CHAPTER XII
THE DEFERENCE OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE
Certainly he had some strange ways, this M. de Perrencourt. It was notenough for him to arrive by night, nor to have his meeting with M.Colbert (whose Star Darrell made me observe most particularly nextmorning) guarded from intruding eyes by the King's own order. He sheweda predilection for darkness and was visible in the daytime only inMadame's apartment, or when she went to visit the King. The other Frenchgentlemen and ladies manifested much curiosity concerning the town andthe neighbourhood, and with Madame and the Duke of Monmouth at theirhead took part in many pleasant excursions. In a day or two the Queenalso and the Duchess of York came from London, and the doings grew moregay and merry. But M. de Perrencourt was not to be tempted; no pastimes,no jaunts allured him; he did not put his foot outside the walls of theCastle, and was little seen inside it. I myself did not set eyes on himfor two days after my first sight of him; but after that I beheld himfairly often, and the more I saw him the more I wondered. Of a truthhis retiring behaviour was dictated by no want of assurance nor by unduemodesty; he was not abashed in the presence of the great and borehimself as composedly before the King as in the presence of a lackey. Itwas plain, too, that he enjoyed Madame's confidence in no common degree,for when affairs of State were discussed and all withdrew saving Madame,her brothers and the Secretary (even the Duke of Monmouth not beingadmitted), the last we saw as we made our bows and backed out of thedoorway would be M. de Perrencourt standing in an easy and unconstrainedattitude behind Madame's chair and manifesting no overpowering sense ofthe signal honour paid to him by the permission to remain. As may besupposed, a theory sprang up to account for the curious regard thisgentleman commanded; it was put about (some said that Lord Arlingtonhimself gave his authority for the report) that M. de Perrencourt waslegal guardian to his cousin Mlle. de Querouaille, and that the King haddiscovered special reasons for conciliating the gentleman by everymeans, and took as much pains to please him as to gain favour with thelady herself. Here was a good reason for M. de Perrencourt'sdistinguished treatment, and no less for the composure and calm withwhich M. de Perrencourt accepted it. To my mind, however, the manner ofM. de Perrencourt's arrival and the incident of M. Colbert's Star foundscarcely a sufficient explanation in this ingenious conjecture; yet thestory, thus circulated, was generally accepted and served its office ofsatisfying curiosity and blunting question well enough.
Again (for my curiosity would not be satisfied, nor the edge of myquestioning be turned)--what had the Duke of Monmouth to gain from M. dePerrencourt? Something it seemed, or his conduct was most mysterious. Hecared nothing for Mlle. de Querouaille, and I could not suppose that themere desire to please his father would have weighed with him so stronglyas to make him to all appearance the humble servant of this Frenchgentleman. The thing was brought home most forcibly to my mind on thethird evening after M. de Perrencourt's arrival. A private conferencewas held and lasted some hours; outside the closed doors we all paced toand fro, hearing nothing save now and then Madame's clear voice, raised,as it seemed, in exhortation or persuasion. The Duke, who was gladenough to escape the tedium of State affairs but at the same timevisibly annoyed at his exclusion, sauntered listlessly up and down,speaking to nobody. Perceiving that he did not desire my company, Iwithdrew to a distance, and, having seated myself in a retired corner,was soon lost in consideration of my own fortunes past and to come. Thehour grew late; the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, having offeredand accepted compliments and gallantries till invention and complaisancealike were exhausted, dropped off one by one, in search of supper,wine, or rest. I sat on in my corner. Nothing was to be heard save theoccasional voices of the two musketeers on guard on the steps leadingfrom the second storey of the keep to the State apartments. I knew thatI must move soon, for at night the gate on the stairs was shut. It wasanother of the peculiar facts about M. de Perrencourt that he alone ofthe gentlemen-in-waiting had been lodged within the precincts of theroyal quarters, occupying an apartment next to the Duke of York, who hadhis sister Madame for his neighbour on the other side. The prolongedconference was taking place in the King's cabinet farther along thepassage.
