The Launching of Roger Brook (35 page)

With this in mind he decided to write to her and, as he was apt to act at once on any impulse he felt to be a good one, he set about it that very day.

In his letter he said nothing of his nearly disastrous crossing with the smugglers, or of poor old Aristotle Fénelon, and he made his position sound considerably better than it was in fact. He once more begged pardon for the anxiety that his running away must have caused her, then went on to say that he was in excellent health and had obtained a
good position with the leading lawyer in Rennes. It was, he admitted, a come-down for a gentleman to serve in a lawyer’s office as a clerk, but even that was, in his eyes, an infinitely better condition of life than the miserable existence led by a midshipman in a man-o’-war. He added that while he had no intention of making law his career he should certainly stick to it until something better offered rather than return if his father was still at home. But that if the Admiral had been given a command and gone to sea again he was quite willing to take ship for England and discuss with her any ideas which she might have as to a more promising future for him. He refrained from informing her that he lacked the necessary funds to get back as he did not wish to admit that he was practically penniless, and he felt that it would be time enough to ask her to send him the money for his passage if her reply was favourable.

Having completed his letter he was anxious to get a reply to it as speedily as possible. On inquiring at the
Hôtel des Postes
he learned that his missive might take anything up to a month to reach England, but that if he sent it by express it should get there, depending on the state of the weather, in a week to ten days; so he spent his last two
crowns
in sending it by the faster service.

His father having so recently been made a Rear-Admiral could be taken as a sure sign that he would be fairly speedily re-posted, so Roger felt that all the odds were on his parent being already once more at sea. It had cost him a lot to propose returning, as he would still have to face a possibly scornful Georgina and tell her what a poor figure he had cut in the matter of her jewels. But now that he had taken the decision he was glad of it and, much comforted by the thought that he would, almost certainly, be back in his own comfortable home by the end of November, he returned to face his daily drudgery and Hutot’s outrageous demands with a more cheerful countenance than he had been able to put upon them for some time.

It was eight days after he had written and despatched his letter that he again saw Athénaïs. His flair for foreign languages made his study of German sufficiently interesting for him to continue working at it after lunch each day, although he now counted on getting home in the near future; and, having left the
Jardin des Plantes
, he was on his way back through the
Rue St. Mélaine
when he recognised
her coach. He knew it at once from the liveries of the servants, and as it passed him a moment later at a fast trot he caught sight of her inside. She did not see him, as she was sitting bolt upright beside Madame Marie-Angé Velot, staring straight in front of her, but the one glimpse of her lovely and imperious profile was enough to set his heart thumping like a sledge-hammer.

As he turned to gape after the coach he felt that she was ten, nay a hundred, times more beautiful than the picture he had kept of her in his memory; a little goddess who had descended to this sordid earth on which no mortal was even fitted to be a footstool for her feet. Yet, before the coach had turned the corner of the street he had determined that he must kiss her hand that very night.

That afternoon, for the first time, Monsieur Ruttot had to upbraid him severely for really slipshod work in his copying, but he simply could not keep his mind on his task and, that evening, having smartened himself up as well as he could, he bolted his dinner with the avidity of the other apprentices in order the more quickly to get out of the house.

On his arriving at the Hôtel de Rochambeau one of the footmen answered the door to him and went to summon Monsieur Aldegonde. The major-domo greeted him with his usual look of haughty disapproval and when Roger asked for his name to be taken up to Mademoiselle de Rochambeau replied that Mademoiselle could not be disturbed at present as she was still at dinner.

His ardour somewhat damped by this rebuff Roger set to slowly pacing back and forth across the great marble-floored hall, while Aldegonde reascended the staircase to resume supervising the service of the meal. For over half an hour he waited, at first somewhat consoled for the delay from having learned that his divinity was definitely at home and had not merely been in Rennes on a flying visit that afternoon; then with ever-growing impatience to have sight of her.

