St. George's Cross Part 7

The forward young man bent his way, as often before, in the direction of Maufant. On entering the garden he saw the lady of the manor--a rose among the roses, as Malherbe might have said. The moment she perceived Elliot she stood sternly, and with dilated eye before the entry of the house, as if to bar the way, the united blazon of her husband's ancestors and her own appearing above her head like a crest of battle.

"Why so stern, fair lady?" demanded the courtier, saluting her, "And why alone?"

"My sister is not here," said Mme. de Maufant, answering but the second of Elliot's questions. "She has spoken with you for the last time, Mr.

Elliot. I hope that I too have the same advantage. You should go home, Monsieur, to your wife."

Elliot started, but quickly recovering himself, said, with an insolent smile, "Always thinking of marriage, these dear creatures. Ah, ah!

madame, sits the wind in that quarter? You thought the poor Scots gentleman might be caught by the rosy cheeks of a Jersey farm girl. _Pas si bete_."

Rose pointed to the garden archway. "If you do not relieve me of your presence this very instant," she said, pale and panting, "my farm labourers shall drive you out with cudgels."

"It shall not need, madame, to pay me this last attention, so worthy of your habits. 'Au revoir, madame!'" And with a profound and mocking reverence the wanton cavalier slowly retreated, leaving Rose to sink, half fainting, into a stone seat by the house door.

Elliot strode off, smarting with the sting of his well-merited humiliation. A brief moment of reflection was enough to show its probable origin. It was evident that the secret of his marriage had found its way to the manor, where the court he had been paying to Marguerite had consequently ceased to be regarded as a harmless gallantry, and come to be taken for insult, as indeed it deserved. Nor was it difficult to go on to guess the channel of this information. Le Gallais was Marguerite's acknowledged lover, the person who would benefit by the removal of a fascinating dog like Elliot--a formidable rival, as he flattered himself such as he must be to a b.u.mpkin officer of militia. How Le Gallais could have learned the fact of his having a wife in France might be a harder question, but it was one that was not material. Revenge would be equally sweet, whether that were answered or not.

Full of these thoughts the groom of the chamber stalked on to S. Helier.

On reaching the quay, he came to "The White Ship"--a tavern frequented alike by the officers of the garrison and by those of the island militia. The parlour was full of men, some in uniform, some in plain clothes, smoking, drinking, playing cards--a scene of Teniers. One of the first faces on which his eye fell was that of Le Gallais, who sprang from his chair on Elliot's entrance, but was restrained by his neighbours, and sat down watching the intruder's movements with glaring eye. Striding up to the hearth, and standing with his back to it, the cavalier broke into a forced laugh.

"Strange company you keep, gentlemen. I spy one among you whom you had better put forth without delay."

"Whom mean you?" asked the patch-wearing Querto. "'May I not take mine ease in mine inn?' as the fat fellow says in the play. May not a plain soldier choose his own company?"

"A soldier is a gentleman, and should keep company with gentlemen,"

answered the flushed youth. "Mr. Le Gallais is no mate for cavaliers. I say to his face that he is a cropeared rebel, a busybody, and a pestilent knave."

"I appeal to you, Major Querto," said Le Gallais, roused from his temporary pause, and turning to the major, whom indeed he had brought to the place, and for whose refreshment he was providing.

"Appeal me no appeals," said the Major, with a truculent look. "No man shall appeal to d.i.c.k Querto till he is purged of such epitaphs."

Confusion reigned. Le Gallais looked about him for a friendly face, and presently saw sympathy on that of a fellow-countryman and brother officer.

"Captain Bisson," he said, "you will speak to Mr. Elliot's friend."

Elliot flung out of the house, followed by Querto and two or three Royalist officers, Le Gallais, and Bisson in the rear. They walked towards the beach, and on their arriving at the foot of the Gallows Hill--near where the picquet-house now stands--an Irish officer came from Elliot's group and met Bisson, hat in hand.

"Are the gentlemen to fight now?" he asked.

"The sooner the better," answered Bisson.

"Will it be a _pas de deux_, or will we all join the dance?"

"Surely, a combat of two," gravely replied the islander. "We do not understand Paris fashions here. With you and me, sir, there need be no quarrel."

"Sure, and we could have an elegant fight without quarrelling," muttered the Irishman, with a disappointed frown. "But 'anything for a quiet life' is my motto. This is a mighty fine place, I'm thinking, where two brave fellows can cut each other's throats in peace and without disturbance." Major Querto stood by with the air of an indispensable umpire.