Suddenly I heard steps on the stairs, the word of the night was asked,and Monmouth's voice made answer "Saint Denis"; for just now everythingwas French in compliment to Madame. The steps continued to ascend; thelight in the corridor was very dim, but a moment later I perceivedMonmouth and Carford. Carford's arm was through his Grace's, and heseemed to be endeavouring to restrain him. Monmouth shook him off with alaugh and an oath.
"I'm not going to listen," he cried. "Why should I listen? Do I want tohear the King praying to the Virgin?"
"Silence, for God's sake, silence, your Grace," implored Carford.
"That's what he does, isn't it? He, and the Queen's Chaplain, andthe----"
"Pray, sir!"
"And our good M. de Perrencourt, then?" He burst into a bitter laugh ashe mentioned the gentleman's name.
I had heard more than was meant for my ears, and what was enough (if Imay use a distinction drawn by my old friend the Vicar) for myunderstanding. I was in doubt whether to declare my presence or not. HadMonmouth been alone, I would have shown myself directly, but I did notwish Carford to be aware that I had overheard so much. I sat still amoment longer in hesitation; then I uttered a loud yawn, groaned,stretched myself, rose to my feet, and gave a sudden and very obviousstart, as I let my eyes fall on the Duke.
"Why, Simon," he cried, "what brings you here?"
"I thought your Grace was in the King's cabinet," I answered.
"But you knew that I left them some hours since."
"Yes, but having lost sight of your Grace, I supposed that you'dreturned, and while waiting for you I fell asleep."
My explanation abundantly satisfied the Duke; Carford maintained a warysilence.
"We're after other game than conferences to-night," said Monmouth,laughing again. "Go down to the hall and wait there for me, Simon. Mylord and I are going to pay a visit to the ladies of Madame and theDuchess of York."
I saw that he was merry with wine; Carford had been drinking too, but hegrew only more glum and malicious with his liquor. Neither their statenor the hour seemed fitted for the visit the Duke spoke of, but I washelpless, and with a bow took my way down the stairs to the hall below,where I sat down on the steps that led up to one of the loop-holes. Agreat chair, standing by the wall, served to hide me from observation.For a few moments nothing occurred. Then I heard a loud burst oflaughter from above. Feet came running down the steps into the hall, anda girl in a white dress darted across the floor. I heard her laugh, andknew that she was Barbara Quinton. An instant later came Monmouth hot onher heels, and imploring her in extravagant words not to be so cruel andheartless as to fly from him. But where was Carford? I could onlysuppose that my lord had the discretion to stay behind when the Duke ofMonmouth desired to speak with the lady whom my lord sought for hiswife.
In my humble judgment, a very fine, large, and subtle volume might becomposed on the canons of eavesdropping--when a man may listen, when hemay not, and for how long he may, to what end, for what motives, in whatcauses, and on what provocations. It may be that the Roman Divines, who,as I understand, are greatly adept in the science of casuistry, haveaccomplished already the task I indicate. I know not; at least I havenowhere encountered the result of their labours. But now I sat stillbehind the great chair and listened without doubt or hesitation. Yet howlong I could have controlled myself I know not, for his Grace made lightof scruples that night and set bounds at nought. At first MistressBarbara was merry with him, fencing and parrying, in confidence that hewould use no roughness nor an undue vehemence. But on he went; andpresently a note of alarm sounded in her voice as she prayed him tosuffer her to depart and return to the Duchess, who must have need ofher.
"Nay, I won't let you go, sweet mistress. Rather, I can't let you go."
"Indeed, sir, I must go," she said. "Come, I will call my
Lord Carford,to aid me in persuading your Grace."
He laughed at the suggestion that a call for Carford would hinder him.
"He won't come," he said; "and if he came, he would be my ally, notyours."
