Part 54 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXII
THE DEVICE OF LORD CARFORD
It is not my desire to a.s.sail, not is it my part to defend, the reputation of the great. There is no such purpose in anything that I have written here. History is their judge, and our own weakness their advocate. Some said, and many believed, that Madame brought the young French lady in her train to Dover with the intention that the thing should happen which happened. I had rather hold, if it be possible to hold, that a Princess so gracious and so unfortunate meant innocently, and was cajoled or overborne by the persuasions of her kinsmen, and perhaps by some specious pretext of State policy. In like manner I am reluctant to think that she planned harm for Mistress Barbara, towards whom she had a true affection, and I will read in an honest sense, if I can, the letter which M. de Fontelles brought with him to Hatchstead. In it Madame touched with a light discretion on what had pa.s.sed, deplored with pretty gravity the waywardness of men, and her own simplicity which made her a prey to their devices and rendered her less useful to her friends than she desired to be. Yet now she was warned, her eyes were open, she would guard her own honour, and that of any who would trust to her. Nay, he himself, M. de Perrencourt, was penitent (even as was the Duke of Monmouth!), and had sworn to trouble her and her friends no more. Would not then her sweet Mistress Barbara, with whom she vowed she had fallen so mightily in love, come back to her and go with her to France, and be with her until the d.u.c.h.ess of York came, and, in good truth, as much longer as Barbara would linger, and Barbara's father in his kindness suffer. So ran the letter, and it seemed an honest letter.
But I do not know; and if it were honest, yet who dared trust to it?
Grant Madame the best of will, where lay her power to resist M. de Perrencourt? But M. de Perrencourt was penitent. Ay, his penitence was for having let the lady go, and would last until she should be in his power again.
Let the intent of the letter he carried be what it might, M. de Fontelles, a gentleman of courage and high honour, believed his business honest. He had not been at Dover, and knew nothing of what had pa.s.sed there; if he were an instrument in wicked schemes, he did not know the mind of those who employed him. He came openly to Hatchstead on an honourable mission, as he conceived, and bearing an invitation which should give great gratification to the lady to whom it was addressed.
Madame did Mistress Quinton the high compliment of desiring her company, and would doubtless recompense her well for the service she asked.
Fontelles saw no more and asked no more. In perfect confidence and honesty he set about his task, not imagining that he had been sent on an errand with which any man could reproach him, or with a purpose that gave any the right of questioning his actions. Nor did my cry of ”_Il vient_” change this mood in him. When he collected his thoughts and recalled the incident in which those words had played a part before, he saw in them the challenge of someone who had perhaps penetrated a State secret, and was ill-affected towards the King and the King's policy; but, being unaware of any connection between Mistress Barbara and M. de Perrencourt, he did not a.s.sociate the silly cry with the object of his present mission. So also, on hearing that a gentleman was at the inn (Carford had not given his name) and had visited the Manor, he was in no way disquieted, but ready enough to meet any number of gentlemen without fearing their company or their scrutiny.
Gaily and courteously he presented himself to Barbara. Her mother lay still in bed, and she received him alone in the room looking out on the terrace. With a low bow and words of deference he declared his errand, and delivered to her the letter he bore from Madame, making bold to add his own hopes that Mistress Quinton would not send him back unsuccessful, but let him win the praise of a trustworthy messenger.
Then he twirled his moustaches, smiled gallantly, and waited with all composure while she read the letter. Indeed he deserves some pity, for women are wont to spend much time on reasoning in such a case. When a man comes on a business which they suspect to be evil, they make no ado about holding him a party to it, and that without inquiring whether he knows the thing to which he is setting his hand.
Barbara read her letter through once and a second time; then, without a word to Fontelles, aye, not so much as bidding him be seated, she called a servant and sent him to the inn to summon Carford to her. She spoke low, and the Frenchman did not hear. When they were again alone together, Barbara walked to the window, and stood there looking out.
Fontelles, growing puzzled and ill at ease, waited some moments before he ventured to address her; her air was not such as to encourage him; her cheek was reddened and her eyes were indignant. Yet at last he plucked up his courage.
”I trust, madame,” said he, ”that I may carry the fairest of answers back with me?”
”What answer is that, sir?” she asked, half-turning to him with a scornful glance.
”Yourself, madame, if you will so honour me,” he answered, bowing. ”Your coming would be the answer best pleasing to Madame, and the best fulfilment of my errand.”
She looked at him coolly for a moment or two, and then said,
”I have sent for a gentleman who will advise me on my answer.”
M. de Fontelles raised his brows, and replied somewhat stiffly,
”You are free, madame, to consult whom you will, although I had hoped that the matter needed but little consideration.”
She turned full on him in a fury.
”I thank you for your judgment of me, sir,” she cried. ”Or is it that you think me a fool to be blinded by this letter?”
”Before heaven----” began the puzzled gentleman.
”I know, sir, in what esteem a woman's honour is held in your country and at your King's Court.”
”In as high, madame, as in your country and at your Court.”
”Yes, that's true. G.o.d help me, that's true! But we are not at Court now, sir. Hasn't it crossed your mind that such an errand as yours may be dangerous?”
”I had not thought it,” said he with a smile and a shrug. ”But, pardon me, I do not fear the danger.”
”Neither danger nor disgrace?” she sneered.
Fontelles flushed.