menu_book Chapter 16

III. Departure of her successor. I was weary, and hoped to find in sleep that remission of distress which Nature seldom denies. RASALAS. CHAPTER 38.

The room on the second floor to which Mrs. Jeremy proceeded mademoiselle de Sablière was large and comfortable. It had two windows, now discreetly curtained, looking out onto the road. Mrs. Jeremy was large, too, that she could not alter, and she was usually very comfortable also, but not now. This is your room, Miss—Madem, no doubt, I should say. She announced with extreme

frigidity. The bed is well aired. Your supper is on that little table. Soup I've given you, and a cold chicken wing, knowing as young ladies have not much appetite, particularly when fatigued after a journey from heaven knows where. And here is your baggage, Miss. That, I understand, is all you have. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and see to the roast for the captain. I wish you a good night, Miss.

She withdrew, and the temperature sensibly rose. Mademoiselle de Sablière, who had looked at her mutely during the delivery of this speech, her eyes raised to heaven as the door closed. It was all she said. She proceeded with no loss of time to action, always so much more important than speech.

The first thing she did was to sit down on the nearest chair, pull off her shoes and fling them petulantly and with a look of hatred one after the other across the room. The second, to hobble to the door and lock it, and the third, to draw up a chair to the table, take the cover off the bowl of soup, and, without waiting to spread a napkin, drink off about half its contents in one draught. Midway she set it down and surveyed the rest of the collation with a gradually falling face.

The wing of cold chicken, the slice of bread, the small pat of butter, the remnant of apple tart and the tiny jug of cream, all very daintily set out upon a tray, after which, taking a spoon, she consumed the rest of the soup slowly by means of that implement. She then drank a glass of wine, with a good deal more obvious gusto than the less appreciative sex it usually exhibits, but then she was alone. Side looked fondly at the wing of chicken and

began upon it with a force de liberation. Even so, in eight minutes there was nothing whatever left of the elegant little supper save the chicken bones, as bare as if a colony of ants had been at work on them, and one glass of wine, with which mademoiselle de Sablière, leaning back in her chair with her stockinged feet stretched out straight in front of her, then proceeded to conclude the not very substantial meal.

After holding the empty glass for a moment or two in her fingers, and looking at it regretfully, she put it down with a sigh, and taking up the tray, considerately put it outside the door, relocked the latter, and then, candle in hand, made a careful tour of the walls of the apartment. The only other door was a small one covered with wallpaper, of the kind that commonly leads into a closet, and this one did no more, as the explorer satisfied herself. She returned, therefore, and

began to take off her dress, presumably a new one, since her fingers seemed unused to the fastenings, and it was some time before she stepped out of it, in her white underdress. Evidently, too, she regarded it with a reverence due to a new gown, for she spread it out, with what seemed exaggerated care for so simple a confection, over the back of a chair. After this she removed, with the same precision, an object of which some ladies, it is known,

do divest themselves upon retiring, but these as a rule of an age more advanced than Mademoiselle de Sablière. The removal of the high piled ringlets, thus laid en masse on the table, revealed her own short hair, of approximately the same dark brown color. She next unlocked the famous valise, and took from it an instrument which she laid by the wig, went over to the washstand, and vigorously washed her face, and then, returning with a hand mirror from the

dressing table, scrutinized the result by the candles, feeling her chin and upper lip critically. Her ablutions had had a somewhat singular effect upon her complexion, for the mirror showed all her brilliant color gone. Suddenly the fair traveler put down the glass and yawned violently, stretching her arms to their fullest extent, and causing an ominous cracking sound in the bosom of her tight fitting underdress. A look of alarm crossed her face, and, using an expression of a kind with which

a gently nurtured girl should not be familiar, she slowly unfastened the underdress also, and let it slide to the ground. And with that there was nothing of Mademoiselle de Sabliac left, only a very near relation of hers, slim to leanness in shirt, thin breeches and stockings, with a lock of damp hair clinging to his forehead, and a face which, now that the paint was gone, showed its true hollowness under the cheekbones and round the jaw. The face, too, of one tired to death,