She answered now haughtily and coldly:
"Sir, Lord Carford is a suitor for my hand. It is in your Grace'sknowledge that he is."
"But he thinks a hand none the worse because I've kissed it," retortedMonmouth. "You don't know how amiable a husband you're to have, MistressBarbara."
I was on my feet now, and, peering round the chair which hid me fromthem, I could see her standing against the wall, with Monmouth oppositeto her. He offered to seize her hand, but she drew it away sharply.With a laugh he stepped nearer to her. A slight sound caught my ear,and, turning my head, I saw Carford on the lowest step of the stairs; hewas looking at the pair, and a moment later stepped backwards, till hewas almost hidden from my sight, though I could still make out the shapeof his figure. A cry of triumph from Monmouth echoed low but intensethrough the hall; he had caught the elusive hand and was kissing itpassionately. Barbara stood still and stiff. The Duke, keeping her handstill in his, said mockingly:
"You pretty fool, would you refuse fortune? Hark, madame, I am a King'sson."
I saw no movement in her, but the light was dim. He went on, loweringhis voice a little, yet not much.
"And I may be a King; stranger things have come to pass. Wouldn't youlike to be a Queen?" He laughed as he put the question; he lacked thecare or the cunning to make even a show of honesty.
"Let me go," I heard her whisper in a strained, timid voice.
"Well, for to-night you shall go, sweetheart, but not without a kiss, Iswear."
She was frightened now and sought to propitiate him, saying gently andwith attempted lightness,
"Your Grace has my hand prisoner. You can work your will on it."
"Your hand! I mean your lips this time," he cried in audaciousinsolence. He came nearer to her, his arm crept round her waist. I hadendured what I could, yes, and as long as I could; for I was persuadedthat I could serve her better by leaving her unaided for the moment. Butmy limit was reached; I stepped out from behind the chair. But in aninstant I was back again. Monmouth had paused; in one hand he heldBarbara's hand, the other rested on her girdle, but he turned his headand looked at the stairs. Voices had come from there; he had heard themas I had, as Barbara had.
"You can't pass out," had come in a blustering tone from Carford.
"Stand aside, sir," was the answer in a calm, imperative voice.
Carford hesitated for a single instant, then he seemed to shrink away,making himself small and leaving free passage for a man who came downthe steps and walked confidently and briskly across the hall towardswhere the Duke stood with Barbara.
Above us, at the top of the stairs, there were the sound of voices andthe tread of feet. The conference was broken up and the parties to itwere talking in the passage on their way to regain their own apartments.I paid no heed to them; my eyes were fixed on the intruder who came soboldly and unabashed up to the Duke. I knew him now; he was M. dePerrencourt, Madame's gentleman.
Without wavering or pausing, straight he walked. Monmouth seemed turnedto stone; I could see his face set and rigid, although light failed meto catch that look in the eyes by which you may best know a man's mood.Not a sound or a motion came from Carford. Barbara herself was stiff andstill, her regard bent on M. de Perrencourt. He stood now directly overagainst her and Monmouth; it seemed long before he spoke. Indeed, I hadlooked for Monmouth's voice first, for an oath of vexation at theinterruption, for a curse on the intruder and a haughty order to him tobe gone and not interfere with what concerned his betters. No such word,nor any words, issued from the mouth of the Duke. And still M. dePerrencourt was silent. Carford stole covertly from the steps nearer tothe group until, gliding across the hall, he was almost at theFrenchman's elbow. Still M. de Perrencourt was silent.
Slowly and reluctantly, as though in deference to an order that heloathed but dared not disobey, Monmouth drew his arm away; he loosedBarbara's hand, she drew back, leaning against the wall; the Duke stoodwith his arms by his side, looking at the man who interrupted his sportand seemed to have power to control his will. Then, at last, in crisp,curt, ungracious tones, M. de Perrencourt spoke.
