon himself. He had thought about the awful problem for so long that he knew exactly what he was called on to do. And now, at whatever risk to himself, the time had come when he must do it.

  21

  Double Crisis

  When Roger did speak, it was firmly. He said: ‘No. You are not to defy your father yet. I have devised a way in which I can preserve you from M. de Caylus; but it will take a few days to arrange the final details. You must give me till the end of the week. We will meet again on Saturday and if I cannot tell you definitely that there is a fair chance of your not being called on to go through with this hateful marriage you may, that night, declare your intention of retiring to a convent. But you are not to take this most desperate step till then.’

  His voice held such a ring of authority and confidence that Athénaïs gave in without a murmur; and after an hour of sweet emotion he left her, fully determined on his project.

  When the Marquis was in Paris he often worked late at night but he never entered his sanctum before midday, so Roger was under no obligation to be in his office much before that hour. On coming downstairs the morning after he had pledged himself to take desperate measures he ordered his favourite riding-horse to be saddled and, shortly after nine o’clock, took the road to Passy.

  M. I’Abbé de Périgord’s circle did not gather, to pull the world to pieces over their cups of chocolate at the little house in the Rue de Bellechasse, until eleven o’clock; so Roger planned to get in an hour alone with his friend before any of the others arrived. When he reached the house he was told that M. le Abbé had not yet risen, but Roger had expected that and he sent up a message to the effect that he had come thus early as he particularly desired a private conversation which might occupy some little time.

  He was asked to wait in the familiar, sunny morning-room, and a quarter of an hour later the Abbé joined him there. M. de Périgord was still in déshabille, wearing a loose gown of shot-blue silk and looking somewhat jaded.

  Gracefully smothering a yawn he said: ‘You’re a fine fellow to get me up at this godless hour: I did not get to bed till after seven.’

  Roger smiled. ‘You’re such a glutton for enjoyment that I thought you never slept, but I suppose you needs must at times.’

  ‘Alas, yes! But I spent the night hours with the Du Barry, at her château of Luciennes; and ‘twas a riot, but exhausting.’

  ‘What, then! Have you now become the lover of Louis XV’s old mistress?’

  ‘Nay, I fear I expressed myself badly. ’Tis said that since Lord Seymour left her she has been as faithful as a bourgeois wife to the Duc de Cossé-Brissac. I was but one of the fifteen guests—all of us men, whom they entertained to dinner. And though she must be forty-three or more I vow she did not look a day over thirty. Moreover, although she was bred in the gutter she has ever been a most charming hostess, and she has not lost the art in her retirement. After dinner she gave us a ballet representing the Concourse of the Nations. There were fifteen beauties in it, each of a different nationality, including a Chinese, an Arab, an Indian and a Blackamoor. When the ballet was done they supped with us and we drew lots for their favour. The Spaniard fell to me and she proved no mean performer. But I weary you with all this. Tell me now of this urgent matter which has caused you to rob me of my beauty sleep.’

  Roger at once plunged into the business he had come upon and, without mentioning any names, gave an account of the situation in which Athénaïs and himself found themselves. He then asked the Abbé what he would advise the hypothetical young man in the case to do.

  M. de Périgord’s slim hand covered another yawn. ‘Why, ’tis simple, mon ami. If the young man is not a fool he will point out to the young woman that after three months in a convent she will spend the rest of her life regretting her rash decision, whereas after three months of marriage to her fiancé she will have forgotten how unpleasant he is.’

  ‘But those three months!’ protested Roger. ‘Nay! I could never urge the woman I love to surrender herself to such a nightmare.’

  The Abbé smiled with mild amusement. ‘’Twas not for me to dot the “i’s” and cross the “t’s”; but now that you have let the cat out of the bag, shall we talk of yourself and, quite obviously, Mademoiselle de Rochambeau’s betrothal to M. le Comte de Caylus?’

  Roger shrugged. ‘I would have had to name them later, in any
case, since I require your help.’

  Then, if you have already formed some plan, why ask my advice?’

  ‘Because I thought you might be able to suggest something that I have not yet thought of. I hoped you would see the problem from a different angle.’

  ‘’Tis clear that I do. ’Twould be a crazy act for a lovely creature like Athénaïs de Rochambeau to cut short her life at the age of eighteen.’