though at the moment it wore a faint and transitory amusement as its owner looked down at the circle of white lying around his feet. That dress, the money in his pockets, his presence here as a practically free man, a goal owed in the first instance entirely to Juliana Forrest. She had got him out of the hulks, as she had vowed she would, employing for the purpose one creedy, who combined in Plymouth the occupations of Ship Chandler and escape agent. Had Raoul realized

earlier how deeply she was implicating herself in what now ranked as a felony, he might have hesitated to accept his freedom. But the truth was that, though for two months he received letters from her by the ordinary channels, adjuring him to keep up his spirits and assuring him that he was not forgotten, he supposed her, in the absence of any hints to the contrary, to be continuing her campaign by legitimate methods. Then, yesterday morning, as he was taking

his turn in heavy rain, at hauling up the casks of fresh water from the boat which daily brought them from the shore, one of her crew whispered something in his ear. There was no time to question or to argue, only in the downpour which no doubt had something to do with the relaxed vigilance of the sentries, to slip, as directed, into one of the empty casks lying on its side in the barge. But not until he was safely in the cellar under Creedy's shop did he still bewildered and

discover that that individual had been for two months in Miss Forrest's pay, awaiting this chance. It was too late then to refuse the gift, and the best way of showing his gratitude was to use it and get himself as speedily as he could, by means of Creedy's directions and her money to start bay, where the smugglers would run him over to France. Raoul stepped out of the underdress and folded it neatly up. Well, here he was, on his second night of freedom, under the roof of an English naval

officer of all men in the world, and though in the first instance only the more than discomfort of those damned shoes had driven him to accept this hospitality when it was pressed upon him. He had not been slow to realize that, if he had been tracked as far as Stowe, this was probably the last house where the authorities would ever dream of searching for him. He was really very glad that he had not to run the gauntlet of the unknown Miss Barrington's eyes tonight.

Captain Barrington, indeed, had evidently no suspicion of his sex. Really, it was almost a shame to have taken such advantage of his good nature. But Adrienne's possibly overrouged appearance had not seemed to find favour with the housekeeper. Creedy, who at Miss Forrest's suggestion had fitted him out in women's attire, had also provided him with the means of touching up his pallor and thinness into something more femininely presentable. And it was when Raoul,

thus embellished, had beheld himself in Mr. Creedy's looking-glass that the likeness to Adrienne had suggested to him the whimsical idea of impersonating her. An idea which he subsequently discarded for exactly the reason he had given Captain Barrington, and that to avow oneself French was too hazardous. Even in the wearing of a petticoat elsewhere than at private theatricals there were risks which he had not anticipated. Before ever he had got clear of Plymouth a half

drunken sailor had tried, had tried very hard, to kiss him. This sailor tonight, oh thank the saints, had shown no signs of that desire, and heaven-sent it never visited him, for the most discreet embrace could hardly fail to lead to discovery, even though the grey gown had been carefully padded to simulate a roundness which Raoul's own person was very far from possessing. Still he must have made rather a convincing girl to have scored such a histrionic triumph

as to impose his second story on his host immediately after the discovery of the falsity of the first. But it had not been difficult to throw the accents of sincerity into the account of what, after all, was only too sadly true, his own case. Yet he saw now that he had let himself be a trifle too much carried away over the business of the deserted Spanish wife. He must guard in future against allowing the humour of a situation to take hold of him like that.

How heaven knew that there was little enough to laugh at in his own! And though, of course, to masquerade as his own sister had its amusing side. Sleep, the sleep of profound fatigue of mind and body, was pressing on him now like a featherbed. It was almost shameful to be so tired with so little cause, but the horrible existence of the last two months had sapped his strength unbelievably, and the long duel with Captain Barrington had been

a great strain. He dragged himself to the table and took up the razor. No, he dared not shave when he was so weary, for he might cut himself, which in the circumstances would be suspicious. He would do it early in the morning. He never had a stiff grove. He lurched to the bed, and sitting down upon it, began to unfasten his shirt. A pest! The feminine night-rail, which he really did carry with his razor and a few other necessaries

in the little valise, was still in it. What was absurd to put it on. It seemed to him a very absurd garment altogether, but it afforded him a chance of getting out of the clothes he wore by day. In a moment he would rise and fetch it. Help it just for a moment or two. He gave another mighty yawn and fell sideways against the pillow. The next instant he had instinctively brought his feet up onto the bed.