"I thank you, Monsieur le Duc," said he. "I was sure that you wouldperceive your error soon. This is not the lady you supposed, this isMistress Quinton. I desire to speak with her, pray give me leave."
The King would not have spoken in this style to his pampered son, andthe Duke of York himself dared not have done it. But no touch ofuneasiness or self-distrust appeared in M. de Perrencourt's smoothcutting speech. Truly he was high in Madame's confidence, and, likelyenough, a great man in his own country; but, on my life, I looked to seethe hot-tempered Duke strike him across the face. Even I, who had beenabout to interfere myself, by some odd momentary turn of feelingresented the insolence with which Monmouth was assailed. Would he notresent it much more for himself? No. For an instant I heard his quickbreathing, the breathing of a man who fights anger, holding it underwith great labour and struggling. Then he spoke; in his voice also therewas passion hard held.
"Here, sir, and everywhere," he said, "you have only to command to beobeyed." Slowly he bent his head low, the gesture matching the humilityof his words, while it emphasised their unwillingness.
The strange submission won no praise. M. de Perrencourt did not accordthe speech so much courtesy as lay in an answer. His silent slight bowwas all his acknowledgment; he stood there waiting for his command to beobeyed.
Monmouth turned once towards Barbara, but his eyes came back to M. dePerrencourt. Carford advanced to him and offered his arm. The Duke laidhis hand on his friend's shoulder. For a moment they stood still thus,then both bowed low to M. de Perrencourt, who answered with another ofhis slight inclinations of the head. They turned and walked out of thehall, the Duke seeming almost to stagger and to lean on Carford, asthough to steady his steps. As they went they passed within two yards ofme, and I saw Monmouth's face pale with rage. With a long indrawing ofmy breath I drew back into the shadow of my shelter. They passed, thehall was empty save for myself and the two who stood there by the wall.
I had no thought now of justifying my part of eavesdropper. Scrupleswere drowned in excitement; keen interest bound me to my place withchains of iron. My brain was full of previous suspicion thricemagnified; all that was mysterious in this man came back to me; themessage I had surprised at Canterbury ran echoing through my head againand again. Yet I bent myself to the task of listening, resolute to catchevery word. Alas, my efforts were in vain! M. de Perrencourt was ofdifferent clay from his Grace the Duke. He was indeed speaking now, butso low and warily that no more than a gentle murmur reached my ears. Nordid his gestures aid; they were as far from Monmouth's jovial violenceas his tones from the Duke's reckless exclaiming. He was urgent butcourteous, most insistent yet most deferential. Monmouth claimed andchallenged, M. de Perrencourt seemed to beseech and woo. Yet he askedas though none could refuse, and his prayer presumed a favourableanswer. Barbara listened in quiet; I could not tell whether fear alonebound her, or whether the soft courtly voice bred fascination also. Iwas half-mad that I could not hear, and had much ado not to rush out,unprovoked, and defy the man before whom my master had bowed almost tothe ground, beaten and dismayed.
At last she spoke a few hurried imploring words.
"No, no," she panted. "No; pray leave me. No."
M. de Perrencourt answered gently and beseechingly,
"Nay, say 'Not yet,' madame."
They were silent again, he seeming to regard her intently. Suddenly shecovered her face with her hands; yet, dropping her hands almostimmediately, she set her eyes on his; I saw him shake his head.
"For to-night, then, good-night, fairest lady," said he. He took herhand and kissed it lightly, bowing very low and respectfully, shelooking down at him as he stooped. Then he dre
w away from her, bowingagain and repeating again,
"For to-night, good-night."
With this he turned towards the stairs, crossing the hall with the samebrisk, confident tread that had marked his entry. He left her, but itlooked as though she were indulged, not he defeated. At the lowest stephe paused, turned, bowed low again. This time she answered with a deepand sweeping curtsey. Then he was gone, and she was leaning by the wallagain, her face buried in her hands. I heard her sob, and her brokenwords reached me:
"What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"
At once I stepped out from the hiding-place that had shown me suchstrange things, and, crossing to her, hat in hand, answered her saddesolate question.