At last footsteps sounded again at the top of the stairs and, to his surprise, he saw young Count Lucien, followed by Aldegonde, coming down towards him. Ceasing his pacing he greeted the Count with a smile and made him a low bow.

The little Count halted two steps from the bottom of the
staircase and returned the bow only with the faintest inclination of the head, then he said in a shrill voice:

‘I am told that you have requested an audience with Mademoiselle, my sister. Monsieur. For what purpose do you require it?’

‘Why,
Monsieur le Count
, to pay my respects to her,’ Roger replied a trifle uneasily.

‘Is it true that you have become a clerk in our lawyer’s office?’

‘Yes, and I do not seek to hide it. But ’tis only a temporary measure. You will recall, no doubt, the straits in which I was left on the death of Doctor Aristotle Fénelon, and I was forced to take the only employment that offered, or starve.’

‘I care not if you starve or no,’ cried the young Count, giving vent to his anger. ‘How dare you presume on the fact that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau was impulsive enough to bring you here one night out of charity. You were then naught but a penniless vagabond, and you are little better now. The de Rochambeaux do not consort with lawyer’s clerks and your request to wait upon Mademoiselle is an outrageous insult.’

Roger had gone pale to the lips. ‘You stuck-up little fool!’ he suddenly burst out. ‘Whatever work I may do I’m as much a gentleman as you any day. Keep your tongue between your teeth, or ‘twill be the worse for you!’

Count Lucien’s hand shot out, and he shrilled to Aldegonde: ‘Seize that impudent upstart and throw him out!’

At Aldegonde’s signal the tall footman advanced upon Roger, grasped him by the shoulders and, swivelling him round, thrust him towards the door.

‘By God!’ he shouted over his shoulder, ‘I’ll get even with you for this!’

Next moment he was at the top of the steps. He heard Count Lucien cry: ‘If you dare to show your face here again I’ll have you whipped by my lackeys.’

Then the footman’s knee caught Roger a hefty biff on the behind. He pitched forward down the short flight of steps and fell sprawling in the courtyard; the door slammed to behind him.

Picking himself up he turned round and shook his fist in impotent fury at the dark façade of the mansion; then, literally sobbing with rage, he staggered out into the street.

For a week he could scarcely think of anything but the abominable humiliation to which he had been subjected. He came from a country where there were still very marked class distinctions, but in which there had grown up during the centuries a feeling that all classes were necessary to a well-ordered society, and that each was worthy of respect from the others as long as in the main its representatives contributed their quota to the common good. The better educated and more fortunately placed planned and ordered the way of life of the majority. They gave of their blood unstintingly in leading the defence of the country in time of war, meted out impartial, unbribable justice to their equals and inferiors alike, and tided the country people over times of difficulty whenever there was a failure of the crops. The others gave loyal service in peace and war and did not question the wisdom of their intellectual superiors in directing the affairs of the nation. Yet all stood fairly on their own feet with a true sense of their own dignity as individuals and proper rights as free men; and all had a ready word of good cheer for the others in their daily lives. The humblest labourer would talk as an equal about the prospects of crops or village affairs with his landlord and the noblest in the land was not ashamed to crack a joke with the yokels over a cup of ale in the village inn.

Here in France everything was utterly different. The country people lived in the direst poverty and were treated, not like human beings but like animals, by a stupid, hidebound and stony-hearted nobility of whom, Roger felt, little Count Lucien was a typical representative. Even the townsfolk were a race apart, despising the peasants and in turn despised by the aristocracy. Owing to the decay of feudalism the whole system had become hideously false and distorted so that the links binding one class to another had now utterly disappeared, leaving gaping voids of hatred and envy where good will, trust and mutual service had once held sway.

In this week of personal bitterness he became an inarticulate but fervid revolutionary, and, while quite illegally divorcing Athénaïs de Rochambeau from her caste, hoped that the day would soon come when the whole decadent French nobility might be stripped of its antiquated privileges and thrown upon a dungheap. Yet, beyond all, he
longed as he had never longed before to return to the green and smiling fields of England.