Oh, Siel, was there anything like a good bed after? He stretched out his legs, thrust the hand under the excellent down in which his head was sunk, and never moved again. Hullo, Miss Lavinia, tis you, after all, then, exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy, opening the hall door. And I'd just about to dish up supper for the captain. We made sure by this time that he wasn't coming. The tall cloaked form of Miss Barrington stepped briskly into the hall.

I rather thought so myself, Hannah, at one time. I started later than I should, and then the pony cast a shoe and had to be walked two miles to the end of the hall. I walked two miles to the nearest forge and the smith knocked up. Is my brother in a very bad temper? Oh, put my portmanteau down there, Jacob, and get back as fast as you can,

or your mother will think that I've either eloped with you or sold you for a slave. And as the door shut behind the grinning youth, Miss Barrington began to divest herself of her cloak. Oh, I'll not wait to go up to my room now, Hannah, and do you for God's sake go and set supper on the table without more delay, or we may find ourselves in irons. Oh, Miss Lavinia, what things you do put into the captain's mouth, to be sure,

exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy, half shocked, half smiling. Let me take your cloak and bonnet, ma'am. Supper is in the breakfast room because the dining room carpet is repairing, and so I thought. Yes, ma'am, you may well ask what that is. For Miss Barrington, having taken off her bonnet, was smoothing down her hair when her glance fell

on something gray lying in a huddle on the seat of the big leather chair by the hearth. Picked up, it resolved itself into a lady's hooded cloak. I thought I was the only woman to use this hall as a dressing room, observed Miss Barrington, surveying it. But it seems that I'm not. And no, ma'am, returned Mrs. Jeremy, almost bursting.

There's a female, a Spanish female, in this house, sleeping in this house, that the captain brought in this evening, and picked her up in the road he did. How she's got over his kind heart, and what does a gentleman like him know of her sort? How painted Miss Barrington, and— A door opened upstairs, and Hervey's voice, mildly sarcastic, called down.

Mrs. Jeremy, if you are unable, through pressure of work or of conversation, to carry supper upstairs, ask Jeremy to do it for you. Mrs. Jeremy put her hand over her mouth and fled. Through pressure of work, said Miss Barrington to herself. Her work for the Spanish female, I suppose. And what is Hervey about?

Oh, my dear brother, she called up. It's I am the culprit, with my abominable lateness. Oh, don't come down. I am coming up. And so is the supper. With a very light foot, for her fifty-nine years, and her stately form, she ascended the staircase and received her brother's kiss at the top. I've left my cloak, too, in the hall, she observed, smiling sweetly.

I mean, my cloak and bonnet, too, in the hall. I'm sure you don't mind. And no, replied Hervey, quite innocently, why should I, my dear Lavinia? He opened the breakfast-room door. I hope you do not object to supping here, the dining-room carpet. Yes, Mrs. Jeremy told me, and to pose to sister cheerfully.

No doubt Hervey wished to know whether Mrs. Jeremy had imparted some much more interesting news, but that was just what she was not going to reveal. It would be far more amusing to watch Hervey's efforts to nerve himself to do it, and to see in what terms he would convey the information when he succeeded. Lavinia Barrington, on the brink of sixty, still possessed an unquenchable zest for the humours, and cared not how she gratified it. But why, indeed, should Hervey have to find

a way of announcing the presence of his protégé, when possibly that protégé was already waiting to sup with him? Oh, but no. One glance round the sitting-room showed that no dark-eyed Castilian or Catalan was there. No high comb, no mantilla, no shawl. A second revealed the fact that only two covers were laid. Hervey was discreet then. He had banished the Andalusian maid to her room. The candles and the branched silver candlesticks, when in a moment or two the brother and sister sat

down to the belated repast, revealed what a handsome woman Miss Barrington was. Her face untouched as yet by any of the disfiguring lines of age, but only by those that testified to character. Her hair, perhaps, had never been so beautiful as now in its silvered abundance. She had always been handsome. She had always been courted. She had always jested at her suitors. But twenty-five years ago the man she had loved had married another woman and then died. It was not until the end of

the meal that Miss Barrington's ears were gratified by the avowal for which they had been delightedly waiting. I had a most curious adventure on the road this evening after that tree had forced us all to leave the coach, began Captain Barrington. I fell in with an unfortunate French girl who had been to Plymouth to see a brother of hers in a prison ship there. A French, you say, asked Miss Barrington in a surprised voice. Yes, why not? The majority of the prisoners are French.

