Petticoat Rule Part 28

With burning eyes and trembling lips she hurried through the rooms, and along the interminable corridors. The flunkeys stared at her as she pa.s.sed, she looked so different to her usual composed and haughty self: her cheeks were flaming, her bosom heaving beneath the primly-folded kerchief, and at intervals a curious moan-like sound escaped her lips.

Thus she reached her own study, a small square room at the extreme end of the West Wing, two of its walls formed an angle of the structure, with great cas.e.m.e.nt windows which gave on that secluded spinney, with its peaceful glade which she loved.

As soon as she entered the room her eyes fell on that distant beech plantation. A great sigh rose from her oppressed heart, for suddenly she had remembered her great purpose, the one project which was infinitely dear to her.

The graceful beech trees far away, with their undergrowth of bracken and foxgloves gleaming in the sun, recalled to her that Gaston was waiting in their midst for her message to _Le Monarque_.

Thank G.o.d, this great joy at least was not denied her. She still had the power and the will to accomplish this all-pervading object of her life: the rescue of the Stuart prince from the hands of his enemies and from the perfidy of his whilom friends.

This thought, the recollection of her talk with Gaston, the work which still remained for her to do, eased the tension of her nerves and stilled the agonizing pain of her heart.

With a tremendous effort of will she chased away from her mental vision the picture of that pale, expressionless face, which seemed to haunt her. She forced herself to forget the humiliation, the injustice, the affront which she had suffered to-day, and not to hear the persistent echo of the deadly insults which she had uttered in response.

Her study was cool and dark; heavy curtains of soft-toned lavender fell beside the windows, partially shutting out the glare of the midday sun. Her secretaire stood in the centre of the room. She sat down near it and unlocked a secret drawer. For the next quarter of an hour her pen flew across two sheets of paper. She had in front of her a map of a certain portion of the West Coast of Scotland, with directions and other sundry notes carefully written in the margins, and she was writing out the orders for the commander of _Le Monarque_ to reach that portion of the coast as quickly as possible, to seek out Prince Charles Stuart, who would probably be on the look-out for a French vessel, and having got him, and as many friends of his as accompanied him, safely aboard, to skirt the West Coast of Ireland and subsequently to reach Morlaix in Brittany, where the prince would disembark.

There was nothing fl.u.s.tered or undetermined about her actions, she never paused a moment to collect her thoughts for obedient to her will they were already arrayed in perfect order in her mind: she had only to transfer them to paper.

Having written out the orders for Captain Barre she carefully folded them, together with the map, and fastened and sealed them with the official seal of the Ministry of Finance: then she took one more sheet of paper and wrote in a bold clear hand:

"The bearer of this letter is sent to meet you by your true and faithful friends. You may trust yourself and those you care for unconditionally to him."

To this note she affixed a seal stamped with the Eglinton arms: and across the words themselves she wrote the name "Eglinton!"

There was no reason to fear for a moment that the Stuart prince would have any misgivings when he received this message of comfort and of hope.

Then with all the papers safely tied together and hidden in the folds of her corselet, she once more found her way down the great staircase and terraces and into the beech wood where M. de Stainville awaited her.

CHAPTER XX

A FAREWELL

Gaston de Stainville had been sitting idly on the garden seat, vaguely wondering why Lydie was so long absent, ignorant of course of the acute crisis through which she had just pa.s.sed. For the last quarter of an hour of this weary waiting, anxiety began to a.s.sail him.

Women were so fickle and so capricious! which remark inwardly muttered came with singular inappropriateness from Gaston de Stainville. His keen judgment, however, fought his apprehensions. He knew quite well that Lydie was unlike other women, at once stronger and weaker than those of her own s.e.x, more firm in her purpose, less bendable in her obstinacy. And he knew also that nothing could occur within the gorgeous walls of that palace to cause her to change her mind.

But as the moments sped on, his anxiety grew apace. He no longer could sit still, and began walking feverishly up and down the little glade, like an animal caged within limits too narrow for its activity. He dared not wander out of the wood, lest she should return and, not finding him there, think at once of doubting.

Thus when she once more appeared before him, he was not so calm as he would have wished, nor yet so keen in noting the subtle, indefinable change which had come over her entire personality. Desirous of masking his agitation, he knelt when she approached, and thus took the packet from her hand.

The action struck her as theatrical, her mind being filled with another picture, that of a man motionless and erect, with pale, expressionless face, which yet had meant so much more of reality to her.

