Lord Tony's Wife Part 27

"I think," he said drily, "as far as your marriage with the wench is concerned, that you are beaten, my friend."

"Tshaw!" The exclamation, raucous and surcharged with hate came from Louise Adet. She, too, like Pierre--more so than Pierre mayhap--had cause to hate the Kernogans. She, too, like Pierre had lived the last three days in the full enjoyment of the thought that Fate and Chance were about to level things at last between herself and those detested aristos. Silent and sullen she was shuffling about in the room, among her pots and pans, but she kept an eye upon her brother's movements and an ear on what he said. Men were apt to lose grit where a pretty wench was concerned. It takes a woman's rancour and a woman's determination to carry a scheme of vengeance against another to a successful end.

Martin-Roget rejoined more calmly:

"I knew that she would still be obstinate," he said. "If I forced her into a marriage, which I have the right to do, she might take her own life and make me look a fool. So I don't want to do that. I believe in the persuasiveness of the Rat Mort to-night," he added with a cynical laugh, "and if that fails.... Well! I was never really in love with the fair Yvonne, and now she has even ceased to be desirable.... If the Rat Mort fails to act on her sensibilities as I would wish, I can easily console myself by following Carrier's herd to Paris. Louise shall come with me--eh, little sister?--and we'll give ourselves the satisfaction of seeing M. le duc de Kernogan and his exquisite daughter stand in the felon's dock--tried for malpractices and for evil living. We'll see them branded as convicts and packed off like so much cattle to Cayenne. That will be a sight," he concluded with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "which will bring rest to my soul."

He paused: his face looked sullen and evil under the domination of that pa.s.sion which tortured him.

Louise Adet had shuffled up close to her brother. In one hand she held the wooden spoon wherewith she had been stirring the soup: with the other she brushed away the dark, lank hair which hung in strands over her high, pale forehead. In appearance she was a woman immeasurably older than her years. Her face had the colour of yellow parchment, her skin was stretched tightly over her high cheekbones--her lips were colourless and her eyes large, wide-open, were pale in hue and circled with red. Just now a deep frown of puzzlement between her brows added a sinister expression to her cadaverous face:

"The Rat Mort?" she queried in that tired voice of hers, "Cayenne? What is all that about?"

"A splendid scheme of Carrier's, my Louise," replied Martin-Roget airily. "We convey the Kernogan woman to the Rat Mort. To-night a descent will be made on that tavern of ill-fame by a company of Marats and every man, woman and child within it will be arrested and sent to Paris as undesirable inhabitants of this most moral city: in Paris they will be tried as malefactors or evil-doers--cut throats, thieves, what?

and deported as convicts to Cayenne, or else sent to the guillotine. The Kernogans among that herd! What sayest thou to that, little sister? Thy father, thy lover, hung as thieves! M. le Duc and Mademoiselle branded as convicts! 'Tis pleasant to think on, eh?"

Louise made no reply. She stood looking at her brother, her pale, red-rimmed eyes seemed to drink in every word that he uttered, while her bony hand wandered mechanically across and across her forehead as if in a pathetic endeavour to clear the brain from everything save of the satisfying thoughts which this prospect of revenge had engendered.

Chauvelin's gentle voice broke in on her meditations.

"In the meanwhile," he said placidly, "remember my warning, citizen Martin-Roget. There are pa.s.sing clever and mighty agencies at work, even at this hour, to wrest your prey from you. How will you convey the wench to the Rat Mort? Carrier has warned you of spies--but I have warned you against a crowd of English adventurers far more dangerous than an army of spies. Three pairs of eyes--probably more, and one pair the keenest in Europe--will be on the watch to seize upon the woman and to carry her off under your very nose."

Martin-Roget uttered a savage oath.

"That brute Carrier has left me in the lurch," he said roughly. "I don't believe in your nightmares and your English adventurers, still it would have been better if I could have had the woman conveyed to the tavern under armed escort."

"Armed escort has been denied you, and anyway it would not be much use.

You and I, citizen Martin-Roget, must act independently of Carrier. Your friends down there," he added, indicating the street with a jerk of the head, "must redouble their watchfulness. The village lads of Vertou are of a truth no match intellectually with our English adventurers, but they have vigorous fists in case there is an attack on the wench while she walks across to the Rat Mort."

"It would be simpler," here interposed Louise roughly, "if we were to knock the wench on the head and then let the lads carry her across."

"It would not be simpler," retorted Chauvelin drily, "for Carrier might at any moment turn against us. Commandant Fleury with half a company of Marats will be posted round the Rat Mort, remember. They may interfere with the lads and arrest them and s.n.a.t.c.h the wench from us, when all our plans may fall to the ground ... one never knows what double game Carrier may be playing. No! no! the girl must not be dragged or carried to the Rat Mort. She must walk into the trap of her own free will."

"But name of a dog! how is it to be done?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Martin-Roget, and he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table. "The woman will not follow me--or Louise either--anywhere willingly."

"She must follow a stranger then--or one whom she thinks a stranger--some one who will have gained her confidence...."

"Impossible."

"Oh! nothing is impossible, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin blandly.

"Do you know a way then?" queried the other with a sneer.

"I think I do. If you will trust me that is----"

"I don't know that I do. Your mind is so intent on those English adventurers, you are like as not to let the aristos slip through your fingers."

"Well, citizen," retorted Chauvelin imperturbably, "will you take the risk of conveying the fair Yvonne to the Rat Mort by twelve o'clock to-night? I have very many things to see to, I confess that I should be glad if you will ease me from that responsibility."

"I have already told you that I see no way," retorted Martin-Roget with a snarl.

"Then why not let me act?"