How curious murmured his sister. Yes, go on. Hers was a sad little history, said Harvey, and proceeded to relate it. Her most pathetic agreed Miss Barrington at the close. Oh, what did you do, Harvey? Oh, I know. You paid the girls' coach fare to Portsmouth, which I expect was what she wanted. And though I should have thought that one seaport town was as

good as another. I expect she has a good many of those brothers. For shame, Lavinia, said Harvey, reddening. Why are you espousing a girl whom you have never seen? And do you suppose I don't know a female of that sort when I see one? Well, my dear Harvey, I don't feel sure that you would. And as her brother made an angry gesture, she said pacifically,

You must forgive me, for, as you say, I've not seen her, and never shall now, I suppose. Yes, you will have the chance tomorrow, murmured Captain Barrington, fidgeting with a fork. I asked her. She was so foot-sore. In short, she's in the house tonight. Knowing that you would be here, he added, a little incoherently. Miss Lavinia made no comment at all, just because she knew that he would be expecting one.

She merely looked across the table at him, and allowed her smile to broaden enjoyably. More enjoyably to herself than to the good Samaritan at the other end. After a moment she said lazily, Mademoiselle is in the spare bedroom, I suppose. Oh, may I ask, in that case, what you have done with a Spanish girl? Is she occupying your dressing-room, or is it the other way round?

A Spanish girl, stammered Hervey. There's no— Then you knew all the time, Lavinia. How I know that the Spanish damsel has left her cloak in the hall! Is Mrs. Jeremy, who seems to be aware of her presence, and to have made notes of her appearance, ignorant that you have ensconced a French lady also in this hitherto blameless house?

Of course, I hardly wonder that you did not care to tell her, but you may be quite certain that she will soon find out where you have hidden the other member of your Seraglio. Really, Hervey, you to set up as grand Turk in this fashion. Lavinia, oblige me by ceasing to talk nonsense, said her brother rather sternly. You let your tongue run away with you, and your witticisms amuse nobody but yourself.

There's only one young lady in this house. The misunderstanding about her nationality arose because she foolishly gave herself out at first to be Spanish, fearing to say she was French. But I soon discovered—that is to say, I discovered that she was not Spanish. You shall see her tomorrow, and be satisfied that she's not a woman of bad character, and you can speed her on her way to Portsmouth.

Meanwhile, I should be obliged if you would drop this meaningless and offensive jesting about her. Miss Lavinia made a moo, and then she rose, came to her brother, and deposited a kiss on the top of his head. I will, my dear, but can I not see you pretty Puritan? I mean your respectable Huguenot, to-night.

No, I'm afraid not, replied Hervey, glancing at the clock. She retired to her room an hour ago. I expect she's asleep by now. You must wait until tomorrow. Oh, but I don't want to wait until tomorrow, said Miss Barrington inwardly, when, not long after this, she found herself in her own bedroom, and that bedroom adjoining the apartment of the fair unknown. It was so unusual for Hervey to show any interest in the sex other than that demanded by

ordinary politeness that she was curious to see this girl, and though at the back of her mind she knew quite well that it was only his humanity which had led him to offer her hospitality. She really almost wished it had been some warmer feeling. Now a former owner of Fairhaven, the same who, apprehensive of housebreakers, had furnished the lower part of the house, on the side facing the road, with a series of iron spikes, had seen

fit to cut an entrance from the room now Miss Barrington's into the powdering closet, which was properly the appendage of the next. Miss Barrington, therefore, had an easy means of access to the latter apartment if she chose to use it, and surely it was almost her duty to go in and see if her brother's protege had all she required, assuming, of course, that the latter was still awake. Indeed, if she were, ought not Miss Barrington to put in an appearance for that brother's own sake, lest the respectable