And because of this theatricality in Gaston's att.i.tude, she lost something of the fullness of joy of this supreme moment. She ought to have been happier, more radiant with hope for the future and with grat.i.tude to him. She tried to say something enthusiastic, something more in keeping with the romance of this sudden and swift departure, the prospective ride to Le Havre, the spirit of self-sacrifice and courage which caused him to undertake this task, so different to his usual avocation of ease and luxury.

"I pray you, Gaston," she said, "guard the packet safely, and use your best endeavours to reach Le Havre ere the night hath yielded to a new dawn."

She could not say more just now, feeling that if she added words of encouragement or of praise, they would not ring true, and would seem as artificial as his posture at her feet.

"I will guard the packet with my life," he said earnestly, "and if perchance you wake to-night from dreams of the unfortunate prince, whom your devotion will save from death, send one thought wandering far away across the rich fields of Normandy, for they will be behind me by that time, and I will sight the port of Le Havre long before its church spires are tipped with gold."

"G.o.d speed you then!" she rejoined. "I'll not detain you!"

She chided herself for her coldness, noting that Gaston on the other hand seemed aglow now with excitement, as he unb.u.t.toned his coat and slipped the papers into an inner pocket. Then he sprang to his feet and seemed ready to go.

Just at the moment of actual parting, when he asked for her hand to kiss, and she, giving it to him felt his lips trembling on her fingers, some measure of his excitement communicated itself to her, and she repeated more warmly:

"G.o.d speed you, Gaston, and farewell!"

"G.o.d bless you, Lydie, for this trust which you have deigned to place in me! Two days hence at even I shall have returned. Where shall I see you then?"

"In my study. Ask for an audience. I will see that it is granted."

The next moment he had gone; she saw the rich purple of his coat gradually vanish behind the tall bracken. Even then she had no misgivings. She thought that she had done right, and that she had taken the only course by which she could ensure the safety of the Stuart prince, to whom France, whom she guided through the tortuous paths of diplomacy, and for whose honour she felt herself to be primarily responsible, had pledged her word and her faith.

CHAPTER XXI

ROYAL THANKS

In one of the smaller rooms of the palace of Trianon, His Majesty King Louis XV received M. le Comte de Stainville in private audience.

Madame la Marquise de Pompadour was present. She sat in an armchair, close beside the one occupied by His Majesty, her dainty feet resting on a footstool, her hand given up to her royal patron, so that he might occasionally imprint a kiss upon it.

Gaston de Stainville sat on a tabouret at a respectful distance. He had in his hand a letter with a seal attached to it and a map, which had a number of notes scribbled in the margin. His Majesty seemed in a superlatively good humour, and sat back in his chair, his fat body shaking now and again with bursts of merriment.

"Eh! eh! this gallant Count!" he said jovially, "par ma foi! to think that the minx deceived us and our Court all these years, with her prim ways and prudish manner. Even Her Majesty the Queen looks upon Madame Lydie as a pattern of all the virtues."

He leaned forward and beckoned to Gaston to draw his chair nearer.

"Voyons, M. le Comte," continued Louis with a humorous leer, "there is no need for quite so much discretion. We are all friends together . . . eh? Tell us how you did it."

Gaston de Stainville did draw his chair nearer to His Majesty, such a proffered honour was not to be ignored. His face wore an air of provocative discretion and a fatuous smile curled his sensual lips.

"Nay," he said unctuously, "your Majesty who is _galant homme_ par excellence will deign to grant me leave to keep inviolate the secret of how I succeeded in breaking through the barrier of prudery, set up by the most unapproachable woman in France. Enough that I did succeed: and that I have been made thrice happy by being allowed to place the result, with mine own hands, at the feet of the most adored of her s.e.x."

And with an elegant and graceful flourish of the arm, he rose from his tabouret and immediately dropped on one knee at Madame's feet, offering her the letter and the map which he held. She took them from him, regarding him with a smile, which fortunately the amorous but highly jealous monarch failed to see; he had just taken the papers from Pompadour and was gloating over their contents.

"You had best see M. le Duc d'Aumont at once," said His Majesty with a quick return to gravity, as soon as Gaston de Stainville had once more resumed his seat. "Go back to the palace now, Monsieur le Comte, Madame will allow you to take her chair, and then by using our own private entrance on the South side, you will avoid being seen from the West Wing. Needless to say, I hope, that discretion and wariness must be your watchword until the affair is brought to a successful conclusion."

Gaston de Stainville bent himself nearly double, and placed one hand there, where his heart was supposed to be, all in token that he would be obedient to the letter and the spirit of every royal command.

"We do not think," said Louis, with somewhat forced carelessness, "that our subjects need know anything about this transaction."

"Certainly not, Sire," rejoined De Stainville most emphatically, whilst Madame too nodded very decisively.