George Gibbs - The Love of Monsieur

Mornay had completely recovered his good spirits. He tossed his night-robe to Vigot and snapped his fingers.

“ Mais, monsieur ,” he smiled. “’Tis an exercise so exhilarating.”

“D – n it, man, ’tis no time for jesting,” growled the Irishman, rising. “The post from France to-day says ye are to be put in the Bastile or have your head chopped off; in London ye’re a fugitive from justice for killing; and, lastly, yer good friend Charles has turned a cold shoulder on ye. And ye talk of exhilaration!” Cornbury’s disgust was illimitable.

Mornay dusted a speck from his sleeve and smiled gayly. “It is not every day, my good Cornbury, that a man may become possessed of a family, a fortune, and, ma foi , such a beautiful, scornful she-cousin – ”

“Zoons, man! How can ye prove it without the papers? The mere word ‘D’Añasco’ will not open their ears or their hearts. I believe it, but who else would?”

“I can prove that I am the boy Ruiz, I tell you.”

“And ye’re fleeing for your life?”

Mornay’s face grew stern. “Yes, I am fleeing for my life,” he cried, “but they have not caught me yet. Last night I would not have cared if they had sent me back to France. To-day it is different. They have robbed me of my estates, of my name; they have made me a mere creeping thing – a viper. Morbleu! they shall feel the viper’s sting. Monsieur de Heywood is dead. Mistress Barbara Clerke – ”

Cornbury leaned forward in his chair. “Surely you don’t mean – ”

“Oh, put your mind at rest, mon ami . I shall do my pretty cousin no violence. I shall see her – that’s all. But first – first, about the papers with this Capitaine Ferraire – ”

Cornbury smiled dryly.

“Why, ye have but to poke a nose an inch beyond the door to be carted to the Tower. How will ye see Captain Ferrers, then? ’Tis the height of absurdity. Take my advice and keep close till ye find a ship. Then set your course for the Plantations till yer matter is cooled. I’ve a debt or two myself, and I’m inclined to accompany ye.”

Mornay looked at him in surprise. “Why, Cornbury, you have but a faint heart!”

“It is this news from France – ye have no backing – ”

“Come! have done!” cried Mornay. “You sap my will. If you cannot look the situation gallantly in the face, why, then – ” He stopped and lowered his voice, casting a glance at the Irishman. “ Mon ami , I expect too much. More than I can claim.” Mornay walked towards the door and took Cornbury’s cloak and hat. “ Allons! You shall leave me at once. Your only danger is in my society. Go at once upon the street, and they can prove nothing; stay with me, and you harbor an enemy of the state and a fugitive from justice.”

Cornbury threw a look at him and rose to his feet with an oath. “D – n ye, man, d’ye think I’d quit ye now? Ye give me credit for a smallish sense of dacency.” He walked to the window and looked down upon the street. Mornay followed him at once and took him by the hand.

“I have offended you? Forgive me. This matter is the turning of gall to honey for me, Cornbury. I cannot leave it without a struggle. I pray you, bear with me.”

Cornbury was smiling in a moment. “What do ye plan?” he said.

“Listen. Vigot is clever. He shall discover for me when Captain Ferrers will wait upon madame, ma cousine . I, too, will call upon her.”

“And ye’ve just killed her guardian!” said Cornbury, dryly. “She’ll not receive ye with kisses.”

Mornay smiled and slowly answered:

“You will think it strange that a gentleman should intrude upon a woman. But to-morrow, perhaps to-day, I may go from this city and country forever. Before that I shall make one effort to establish my good name. I shall not succeed; but I shall have done my duty to myself and the mother who bore me. As for the Capitaine Ferraire – ” Mornay’s eyes flashed ominously. “If I knew where he had put the papers – if I could but get him to fight – ”

“Fight! Ye couldn’t coax a fight from Ferrers with the flat of yer hand. He’d rather see ye in the Bastile or the Tower. He’s too sure to take any risks. Besides, if ye’d kill him the papers would be lost forever. No, he’ll not fight. He owes ye money, and while the constables can cancel the debt ye may be sure that he will not .”

