The Launching of Roger Brook

When he reached Rennes it was already well on in the afternoon, but he pushed on and covered the last miles after darkness had fallen. This time he did not go round to the stable entrance, but rode up to the front door and hammered upon it with his riding-crop as impatiently as any young lordling.

From the subdued, greeting of the footman who answered it he sensed that something was wrong. Then he noticed that the man was wearing a pair of old cloth breeches, that his livery coat was half unbuttoned, having been pulled on hastily, and that the great hall was not lit as brightly as was customary when any member of the family was in residence. Throwing the reins of his horse over an iron hook.

Roger stepped inside. The gloomy shadows seemed to reach out, engulfing him in a cold fear.

'What has been happening here?' he cried to the servant, his voice high with sudden apprehension. 'Where is Aldegonde? Why do you stare at me so glumly? Tell me what's wrong; or if you've not the courage, go get him— instantly.'

At that moment the fat major-domo came shambling through a door at the back of the hall. He was not in livery but wore an old dressing-gown and heel-less slippers.

'Ah, Monsieur Breuc!' he exclaimed in a doleful voice, as he came forward, 'I heard your horse's hooves and wondered who it could be riding up at this late hour. You find us in a poor state to welcome anyone.'

Roger slapped his leg impatiently with his riding-crop. 'What has befallen you all? Why is the place in semi- darkness? What calamity has plunged you in such gloom?'

'Alas, Monsieur, we have been beset with troubles for a fortnight back. It must be that since Madame Velot slipped upon the stairs and broke her leg.'

'Go on, man!' snapped Roger. 'One does not douse three-quarters of the lights because a woman breaks her leg. Speak up, or by thunder I'll break my riding-crop across your shoulders!'

Aldegonde had already taken in Roger's new finery, as the dust of the road did not disguise his well-cut, pearl-grey riding suit and doeskin gauntlets. In the past six months he had not only put on an inch in height but grown in mental stature far beyond that proportion. The old major-domo knew the voice of authority when he heard it. Far from showing resentment at this imperious treatment he positively cringed, and wrung his hands together, as he murmured:

' 'Tis no fault of ours, Monsieur; and I mentioned Madame Velot's accident only because 'twas the day she broke her leg that we first heard of the sickness in the village. 'Tis the great pox, no less, and half the staff are now stricken with it.'

'Mademoiselle Athenais?' croaked Roger.

The major-domo nodded. 'She, too, Monsieur, and for the past three days she has been delirious.'

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FELL DISEASE

ROGER had known it. From the very second that the doors of the chateau had been opened he had felt certain that some terrible calamity had befallen Athenais. Up to the last moment he had still hoped against hope that he was wrong and had lacked the courage to pronounce her name. But now he knew the worst, and it was horrible to con­template.

Owing to the filth in which the peasants lived, crowded together like animals in their miserable dwellings, such sporadic outbreaks were not uncommon. They often halved the younger population of a small community in a month, then died away, leaving the majority of the survivors scarred and disfigured for life. Roger knew that Athenais, instead of taking coach to Rennes at the first tidings of the epidemic, must have stayed on to succour her stricken people, as only by actual contact with them could she have caught the disease herself.

'Where is the doctor?' Roger demanded, his voice suddenly quiet again after his outburst.

'We have no doctor living here, Monsieur,' replied Aldegonde. 'The nearest is Doctor Gonnet of Montfort. 'Twas he who set Madame Velot's leg, and since the sickness came he has ridden over every other day. He will be here again to-morrow.'

'Who is looking after Mademoiselle?'

'Mere Sufflot, the midwife from the village. Mademoiselle's maid, Edmee, and several of the younger servants have run away, from fear of catching the sickness.'

'Has no attempt been made to get help from Rennes?'

Aldegonde spread out his hands. 'I had not thought of that, Monsieur. It seemed to me that Doctor Gonnet was doing all that can be done.'

It did not take Roger long to size up the situation. In England, in such a case, the servants would have shown initiative and spirit. They would have taken charge and secured proper medical aid; and no lady's maid worth her salt would have run away. But here in France things were very different. If you had your footman whipped for spilling a cup of chocolate on your gown you could not expect loyal service from him at a time of crisis. Just as the Marquis had been completely unmoved by d'Heury's death, so the servants at Becherel did not give a straw whether their young mistress lived or died.

'Have my old room prepared,' said Roger sharply, 'and have all the candles lit. From to-morrow morning the servants are to appear properly dressed in their liveries and go about their usual duties. Since Mademoiselle is still in residence 'tis fitting that the service of the chateau should be conducted in a normal manner.'

For the first time Aldegonde showed resentment at his tone. 'Since when,' he said sullenly, 'has it been Monsieur's place to give orders here?'

'Since the moment I put my foot inside the door,' Roger rapped back, assuming an authority to which he had no shadow of right. 'I am Monseigneur's emissary. While Mademoiselle remains tied to her bed you'll take your orders from me, or 'twill be the worse for you. Have a bottle of vinegar and some cloves of garlic put in my room, also some cold food and wine. I go now to see Madame Velot.'

At this reference to the Marquis the major-domo's attempt to assert himself collapsed like a pricked bubble. He bowed submissively as, without another glance at him, Roger strode with jingling spurs across the great hall.

When he knocked at Madame Marie-Ange's door she called to him to come in and, on entering the room, he saw that she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her surprise at seeing him was only equalled by her pleasure, but he found her in a sad state. In her fall she had fractured her hip as well as her leg. She was still in considerable pain and her injuries having been set in splints it was impossible for her to move the lower part of her body.

On her telling him about her accident he well remembered the treacherous marble stairs that had been the cause of it, as he had narrowly escaped breaking his own nose by slipping on them the preceding autumn.

She was terribly distressed about Athenais, but the pain she was in herself appeared to have robbed her of all her powers of concentra­tion. It seemed that she had faith in Dr. Gonnet and could only keep on repeating that with the help of le bon Dieu all would be well. Roger learned that it was she who had sent for Mere Sufflot from the village to nurse Athenais, as the old woman was the only person in the locality who had any professional experience; and that she was being looked after herself by the head chambermaid.

When Roger announced that he intended to go and see Athenais, she made a faint protest, and murmured something about it being most improper for him to enter a young lady's room; but he waved the objection aside and, after having rearranged her pillows for her, marched determinedly off down the corridor.

At his knock, Mere Sufflot opened the door to him. She proved to be a bleary-eyed old crone and stank like a polecat. Looking round he saw that the room was of splendid dimensions. It could have accommodated four full- sized billiard-tables and there would still have been ample space to spare. The heavy-brocaded curtains were drawn and a great wood fire was roaring in the big grate, making the room stiflingly hot. A huge four-poster bed occupied the centre of the wall opposite the windows; but, from where he stood he could not see Athenais, as she was hidden from him by a screen.

'How is Mademoiselle?' he asked the old woman, in a low voice.

'The fever has abated, Monsieur,' she replied with a cringing leer. 'Mademoiselle is out of danger, but I fear that her pretty face will be sadly marked.'

'Is she sleeping?'

'No. She has slept most of the day, and 'twas when she woke an hour ago that I knew her to be past the crisis.' 'Who relieves you here at night?'

The old woman's bleary eyes showed faint surprise. 'Why, no one, Monsieur. I have not left the room for three days. Monsieur Aldegonde sends up trays of food for us which are left outside the door. None of them would come in here while the sickness is still infectious.'