menu_book Chapter 21

The Sapphire Necklace and the Major of the Buffs It soon appeared that nothing would be done by authority. But the princes would not suffer any means, however improbable, to be left untried. As one expedient failed, another was suggested. Razzalas.

Chapter 34. There were those of his acquaintance who continually enlarged upon the physical likeness between Frederick William Forrest, 3rd Viscount Fulgrave, and Arthur Wellesley, Marquis of Wellington. But even the most indulgent had not gone so far as to hint at any similarity in character. And indeed it was agreed among them that Lord Fulgrave, despite his eagle nose and fine

presence, would have made but a poor show at commanding even a regiment in the peninsula, since he could not, it was suspected, control one young lady and she his own daughter. Juliana would have been very angry had she known of these strictures, for she was extremely fond and proud of her handsome father, and no one had ever heard her show him anything approaching disrespect.

But she could not avoid knowing that he was far from being as Roman apparent as his nose seemed to denote. She might get from him her good looks, with the merciful exception of the nose in question. But her strong will she drew from the distaff side, though her mother had been so long dead that Juliana did not recognize the heritage.

She was sitting now, at half past four in the afternoon, in a bow window of their house in Grosvenor Square, awaiting the return of Lord Fulgrave, who was engaged upon a quest for her. Juliana certainly could not accuse him of lukewarmness over this not yet accomplished desire of hers, the release of Monsieur de Sabliag.

And often and often she told herself, and her parent, too, what a good father she had. But if Lord Fulgrave had known everything, he might not have returned the compliment. He might. He did know the story of the prank which had brought about such a train of unfortunate consequences for the young Frenchman, not to speak of leading his daughter to break

off her own engagement, and he fully approved her determination to get injustice righted. But he did not know that Juliana disgusted at the evasive attitude of the transport office, which regretted that nothing could be done at present. Had been, since June, in communication with an escape agent at Plymouth, and very little suspected the reason why she never wore her sapphire necklace nowadays.

How could he imagine that the gems were, or had been, in the custody of a low-looking individual who dwelt at the sign of three balls and cheap side, or that Juliana, heavily veiled, was in the habit of calling every week for letters at a little stationer's in Mount Street? Or that these letters, in a sufficiently illiterate handwriting, were from a man in a back street

of Plymouth who signed himself, Your loving aunt, and that, with a few variations, they usually contained something of this sort. So far, my dear niece, my attempts to procure you a maidservant have not been successful, the girl not being able to leave her present situation. But I shall not fail to inform you when she can do so, and then I have a suitable gown

for her to travel in. By this time, Raoul de Sabliac had made acquaintance with that loving aunt and the suitable gown, but of this Juliana was not yet aware. Indeed, she was uneasy, because for a fortnight there had been no letter for her at the stationers from this affectionate and expensive relative of hers.

Juliana had no qualms about her course of action in itself, since she conceived it a sacred duty to free Monsieur de Sabliac at whatever cost, and she had only slight intermittent ones about having kept this nefarious manner of accomplishing it a secret from her papa, because she thought, quite rightly, that the knowledge of it would have disturbed him. But she did have some searchings of conscience over the manner in which she had established

contact with Samuel Creedy. For this purpose she had availed herself of the services of a devoted London admirer, Mr. Charles Methouin, but she had at least been perfectly open from the first as to the only reward he could expect for them, her sincere and undying gratitude. But for this gurdon alone the besotted Mr. Methouin had posted down to Plymouth, had

engaged in various questionable negotiations, and had finally established communication, prepaid, between the object of his hopeless admiration and a gentleman who, unlike the much suspected Zachary Miller, did really drive a genuine and profitable trait and escapes, and who, so far, had been shrewd enough to avoid detection. But the risks to himself were undeniably so great that he could ask a proportionately

elevated price for his services. Hence the disappearance of Miss Forrest's sapphires. And not for one moment did Miss Forrest grudge the jewels, but as she sat there in the window staring at the flowers in the jardinière she was wondering whether she had not parted with them to no purpose whatever.

It was now thirteen weeks since Monsieur de Sablier had started from Norman Cross for the Hulks, and nine since she had engaged the good officers of Creedy. The latter, it is true, had warned Mr. Methouin that the business might take months. One had to be so careful and so fly. However, the lady being so free with her money would make things easier.

Not being a fool, and Juliana sometimes wondered whether she had not been too free with it, wondered whether Mr. Creedy would not continue till the end of time merely to report that the girl was unable to leave her situation, although he would not get the final installment of his price till Miss Forrest knew that he had succeeded. So the weeks went by, and Mr. Rowell was still entombed.

He caged up with the lowest of the low. No word of complaint, indeed, was to be found in the couple of letters, grateful and brief, which she had received from him since the Ganges had engulfed him. They pierced Juliana all the more for that. Yet when the first came to her she had been a little afraid to open it.

How many times since that day at Norman Cross had she not speculated, with hot cheeks, on the interpretation which she might have put on her forward behaviour, which was still a source of wonder to herself. She, to give a kiss at all, to give it unasked, and to give it to a Frenchman. But she need not have been afraid.