"What are you going to do?"

"For the moment I am going for a walk on the quay and once more will commune with the North-West wind."

"Tshaw!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Martin-Roget savagely.

"Nay, citizen," resumed Chauvelin blandly, "the winds of heaven are excellent counsellors. I told you so just now and you agreed with me.

They blow away the cobwebs of the mind and clear the brain for serious thinking. You want the Kernogan girl to be arrested inside the Rat Mort and you see no way of conveying her thither save by the use of violence, which for obvious reasons is to be deprecated: Carrier, for equally obvious reasons, will not have her taken to the place by force. On the other hand you admit that the wench would not follow you willingly----Well, citizen, we must find a way out of that impa.s.se, for it is too unimportant an one to stand in the way of our plans: for this I must hold a consultation with the North-West wind."

"I won't allow you to do anything without consulting me."

"Am I likely to do that? To begin with I shall have need of your co-operation and that of the citizeness."

"In that case ..." muttered Martin-Roget grudgingly. "But remember," he added with a return to his usual self-a.s.sured manner, "remember that Yvonne and her father belong to me and not to you. I brought them into Nantes for mine own purposes--not for yours. I will not have my revenge jeopardised so that your schemes may be furthered."

"Who spoke of my schemes, citizen Martin-Roget?" broke in Chauvelin with perfect urbanity. "Surely not I? What am I but an humble tool in the service of the Republic?... a tool that has proved useless--a failure, what? My only desire is to help you to the best of my abilities. Your enemies are the enemies of the Republic: my ambition is to help you in destroying them."

For a moment longer Martin-Roget hesitated: he abominated this suggestion of becoming a mere instrument in the hands of this man whom he still would have affected to despise--had he dared. But here came the difficulty: he no longer dared to despise Chauvelin. He felt the strength of the man--the clearness of his intellect, and though he--Martin-Roget--still chose to disregard every warning in connexion with the English spies, he could not wholly divest his mind from the possibility of their presence in Nantes. Carrier's scheme was so magnificent, so satisfying, that the ex-miller's son was ready to humble his pride and set his arrogance aside in order to see it carried through successfully.

So after a moment or two, despite the fact that he positively ached to shut Chauvelin out of the whole business, Martin-Roget gave a grudging a.s.sent to his proposal.

"Very well!" he said, "you see to it. So long as it does not interfere with my plans...."

"It can but help them," rejoined Chauvelin suavely. "If you will act as I shall direct I pledge you my word that the wench will walk to the Rat Mort of her free will and at the hour when you want her. What else is there to say?"

"When and where shall we meet again?"

"Within the hour I will return here and explain to you and to the citizeness what I want you to do. We will get the aristos inside the Rat Mort, never fear; and after that I think that we may safely leave Carrier to do the rest, what?"

He picked up his hat and wrapped his mantle round him. He took no further heed of Martin-Roget or of Louise, for suddenly he had felt the crackling of crisp paper inside the breast-pocket of his coat and in a moment the spirit of the man had gone a-roaming out of the narrow confines of this squalid abode. It had crossed the English Channel and wandered once more into a brilliantly-lighted ball-room where an exquisitely dressed dandy declaimed inanities and doggrel rhymes for the delectation of a flippant a.s.sembly: it heard once more the lazy, drawling speech, the inane, affected laugh, it caught the glance of a pair of lazy, grey eyes fixed mockingly upon him. Chauvelin's thin claw-like hand went back to his pocket: it felt that packet of papers, it closed over it like a vulture's talon does upon a prey. He no longer heard Martin-Roget's obstinate murmurings, he no longer felt himself to be the disgraced, humiliated servant of the State: rather did he feel once more the master, the leader, the successful weaver of an hundred clever intrigues. The enemy who had baffled him so often had chosen once more to throw down the glove of mocking defiance. So be it! The battle would be fought this night--a decisive one--and long live the Republic and the power of the people!

With a curt nod of the head Chauvelin turned on his heel and without waiting for Martin-Roget to follow him, or for Louise to light him on his way, he strode from the room, and out of the house, and had soon disappeared in the darkness in the direction of the quay.

V

Once more free from the enc.u.mbering companionship of Martin-Roget, Chauvelin felt free to breathe and to think. He, the obscure and impa.s.sive servant of the Republic, the cold-blooded Terrorist who had gone through every phrase of an exciting career without moving a muscle of his grave countenance, felt as if every one of his arteries was on fire. He strode along the quay in the teeth of the north-westerly wind, grateful for the cold blast which lashed his face and cooled his throbbing temples.

The packet of papers inside his coat seemed to sear his breast.

Before turning to go along the quay he paused, hesitating for a moment what he would do. His very humble lodgings were at the far end of the town, and every minute of time was precious. Inside Le Bouffay, where he had a small room allotted to him as a minor representative in Nantes of the Committee of Public Safety, there was the ever present danger of prying eyes.

On the whole--since time was so precious--he decided on returning to Le Bouffay. The concierge and the clerk fortunately let him through without those official delays which he--Chauvelin--was wont to find so galling ever since his disgrace had put a bar against the opening of every door at the bare mention of his name or the display of his tricolour scarf.

He strode rapidly across the hall: the men on guard eyed him with lazy indifference as he pa.s.sed. Once inside his own sanctum he looked carefully around him; he drew the curtain closer across the window and dragged the table and a chair well away from the range which might be covered by an eye at the keyhole. It was only when he had thoroughly a.s.sured himself that no searching eye or inquisitive ear could possibly be watching over him that he at last drew the precious packet of papers from his pocket. He undid the red ribbon which held it together and spread the papers out on the table before him. Then he examined them carefully one by one.