"Why, trust in your friends, Mistress Barbara," said I cheerily. "Whatelse can any lady do?"
"Simon!" she cried eagerly, and as I thought gladly; for her hand flewout to mine. "You, here?"
"And at your service always," said I.
"But have you been here? Where did you come from?"
"Why, from across the hall, behind the chair there," I answered. "I'vebeen there a long while back. His Grace told me to wait in the hall, andin the hall I waited, though the Duke, having other things to think of,forgot both his order and his servant."
"Then you heard?" she asked in a whisper.
"All, I think, that the Duke said. Lord Carford said nothing. I wasabout to interrupt his Grace when the task was better performed for me.I think, madame, you owe some thanks to M. de Perrencourt."
"You heard what he said?"
"The last few words only," I answered regretfully.
She looked at me for an instant, and then said with a dreary littlesmile,
"I'm to be grateful to M. de Perrencourt?"
"I know no other man who could or would have rid you of the Duke sofinely. Besides, he appeared to treat you with much courtesy."
"Courtesy, yes!" she cried, but seemed to check herself. She was stillin great agitation, and a moment later she covered her face and I heardher sob again.
"Come, take heart," said I. "The Duke's a great man, of course; but noharm shall come to you, Mistress Barbara. Your father bade me have myservices in readiness for you, and although I didn't need his order as aspur, I may pray leave to use it as an excuse for thrusting myself onyou."
"Indeed I--I'm glad to see you, Simon. But what shall I do? Ah, Heaven,why did I ever come to this place?"
"That can be mended by leaving it, madame."
"But how? How can I leave it?" she asked despairingly.
"The Duchess will grant you leave."
"Without the King's consent?"
"But won't the King consent? Madame will ask for you; she's kind."
"Madame won't ask for me; nobody will ask for me."
"Then if leave be impossible, we must go without leave, if you speak theword."
"Ah, you don't know," she said sadly. Then she caught my hand again andwhispered hurriedly and fearfully: "I'm afraid, Simon. I--I fear him.What can I do? How can I resist? They can do what they will with me,what can I do? If I weep, they laugh; if I try to laugh, they take itfor consent. What can I do?"
There is nothing that so binds a man to a woman as to feel her handseeking his in weakness and appeal. I had thought that one day soBarbara's might seek mine and I should exult in it, nay, might even lether perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamed of was come, but wherewas my exultation? There was a choking in my throat and I swallowedtwice before I contrived to answer:
"What can we do, you mean, Mistress Barbara."
"Alas, alas," she cried, between tears and laughter, "what can we--evenwe--do, Simon?"
I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old days before myapostacy and great offence. I was glad of it, for if I was to be ofservice to her we must be friends. Suddenly she said,
"You know what it means--I can't tell you; you know?"
"Aye, I know," said I, "none better. But the Duke shan't have his way."
"The Duke? If it were only the Duke--Ah!" She stopped, a new alarm inher eyes. She searched my face eagerly. Of deliberate purpose I set itto an immutable stolidity.
"Already he's very docile," said I. "See how M. de Perrencourt turnedand twisted him, and sent him off crestfallen."
She laid her hand on my arm.
"If I might tell you," she said, "a thing that few know here; none butthe King and his near kindred and one or two more."
"But how came you to know of it?" I interrupted.
"I--I also came to know it," she murmured.
"There are many ways of coming to know a thing," said I. "One is bybeing told; another, madame, is by finding out. Certainly it was amazinghow M. de Perrencourt dealt with his Grace; ay, and with my LordCarford, who shrank out of his path as though he had been--a King." Ilet my tones give the last word full effect.
"Simon," she whispered in eagerness mingled with alarm, "Simon, what areyou saying? Silence for your life!"