The _escrime_ of those days had not attained its later refinements. The combatants were placed opposite to each other, each flinging a cloak about his left arm, to serve as a shield, and they prepared to encounter in what would seem a fashion of "rough-and-tumble" to our modern masters.

Both were brave men, and in the bloom of manhood. Elliot was the taller, but Le Gallais, some seven or eight years older, far exceeded in strength and weight. After scant ceremony the thrusting began. Feet trampled, steel rang. A furious pa.s.s from the Jerseyman was with difficulty caught in Elliot's cloak, and the sword for a moment hampered. Before Le Gallais could extricate it, Elliot, with a savage cry, ran in upon him, drawing back his elbow, so as to stab his adversary with a shortened sword. A scuffle ensued, of which no bystander could follow with his eye the full details, till the Scot's sword was seen to turn upwards, and the point to pierce his own throat.

Each combatant fell backwards, Le Gallais bleeding from the left hand, and Elliot spouting black gore from a severed artery.

At that instant cries name from the outside of the ring, "The guard!"

On which the spectators hastened to disperse, while the Lieutenant-Governor rode up at the head of a mounted patrol. Elliot was taken from the ground in a dying state, and Le Gallais arrested, and ordered to Mont Orgueil, to await the arrival of the magistrate, who should make the preliminary inquiry.

Left in that irksome durance, but with wound duly cared for, Alain had abundant time to muse over the mistakes and misfortunes of the past.

After the inquiry he was necessarily committed for trial at the next criminal session; and fell at first into a semi-mechanical existence.

But slowly the twin stars of memory and hope rose out of the dark, while conscious integrity began to clear the moral aether. He tried in vain to cherish remorse, but Elliot's treachery overbore the effort; slowly calm returned.

It was true that the news of Elliot's fraud had been made known to the ladies of Maufant by himself. But as he thought over the matter in the solitude of his chilly cell, he could not see any reason to blame himself on that account. Hearing from Querto--who was connected with the family--that Elliot was unquestionably a married man, he had only done his duty in warning Rose and her sister against the groom of the chamber. He would not admit to himself that jealousy had influenced him in so doing. As Lempriere's agent, as the old friend of the family, he could not have done otherwise. All was over between him and Marguerite, yet he could not forget that, by the wish of the young lady's friends, if not by her own, he had once been her affianced husband. As for the death of the courtier, it was not in itself a subject for much regret; and, further, it had been wholly the consequence of the dead man's own actions, from his deceit towards the ladies to his final ferocity and foul play in an encounter of his own provoking.

While Alain Le Gallais thus sought comfort by the road of reason and of conscience, his heart continued very sore. But on the morrow of his commitment an event occurred which changed his cheer, and made his prison for an instant more lovely than a palace. All the Jerseymen were acquainted with each other, and the prison warder, though fully meaning to keep his captive, did not by any means understand his duty to extend to making such detention a punishment to a man whom he liked, and who had not yet been condemned. So when Mme. de Maufant and her sister presented themselves at the gate, seeking admission to Alain's cell, the worthy jailor unhesitatingly showed them into his own parlour, and fetched Alain to them, only taking the precaution of turning the door key upon the outside as he left them alone with the priser, on the understanding that they should call him from the window when they wished to leave.

Pale as death, her lovely eyes ringed with dark shades, poor Marguerite fell upon Alain's breast, without pretence of coyness.

"Alain, mon ami!" she cooed in her soft rich voice, "can you give me your pardon?"

How far Alain believed this sudden revelation cannot certainly be told.

All that he felt able to do was to strain the girl to his heart and be silent. Rose stood discreetly at the window; but finding that the lovers had no more to say to each other, she by and by broke silence.

"We shall not leave you to suffer for us," she said. "Carteret is without scruple and without mercy. As a friend of Michael's, he will seek every loophole for your ruin. I have already seen the Advocate Falle. He says that you will be tried for murder next week, and that if Carteret presides you are no better than a dead man."

"To die for you and Marguerite is not so hard," said the young man, with a smile.

"You shall do nothing of the sort," cried Rose, warmly, "listen to me.

The day is setting in for rain and storm. At five in the afternoon it will be dark. Then one of us will come back with John Le Vesconte, of La Rosiere, who is your match in stature, and who will be admitted on account of his being of kin to us. He will change clothes with you, and will remain in your stead while you come out of prison in his. He is in favour with Carteret, and will be quit for a fine, which I will gladly pay."