Morose and silent he laboured on at his work and did as he was bid by the senior apprentices without a murmur of complaint, but he was now counting the hours until a letter from his mother should bring him release from his bondage.

At last, on the 16th of November, it arrived. Brochard handed it to him on his entering the office first thing that morning and gave him a look of curiosity as he remarked:

‘You must have friends who travel far afield, young man, to correspond with them in England.’

But Roger ignored the implied question, stuffed the letter in his pocket and, excusing himself hurriedly, dashed upstairs to read it. He was already cursing his short-sighted policy in not asking his mother for funds with which to return, as now he would have to write again, and another three weeks must elapse before he could receive her reply with the money which would enable him to set out. In his mind he made a swift calculation. Three weeks would bring him to the 7th of December and allowing another four days, which should be ample for his journey, he should reach Lymington by the 11th. Even with unforeseen delays he would be home in plenty of time for Christmas.

With hasty, fumbling fingers he tore the letter open, and ran his eye swiftly down the close-written pages. The letter was only mildly reproachful and full of loving phrases. As he skimmed through it a paragraph near its end suddenly riveted his attention.

In it, his mother urged him to write frequently, and said how relieved she was to hear that he was comfortably settled as, much as she would love to see him, it would be most ill-advised to return as yet. With time she hoped to bring about a softening of his father’s heart, but Roger’s conduct had angered him to such a degree that he had sworn never to receive him into the house again. As to the Admiral’s going to sea, to her own great joy, apart from the fact that it would deprive her of seeing Roger, there would be no prospect of that for a long time to come. He had, early that month, been appointed C.-in-C., Portsmouth, and his command being so near Lymington would enable him to practically live at home for the next two years.

Two years! At Roger’s age that sounded like a life sentence. Aghast and dumbfounded, tears welled up into his eyes. As they misted over he could no longer make out his mother’s fine writing and he dropped the letter on to his truckle bed. This, then, was the price he must pay for his liberty. To slave for eight hours a day, week after week, in a musty office, to feed in a kitchen and sleep with five others in the sordid, depressing attic room. No holidays, apart from the principal Saints’ days, were ever given; Saturday was a working day like all the rest and, even had there been some periods of leisure to look forward to, he had neither the money nor the friends with which to enjoy them. Yet, where could he go? What could he do? Other than continue to face this dreary round, which appeared to be his sole means of securing the bare necessities of life.

Gamely he fought back the tears, blinked his eyes clear and picked up the letter again to read it through properly, in the hope that he might yet discover in it some ray of comfort. But there was none. Evidently his mother had read into his overdrawn picture of the position he had secured that he was content to remain where he was for the present unless his father was prepared to forgive and forget the past. She praised him for his initiative in having obtained a post of responsibility while still so young and said how fortunate he was to have been taken into the house of a kindly and respectable lawyer. The rest of the letter contained only local news and much good advice as to how he should care for his health through the winter.

Her reference to the winter brought back to Roger’s mind a problem that had been causing him much concern of late. Apart from a change of linen he had no clothes other than those he stood up in; and, now that it was mid-November, he sadly needed a warm coat.

As his prospects of returning home had been so rudely shattered, it occurred to him that, while he could not ask his mother to send him money without loss of face, he could ask her to send him his wardrobe. Monsieur Brochard, who
acted as cashier as well as second head in the office, would, he felt sure, give him his November pay in advance if he asked for it. Then he could buy himself a coat at once, still have cash in hand and, by selling some of his things that he did not particularly require when they arrived from England, make good the outlay that he contemplated at the moment.

This project helped a little to take his mind off the sad blow he had just received and, during the course of the day, he carried it out. The possession of the new coat, a good warm garment of maroon cloth with a big triple collar, cheered him considerably; and the next day being Sunday, he went to Mass in it.