Huguenot should be thinking her very existence a mere invention of her hosts. Fortified by these excellent reasons, Miss Barrington thereupon went quietly into the powdering closet, and lo, duty and desire still rode together, for when she closed her door of the cupboard behind her, Lavinia Barrington was aware of shafts of light penetrating all round the other one, which led into the spare bedroom. The visitor, therefore, was still awake, or else, for there was

no sound of movement, had fallen asleep and left the candles burning, a source of danger, which it was one's duty to remove. So Miss Barrington tapped at the door confronting her, very gently at first, and then louder. There was no response, so she opened the door a few inches. Yes, the candles were all burning, as Miss Barrington herself was still in the cupboard, and she could not actually see the bed, away on her right, but in her line of vision was the

grey dress, disposed of her chair. It certainly looked very modest, almost quakerish. Yet, on the table by it, full in the candlelight, lay something which gave its modesty the lie, according in fact much less well with the damsel of her brother's imagination than with her of Miss Lavinia's own, a wig. This wig interested Miss Barrington very much indeed, and she emerged on tiptoe from the closet in order to survey the occupant of the bed, and then remained as immobile

as Lot's wife. On the bed, and in no sense in it, with his stocking feet toward her, lay a young man in a shirt and breeches fast asleep, so fast that after her momentary petrifaction Miss Barrington ventured to tiptoe nearer to verify the astounding fact. But there could be no doubt of it. He lay on his side, almost on his face, at the edge of the bed, the edge nearest to Miss Barrington, his left hand tucked under the pillow, the right hanging down towards the floor. It looked as if

he had flung himself there, too tired to finish undressing. Undressing! Miss Barrington's eyes, suddenly sparkling with mirth, went to the grey gown and then returned to the masquerader. There was no getting over the fact. Hervey's distressed Franco-Spanish damsel was a young man, and a personable young man at that, though rather thin. From the way he was lying she could only just see the profile pressed into the pillow. It was true that it was finely cut, and she saw long dark

lashes and a little closed set ear. But particularly when combined with a man's shirt open at the throat and a pair of grey nankin breeches. It had no suggestion of the feminine about it. And it was on this good-looking young scamp that Hervey had been squandering his compassion. Miss Lavinia put her hand over her mouth. She must remove herself before she could give vent to her mirth. But first, going cautiously to the door of the room, she tried it and removed the key.

Then she hastily caught up in succession the grey dress, the woman's wig, and this brought her nearest to the laughter she was staving off. The razor, which, as she now saw, lay in such telling proximity to it. At the cupboard door she took a fleeting backward glance. The sleeper had not stirred, but the pose, the shape, everything about him looked even more masculine than before. How could Hervey have been such a fool was Miss Barrington's

inward cry as she sped through her own room to acquaint him with the full measure of his folly. Captain Barrington had not yet gone to bed. He was still in the breakfast room, reading the last number of the gentleman's magazine by the light of one of the branched silver candlesticks from the supper table. The window was open, and in the silence, above the lazy monotone of the river, could be faintly heard the eternal struggle out on the bar.

Who is that, he asked, without turning his head. You, Lavinia? Yes, answered his sister. I've brought down something to show you. Laying the wig and the razor on the table behind him, she advanced into the light of the candles with a grey gown over her arm. I thought you might like to see this, she observed pleasantly, and held it out before him by its sleeves.

Hervey stared at it with a frown, and then glanced at her face, the face of one in the grip of secret merriment. I thought I'd begged you to refrain from jesting on that subject, he said. And why, if you must go into the girl's room, need you bring her dress away with you? For you to see, my dear chivalrous brother. For you to gaze on, donkey-hot, because it is the last

you will ever behold of your damsel in distress. This gown, and this. She stretched out a hand and added the wig to her exhibition. How pretty curls are they not? They do not altogether match the genuine article, though, I fancy. Like an automaton, Hervey had slowly risen to his feet, his eyes as though they beheld a basilisk. What on earth? Has the girl gone? But she could not go, wanting. Yes, she could, broke in his sister, struggling with her mirth. She could vanish in

the way that hard-pressed ladies sometimes did, I seem to remember, in heathen mythology. Some nymph or other, I know, turned herself into a laurel. This nymph has taken the shape. She threw down dress and wig, and once more picked something off the table. The shape, Hervey, that requires this of mornings. She flashed the razor open and burst into a peel of laughter. Oh, Hervey, Hervey, how could you be so misled? I said I was not sure you knew the kind