Whether or no he understood her impulse, which she scarcely understood herself. There was nothing in either of his letters which could be construed into a reference to it. Her answers also were brief and restrained. She was so afraid of putting the authorities on the track of Creede's efforts.

But, after all, Juliana was telling herself this afternoon, even if Creede failed, she had now a second string to her bow, and a much more respectable one. Once she was sure of its efficacy she would write off to her loving aunt and tell him that she had changed her mind, and would not require a domestic from Plymouth. The idea of this alternative plan had only come to her ten days ago, when she had heard,

by pure chance, that the captain of a French privateer had recently been released from prison and allowed parole because of his humane treatment of some English prisoners previously in his hands. And suddenly, like a heaven-sent memory, had come to her M. de Sabliac's brief reference, on that fatal day by the stream, to his having stood between a wounded British officer and

the savage Poles at Albuera. Surely, for such an act as that, the transport office would release him from the Hawks. But how to identify the officer, and how to get his evidence? How she did not even know his regiment, much less his name. But a call at the horse-guards by Lord Fulgrave soon produced both.

The regiments cut up by the French cavalry charge at Albuera proved to be the third, forty-eighth, and sixty-sixth foot. Now it appeared that of the officers of the third, the Buffs, who were captured, one, a Major Brackenberry, escaped soon afterwards, and when at length he succeeded in reaching General Hill's division at Villa Vithiosa, he was known to have said, in reporting the

infamous behavior of the Polish Lancers to the wounded, and that he only wished he could gratitude to the French Hussar, who, at great risk to himself, had saved him from their further brutality. As it was, he was so badly wounded in the head that he was never able to return to the hardships of a campaign, and he was at present on light duty at the depot at Canterbury.

Lord Fulgrave wrote to this officer with the idea of going down to Canterbury to see him. But there came a reply from Major Brackenberry, stating that he himself had just come to London on leave, that he would be only too delighted to answer any questions, was putting up at an hotel in German Street, and would call upon Lord Fulgrave at any hour convenient to him.

On which Lord Fulgrave went off to call on him instead, promising Giuliana that he would bring him back to dine if he were disengaged. Miss Forrest got up and looked out of the window. Papa was late. It was nearly dinner time already.

How long would the transport office take to move this time? Why'd she not heard from Plymouth? Would she have to reveal her own mold-like activities, if? Her wheels at last, her father's chariot, and, yes, two gentlemen getting out of it. A couple of hours later the pleasant, so dearly looking man with a long scar from scab to cheek

was gone again, having dined with them and told his tale. Tomorrow he would go to the transport office and repeat it there. He was confident that something could be done, and should be bitterly disappointed if it could not, or if, when they were confronted, as they must eventually be, he could not conscientiously identify his rescuer in Miss Forrest's protege.

For, as he pointed out, it might have been someone else whom Captain de Sablier had saved. He believed there had been some other cases of the kind. But Juliana would not acknowledge such a possibility. It was Mr. Rowell who had risked his life to save Major Brackenbury, for he had risked it leaping from his horse and standing, saber in hand, over that officer as he lay on the

disabled and blinded with blood, to protect him from the lancer's onslaught. Finding that his furious remonstrances were of no avail, the young hussar had thereupon sprung forward, avoiding the lance point by a miracle of agility, had seized the pole's horse by the bridle, and, raining blows up at the rider with the flat of his sword, had literally beaten him off.

Then he had knelt down by his foe, tried to wipe the blood from his face, and had said, in a voice still shaking with indignation, and, to Major Brackenbury's surprise, in good English, that he hoped he would remember the scoundrel was no Frenchman. Moreover, ere he vaulted on to his horse again and galloped after his squadron, he had told a couple of infantrymen to take the prisoner to the rear with all consideration for his

state. It was small wonder that Juliana had a picture which she was able to contemplate with great satisfaction for the remainder of that day. It was Lord Falgrave's custom, on most afternoons, to take a short siesta in his own room. But the day after the Major's visit he wandered in search of a book into the smaller library,

found it very snug there, observed a comfortable winged armchair, more comfortable by Gad than his own, and dropped into it. Already that morning he had received a note from Major Brackenbury saying that his call at the transport office had been most satisfactory, that the commissioners had been impressed with his testimony and were about to take steps in the matter.

Presenting his respects and compliments to Miss Forrest, he desired she might be informed of this happy prospect. There had not been much delay in informing Miss Forrest, for she had almost snatched the letter from her father's hands. Her Juliana and her Frenchman, and her remorse, and her determination to get him released.

Also violent and disturbing. Oh dear girl, it was in her spirited character. He would not have her changed. No, he would not have her changed. But this young man now, it did occur to a father, even an easy-going one, to wonder

what he was like. So his lordship began to wonder, with the result that his book was shortly on the floor, a handkerchief over his face, and quiet reigning in the smaller library. But about this time Peters, the second footman, was reluctantly admitting into the hall a small shabby individual who asked for her ladyship, the Honorable Miss Forrest.