As she stood, warm and bright with zeal, and intellect flushing in her eye, Alain thought that, with all his troubles, her exiled lord was a happy man. But he had to think of his own case. Placing the broken form of Marguerite tenderly in a chair, he stood up and looked full in Rose's face, his hands joined, almost in an att.i.tude of prayer.

"Do not tempt me," he said, in a low, but determined voice. "I will not put another in my place to save my life, nor even to please Michael Lempriere's wife. Moreover, John Valpy, the jailor here--who is somewhat of my family, too, for our fathers married cousins--has dealt tenderly with me, and I will not do what would bring ruin upon him. Tempt me no more," he repeated hastily, seeing Rose about to interrupt him. "My mind is fully made up."

"But for her sake," pleaded Mme. de Maufant, eyeing the almost senseless girl with yearning pity. "Think of her young life, bound up with yours."

"Alas!" answered he, "who knows what maidens mean? She has been excited by all that has befallen, and will doubtless be sorry for me, and remember me. But her life can never be bound but by herself. Briefly, I will not be saved on the terms you offer. Existence for me is without value, honour is not."

After this speech, delivered in a tone of conviction, Rose could say no more. For her part, Marguerite was helpless. Her nerves had broken in the excitement of the whole scene, and by the time that Alain had done speaking, she was on the edge of a fit of violent hysterics. When her sister had succeeded, by the aid of the jailor's wife, hastily summoned, in restoring a little calm, Marguerite insisted upon being taken away.

Alain was left unshaken in his resolve, and Rose, weary of the unsuccessful interview, removed her sister to their temporary lodgings in the town. Leaving her there in the careful hands of the woman of the place--an old acquaintance--she hurried off to Hill-street, where she had another consultation with the Advocate Falle.

The result was soon apparent. To whatever motive Carteret may have yielded, he did not preside at the trial of Le Gallais, leaving the task--as indeed he usually did--to the Lieutenant-Bailiff. The record of the trial has perished, along with many public papers of those troublous times. But thus much we know, that Alain Le Gallais was tried before the Lieutenant-Bailiff and six jurats, and, in spite of a strenuous defence by Advocate Falle, was found guilty and sentenced to death.

It would be impossible to describe the anguish of the ladies of Maufant, who had remained in town during these proceedings. Rose had already spent in the conduct of the case money that she could ill afford. But she knew that her husband would never forgive her if she neglected any means of delivering their champion. Nor was she in any way disposed to do so. Secret service money was laid out to the full extent of Mme. de Maufant's powers of borrowing.

Meanwhile the political horizon grew darker day by day. Charles fretted and yawned; but he continued to attend Divine service in the town church. He also dined in public, "touched" for the king's evil, and exercised such functions of royalty (as understood in that period of transition) as the conditions of the place permitted. Just before the end of the Stuart dynasty kingship in England was in much the same condition among the English as it is now among the German nations. The monarch was still regarded as the head of the feudal State, while a number of the leading men were beginning to perceive more or less clearly that society had pa.s.sed out of a condition in which it could be deeply or permanently swayed by the absolute will of one individual, however highly placed by what one called the Divine pleasure, and another the accident of birth. Among the personal prerogatives of the Crown was the pardon of persons condemned to death.

On the morning of the day when Mr. Secretary Nicholas was ordered to bring up the papers in the case of Rex _v._ Le Gallais, the Lieutenant-Governor of the small territory to which Charles's sway was for the present restricted had a long audience. The king had, in his light way, lamented the loss of his petulant favourite. But Carteret had, with less pains than he had looked for, succeeded in convincing the facile and intelligent sovereign that for both the quarrel and its result Tom Elliot had been alone answerable. Probability leads us to suspect that Charles had his own reasons for the readiness with which he accepted the governor's arguments. Among all the young king's heavy faults, vindictiveness was not, at that time, in the faintest degree traceable; but, besides that, he had learned, in the intercourse of the last day or two before the fatal encounter, too much of Elliot's nefarious designs upon Marguerite de St. Martin to suppose that he would with decency punish the conduct of her defender. Nor need we wonder if a bag of Rose Lempriere's pistoles lent weight, even to royal scruples.

"Odsfish, Sir George," he said, finally, "I believe that you must e'en take the pardon of your choleric countryman."

"Your majesty is ever gracious," answered Carteret, with his best quarter-deck reverence, "though under your pardon my countrymen are in no respect to be taxed with ready choler. They are ever courteous and patient. Only steadfast malice is what they cannot abide."