of woman you had befriended. There he lies, on your best spare bed, in a shirt and breeches, and there, judging from the way he's sleeping, he will lie till morning. I should like to see his face when he wakes and finds the means of continuing his nymphhood taken from him. What are you doing, Hervey? For while she laughed and teased, Captain Barrington had gone into the darker portion of the room, and she now heard him opening a drawer. Yet,

when he came back into the light, it was not what he carried in his hand, so much as his face, which caught Miss Lavinia's eyes and held them. For perhaps the first time in forty years she felt a little frightened. Was that loaded, Hervey? Her brother did not answer, but the fact that he examined the priming was an answer. Then he lifted his head, and out of the lips whose familiar lines were all altered, asked peremptorily, How did you get in? How did not

lock the door? Yes, I went in through the powdering closet. That does not fasten, the bolt is broken. But I took away the key of his room and locked my door on the outside. Is the key still in the lock, your key? No, I think I brought that away, too. Yes. Now give it to me. I will, if you will put back that pistol. Give it to me, please. And slowly Miss Lavinia brought out a key from her pocket and laid it on the table.

Is that the key of your room or of his? I'll have both, please. How, Hervey, he's only a boy and looks so tired. For the first time in his life her brother exploded into an oath in her presence. Not too tired to fool me, but twice over, thrice over, and not too much of a boy to pay for it, as he shall. The words came out like missiles.

How about, Hervey, you can't murder him here in your own house. Murder, exclaimed her brother on a strange high note. Of course, I'm not going to murder him, but he is a French prisoner escaped from the Hawks. Oh, I see it all now, and I am going to send him back once he came. How about you cannot send him back tonight, brother? I never said I should, but I'm going to let him know it, and he'll give me the other key.

How, Hervey, pleaded his sister in a most unusual tone. Oh, why go up tonight at all, as you can do nothing and he cannot get away? Why not wait till morning? No, he cannot get away, but there are things I can do, responded Hervey grimly. Give me the other key at once, and send Jeremy up to wait in your room, in case I need him.

How do you hear? How about, Hervey, protested Miss Barrington, as, rather flushed, she reluctantly produced the second key. With that large pistol you cannot possibly need Jeremy, as well, in order to master one half-starved lad from the Hawks. If that is where he come from, I can understand better why he—

Oh, will you mind your own business, Lavinia broke in her brother savagely, and pulled at the bell-rope. If Jeremy has gone to bed, he's a get-up at once. I may not want him, but I intend him to be handy in your room. And you understand, and you will kindly stay down here. He put the pistol in his pocket, took one of the candelabra, and left the room.

Miss Lavinia stood a moment irresolute, looking from the closed door to the gray gown, and a heap on the table, and in that moment unfeignedly regretting, if not her discovery, at least her too hasty and facetious announcement of it. It was that, no doubt of it, which had helped to blow Hervey's fury to such wide heat against the culprit. Her emphasis on that point of which he must be only too stingingly aware, that he had not merely been deceived, but ludicrously deceived.

On a sudden impulse she started for the door, but ere she reached it, it opened to admit the large form of John Jeremy, the solid and faithful and bearded, and instead of going to the rescue upstairs, she perceived the uselessness of such an attempt, and conveyed to him instead his master's instructions. The ex-Coxen received an order from the master, and he was to be sent to the The ex-Coxen received the transmitted orders, with his usual ready obedience,

at once impassive and slightly surprised. In your room, Miss Barrington? Yes, to be sure. Oh, well now, an escaped French prisoner. It is likely he'll fight like a hellcat. Oh, I don't think so, said Miss Lavinia rather sadly.

I fancy you will have an easy task, Jeremy. And to herself, left alone once more, she said, I wish now that I had never gone into that room. Yet it was a diverting situation, though I suppose one could not expect Hervey to see it in that light. I do hope he will not use that pistol.

What did he mean he was going to do to him? And though at last she sat down and took up the gentleman's magazine, and held it open at the historical account of Raynham Church, Kent, as she was listening all the time for the sound of a shot from upstairs. End of section 16