This person was obsequious in his manner, and démode in his dress. He also squinted. Peters was not drawn to him, and what he could be wanting with the Honorable Juliana passed his comprehension. But the visitor maintained that her Honorable Ladyship would be extremely vexed if he were

dismissed without delivering the message with which he was charged, and which he refused to entrust to the heir of Peters or anyone else. Not liking to leave him in the hall, Peters cast about in his mind for a place to bestow the collar, not too exalted or too richly furnished for his low estate and doubtful honesty, nor yet too humble to be entered by Miss Forrest if she really did accord an

interview to this person. He decided upon the smaller library, which would fulfil both these requirements, and where, in addition, he could turn the key on the visitor. So the person was shown in there, told heartily that he might sit down, and was left, locked in with a last being, and to his presence Peters would knowingly have ushered him.

At first, indeed, the visitor was unaware in what august company he found himself, since the high winged chair effectually hid its occupant from the gaze of anyone entering the room. So, making his way to the chair on the other side of the fireplace, he sat meekly down, to be glued to his seat by the discovery which he then made about the opposite chair.

Next moment, too, the veiled sleeper stretched, yawned, mumbled something, took the handkerchief from his face, and revealed, Lord Wellington. The person seemed to dwindle as he sat, his hands clutching the seat of his chair, his eyes fixed. Lord Fulgrave sat up.

Who the devil are you? he demanded. And what are you doing in my library? Sir Arthur, faltered the little man, squirming on his tear, the muscles which otherwise would have pulled him on to his feet, paralyzed by terror. My name is not Arthur, retorted Lord Fulgrave indignantly.

You have come to the wrong house. I see. Unconsciously, he stroked his nose, not ill-pleased. Your acquaintance with Lord Wellington seems to date from some years back, he remarked. But my name is Fulgrave, Lord Fulgrave, and I should be glad, or dashed glad, he added,

as he took in his visitor's appearance more fully, to know what you are doing here. The person cleared his constricted throat. If you please, my lord, I've come to see her ladyship, Lady the Honourable Miss Forrest. Lord Fulgrave leant forward. You've come to see my daughter, he exclaimed incredulously.

My daughter, what about? If it please your lordship, said his vis-à-vis, moistening his lips, I can only tell that to Miss Forrest. The Viscount Fulgrave eyed him with dislike and scorn. He made a sound between his lips indicative of these feelings.

How then you can get out at once. My daughter has no secrets from me. And he rose and went to the door. How what's this? How what the devil is this?

Who has there to lock this door? I think the footman who admitted me, said the little man nervously. He too at last had risen. Have the footman lock you in with me? He must be mad.

Lord Fulgrave strode to the bell-pole, then dropped it without ringing. Now look here, my man, you need not think that I shall permit you to see my daughter. But before I allow you to leave the house I insist on your telling me what you have come about. To be locked in indefinitely with Sir Arthur Wellesley's nose was too much for a fellow

captive's resolution. It's along of this maid-servant from Devonshire, as her ladyship was wishing for, he said, his little light-lashed eyes darting furtive glances at the aristocratic visage. Encouraged by the blank expression thereon, he was emboldened to add, Or your lordship wouldn't be troubled about a little matter like that.

Oh, I certainly don't know anything of it, agreed his lordship, who was not indeed in the habit of engaging his own female domestics. Nor, for the matter of that, was Juliana, such matters being in the hands of Mrs. Webber, the housekeeper. But whichever of them had manifested this desire for a maid from Devonshire, she seemed

to Lord Fulgrave to have gone to a curious stratum of society to gratify it. He was puzzled. Are you any relation of the girls? No, my lord. What's your name?

A Drain, sir. Oh, my lord, a Joseph Drain. Well, Mr. Drain, if that is your errand, I think you had better see my housekeeper. And Lord Fulgrave again put out his hand to the bell-pole. Oh, I do beseech your lordship, said Mr. Drain, clasping his hands, to let me see her ladyship.

She will be terribly put out. If she don't see me, I assure you. This prediction seemed to Lord Fulgrave very wide of the mark. Has Miss Forrest ever seen you before? No, my lord.

Is she expecting to see you? No, my lord. There should have been a letter from Devonshire, but there was a hitch about sending the letter. So I was to come and give her ladyship a message. A message from whom?

Mr. Drain was silent and shifted on his feet. Come, come, don't you know. A message from the girl, I suppose, or from her relations. Yes, yes, my lord, that is it, from her aunt. Your lordship is quite correct.

And if Mr. Drain, after his mutism, had not been so stumblingly eager to assure him of this, Lord Fulgrave might have been more satisfied. As it was, he gazed upon him with a growing frown. Oh, I must get to the bottom of this, he declared, and this time he did ring the bell. But even as he rang there came the sound of the key turning and the lock.

Oh, I left the man in here, madam, said the voice of Peters, and Miss Forrest herself entered the room.