Mornay passed his hand over his brow. “’Tis true. But I must see them together. That is the only chance. I will go to-day.”

“But how, Mornay?” asked Cornbury, dryly. “In a coach and four?”

Mornay sprang to his feet in delight. “ C’est ça! ” he cried, joyfully. “Oh, monsieur, but you have the Irish wit. Vigot shall bring me a coach. I shall ride in state.”

Cornbury rose to his feet angrily.

“What nonsense is this?” he cried. Mornay smiled on him benignly.

“Can you not see, Monsieur le Capitaine? While they are looking for me at the Fleece, in Covent Garden, in the Heaven Inn, or in the Hell Tavern, here will I be riding along the Mall to the very place they would be least likely to look for me – in my lady’s boudoir!”

Cornbury at once saw the value of the plan, but he never looked more sober.

“And after?” he asked.

“After?” replied Mornay, lightly. “After? Monsieur, you leave too little to the imagination. I think but of the present. Le bon Dieu will provide for the future.”

Vigot was given his orders to make shrewd inquiries of the servants of the neighbors of Mistress Clerke as to the hour of Captain Ferrers’s daily visits. He was also told to get a coach for monsieur. He stood puzzled a moment.

“Monsieur wishes a haquenée?” he asked.

“A haquenée? No, sirrah!” said Mornay, brusquely.

“A pair, then?” he asked, scratching his head.

“A pair?” roared Mornay. “No, sirrah! Foi de ma vie! I wish a coach and four. Twenty guineas at the very least. If I wait upon madame at night, a dozen links. Be off with you!”

Cornbury shook his head hopelessly.

“Ye’re going to your funeral in style,” he said.

Mistress Barbara sat alone, looking out upon the quiet street. While she looked she saw nothing, and every line of her figure, in abandonment to her mood, spoke of sorrow and distraction. Her eyelids were red, and the richly laced mouchoir which fell from the hand beneath her chin was moist with tears. Upon a tray were the dishes of a luncheon, untouched, and a number of papers, some of them torn, fell from her hand upon the floor. A dish of roses, a few French romances, a manteau girdle, a copy of the Annus Mirabilis of Dryden, a pair of scented gloves of Martial, and a cittern in the corner completed the gently bred disorder of the room.

True, Sir Henry Heywood was no blood relation of hers, and had only been her guardian. A man of the world in the worst rather than the better sense, there had been little in his life to appeal to her. But he loved her in his own way and had been good to her in all matters that pertained to her estate, and so she mourned him as one would mourn the loss of one whom nearness had made dear. There was some bond which seemed to bind them more closely than their mere surface relations of ward and guardian – an undercurrent of devotion and servitude which she felt, though she could not understand the meaning. His death wrung her mind, if it did not wring her heart.

And by this Frenchman! There had been a moment or two of regret the other night that she should have used this Mornay so cruelly, a moment when the bitterness, the grief, the utter loneliness and longing she had seen in his face had filled her rebellious soul with compassion for his misery. For she had a glimpse – the very first – of his pride overborne and beaten to earth in spite of its mighty struggle to rise. But now! Now, whatever regret had sprung into her heart, whatever kindliness, had been engulfed again in a bitterness which cried out for justice. While the woman in her had shrunk from the thought of him and wished him well away from London, a sense of the fitness of things called for retribution for the wrong that had been done her and hers. They had not caught him yet. Oh, he was cunning and skillful; that she knew. But Captain Ferrers had assured her that to oblige Louis of France, the King had directed all the constables of London to be upon the watch for him. It could not be long before they would have him fast behind the walls of the Tower, with God knows what in store for him there, or at the Bastile if he were taken back to France. The Bastile? She shivered a little and put her kerchief over her face.