  ‘I know it. But she herself has selected that course rather than marry de Caylus. And how can one blame her? The very thought of her in the arms of that gross half-breed is a blasphemy.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ The Abbé rubbed the tip of his retroussé nose angrily. ‘What matters a man’s size to a woman providing he be a good lover; and de Caylus is a healthy enough animal. As for his dash of black blood, ’tis a thing against which you English are prejudiced, I know, but here in France we are more broadminded. If she dislikes his looks tell her to put a pillow over her face and think of the lovely curly-haired children he will give her. Honestly, mon chér Chevalier, you are behaving like a child and I needs must speak brutally to bring you to your senses.’

  Roger had gone slightly pale, and he exclaimed: ‘He’ll give her no children as long as I live!’

  De Périgord threw up his hands. ‘Since, like all advice-seekers, you came here only to have some project you have already formed applauded, let me hear it.’

  ‘With God’s help I mean to kill him!’

  ‘The devil you do! And how, may I ask?’

  ‘By calling him out, of course; surely you do not consider me capable of stooping to assassination?’

  ‘You appear mad enough at the moment to be capable of anything. But surely you realise that he would never accept a challenge from M. de Rochambeau’s secretary?’

  ‘Exactly! And that is where I require your help. I intend to waylay him somewhere, disclose my true status to him, and call on him to fight a duel à outrance. My difficulty is that he may not believe me; and you are the only man in France who can convince him that I am of noble blood.’

  ‘Why should he believe me, more than another?’

  ‘Because, immediately I told you that Lord Kildonan was my uncle, you exclaimed upon my likeness to him.’

  De Périgord nodded. That is true. I would stake all I possess on your being related to the Earl. But do you realise what you are asking of me? You are suggesting that I should act as your second in a duel and, although I may not be a very good one, I am a priest.’

  ‘I had not forgotten it; and all I ask is that you should bear witness before M. de Caylus that I have the right to carry arms. I then intend to dispense with all formalities and fight him on the spot.’

  ‘Mort dieu! But this is utter madness. After encounters in which a death results the edicts against duelling are applied with some severity. So, if you mean to fight to a finish, you would, at the least, expose yourself to a spell in prison. Yet you are not content with that, and propose to place yourself outside all duelling convention by fighting without seconds. Should you kill de Caylus in such circumstances ‘twill be counted murder, and the King will make you answer for it with your head.’

  ‘I am aware of that; but ’tis a risk that I must take. Were I to indulge in all the usual formalities of a duel, with seconds, doctors, servants and the like, ’twould be bound to leak out; and if it became generally known that I had fought for Athénaïs ’twould ruin her prospects of another marriage, so her father would throw her into a convent whether she would or no. I plan to hold up de Caylus in his coach somewhere, at night; and I’ll be masked myself, so that his servants will not recognise me. Then, if fortune favours me, ‘twill be thought that he was killed defending himself from some highwayman, and no loose tongues will wag a tale that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau had an affair with her father’s secretary.’

  ‘The plan is well devised,’ muttered the Abbé, ‘but so startling that I have as yet scarce taken it in. Tell me though, if you mean to act the highwayman where is the necessity for me to play a part?’

  ‘’Twill be for you, Abbé, and you’ll do me this great kindness, to speak with him when we halt his coach, while I remain at some little distance. Unless someone whom he knows parleys with him civilly he might think that we are highwaymen in truth, and call on his servants to fire upon us with their blunderbusses. To be filled full of lead would be but a poor ending to such an undertaking. Besides, I am most averse to having him think that he has been set upon by some cut-purse. Though we’ll have no seconds I am anxious that all the usual courtesies should be observed, and that we should fight like gentlemen.’

  De Périgord sighed. ‘I follow your reasoning, but am most loath to aid you in this desperate business. I know nothing of your ability with the rapier, but I do know that de Caylus is counted one of the finest swordsmen in France. He has fought a score of times, and ’tis scarce two months ago that he made a sorry mess of M. de la Tour d’Auvergne in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘I am prepared for the worst,’ said Roger soberly, ‘but at least I will stand a better chance than the Vicomte, for I have bested him in many a practice bout.’