"My life, madame, is rooted too deep for a syllable to tear it up. Isaid only 'as though he had been a king.' Tell me why M. Colbert wearsthe King's Star. Was it because somebody saw a gentleman wearing theKing's Star embrace and kiss M. de Perrencourt the night that hearrived?"
"It was you?"
"It was I, madame. Tell me on whose account three messengers went toLondon, carrying the words '_Il vient_.'"
She was hanging to my arm now, full of eagerness.
"And tell me now what M. de Perrencourt said to you. A plague on him, hespoke so low that I couldn't hear!"
A blush swept over her face; her eyes, losing the fire of excitement,dropped in confusion to the ground.
"I can't tell you," she murmured.
"Yet I know," said I. "And if you'll trust me, madame----"
"Ah, Simon, you know I trust you."
"Yet you were angry with me."
"Not angry--I had no right--I mean I had no cause to be angry. I--I wasgrieved."
"You need be grieved no longer, madame."
"Poor Simon!" said she very gently. I felt the lightest pressure on myhand, the touch of two slim fingers, speaking of sympathy andcomradeship.
"By God, I'll bring you safe out of it," I cried.
"But how, how? Simon, I fear that he has----"
"The Duke?"
"No, the--the other--M. de Perrencourt; he has set his heart on--on whathe told me."
"A man may set his heart on a thing and yet not win it," said I grimly.
"Yes, a man--yes, Simon, I know; a man may----"
"Ay, and even a----"
"Hush, hush! If you were overheard--your life wouldn't be safe if youwere overheard."
"What do I care?"
"But I care!" she cried, and added very hastily, "I'm selfish. I care,because I want your help."
"You shall have it. Against the Duke of Monmouth, and against the----"
"Ah, be careful!"
I would not be careful. My blood was up. My voice was loud and bold as Igave to M. de Perrencourt the name that was his, the name by which thefrightened lord and the cowed Duke knew him, the name that gave himentrance to those inmost secret conferences, and yet kept him himselfhidden and half a prisoner in the Castle. The secret was no secret to menow.
"Against the Duke of Monmouth," said I sturdily, "and also, if need be,against the King of France."
Barbara caught at my arm in alarm. I laughed, till I saw her fingerpoint warily over my shoulder. With a start I turned and saw a mancoming down the steps. In the dim light the bright Star gleamed on hisbreast. He was M. Colbert de Croissy. He stood on the lowest step,peering at us through the gloom.
"Who speaks of the King of France here?" he said suspiciously.
"I, Simon Dale, gentleman-in-waiting to the Duke of Monmouth, at yourExcellency's service," I answered, advancing towards him and making mybow.
"What have you to say of my master?" he demanded.
For a moment I was at a loss; for although my heart was full of thingsthat I should have tak
en much pleasure in saying concerning His Majesty,they were none of them acceptable to the ears of His Majesty's Envoy. Istood, looking at Colbert, and my eyes fell on the Star that he wore. Iknew that I committed an imprudence, but for the life of me I could notwithstand the temptation. I made another bow, and, smiling easily,answered M. Colbert.
"I was remarking, sir," said I, "that the compliment paid to you by theKing of England in bestowing on you the Star from His Majesty's ownbreast, could not fail to cause much gratification to the King ofFrance."
He looked me hard in the eyes, but his eyes fell to the ground beforemine. I warrant he took nothing by his searching glance, and did well togive up the conflict. Without a word, and with a stiff little bow, hepassed on his way to the hall. The moment he was gone, Barbara was byme. Her face was alight with merriment.
"Oh, Simon, Simon!" she whispered reprovingly. "But I love you for it!"And she was gone up the stairs like a flitting moonbeam.
Upon this, having my head full and to spare of many matters, and myheart beating quick with more than one emotion, I thought my bed thebest and safest place for me, and repaired to it without delay.
"But I'll have some conversation with M. de Perrencourt to-morrow," saidI, as I turned on my pillow and sought to sleep.