  ‘But ’tis heads de Caylus wins and tails you lose,’ protested the Abbé. ‘All the odds are that you will be killed yourself; but if you are not, and kill him, half the police in France will be after you for murder.’

  ‘I know it, I tell you,’ Roger insisted. ‘But I see no other chance of preserving Athénaïs from the lust of this abominable quadroon.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the Abbé countered. ‘But I am by no means convinced as yet that you are justified in throwing away your life on that account. I beg you to consider the facts coolly and to view them in their proper perspective. I cannot believe that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau is either better or worse than most other young women of our aristocracy. They emerge from childhood knowing nothing of men, and so develop romantic ideas about them. Those who are wise do not expect to find romance with their husband, since they know beforehand that he will be some stranger selected for them by their family; but they endeavour to make of him a friend. Once married, society permits them to take as many lovers as they wish, and the husband who seeks to thwart them in that succeeds only in making himself the laughing-stock of his acquaintances.

  ‘Should your beautiful Athénaïs become the Countess de Caylus she will, within a month, have half a hundred attractive men pleading with her to give them a rendezvous; and she would be a freak of nature should she refuse them all. Surely you see that by this marriage taking place you have nothing to lose and everything to gain? In all our lives there come at times unpleasant passages which we are called upon to face. Persuade the girl to put a brave front on her honeymoon. M. de Caylus is far too hardened a roué not to tire of a young and inexperienced bedfellow very quickly. Before October is out she’ll be free to console herself with you, and you will have one of the loveliest women in Paris as your mistress. Is that not a better prospect than for her to be immured in a convent, and you to be lying headless in a felon’s grave?’

  Roger could not know that it was the future Arch-Chancellor of a new French Empire, the bounds of which would spread from the Baltic to the southernmost tip of Italy, and the great diplomat of his century, who was exercising all his persuasive arts upon him; but he did know that his friend, the Abbé de Talleyrand-Périgord had given a fair and not overdrawn picture of French society in the age in which they were living. All that the Abbé said was true, plausible and, if his advice was accepted, almost inevitable. Yet Roger could not reconcile himself to it.

  ‘No, Abbé,’ he said quietly, ‘I know that you have reason on your side; but there is no evading the fact that neither Athénaïs nor I will accept a continuance of our love upon such terms.’

  De Périgord regarded him with a smile in which there was no longer any trace of cynicism. ‘You are mad, of course,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘All Englishmen are mad, and that, no doubt, accounts for it; but I confess to having a sneaking adm
iration for your madness. So be it, then. Since you are determined to throw away your life and seek my aid in doing so, I will, however reluctantly, give it you. When and where do you propose to make this suicidal attempt on M. de Caylus?’

  ‘There again, I must crave your help,’ replied Roger. ‘I am poorly situated to ascertain his movements, whereas you, owing to your frequent visits to Versailles, should have no great difficulty in finding out when he will next make a journey thence after dark to Paris. But the marriage contract is to be signed in nine days’ time, so it is a matter of some urgency.’

  For the moment the Abbé remained thoughtful, then he said: ‘De Caylus has a petit maison in the Bois de Meudon. ’Tis there that he disports himself with any courtesan to whom he takes a fancy. You may recall my mentioning Olympe, the little Opera girl on whose account he attempted to avenge himself on me last summer. When we had wearied of one another she was tempted back to him by his money, and they still meet with some frequency. Olympe and I have remained good friends and she should be able to tell me when de Caylus will next be passing a night at Meudon.’

  ‘I will hold myself in readiness,’ Roger volunteered, ‘and be prepared to join you at any time. I only pray that it may be soon.’

  The Abbé nodded. ‘I realise the urgency. And while I feel that a meeting on the road ‘twixt Versailles and Meudon offers the best prospect of being undisturbed, should that not prove possible I will find out where else de Caylus may be met with on the road at night, before the week is out. Owing to my lameness I must go to the place by coach, but ’tis essential that you should be mounted, and mounted well; since your life will depend on the speed with which you can get away from the vicinity once the affair is over. The best plan, I think, would be for me to send you a simple message giving only the time and place where you are to rendezvous with me. We will then go on in company for the last mile or so, to select a suitable spot at which to hold up de Caylus’s coach.’