Dennis Wheatley - The Launching of Roger Brook

After the Vicomte had swallowed a few mouthfuls of the food and a single glass of wine he said to Athehais: "I have some further arrange­ments to make for our journey, Mademoiselle, so I pray you excuse me. I shall be away for some ten minutes."

Roger realised then that the Vicomte had only pleaded hunger as an excuse to bring them into the inn, and that he had done so with the most generous intention of giving his companions an opportunity to say their farewells in private.

As the door closed behind de la Tour d'Auvergne the two lovers made an instinctive movement towards each other, but both checked it almost instantly, and Roger shook his head.

Athenais smiled sadly, having the same thought. " 'Tis true. My lips are no longer mine to give you; yet you will ever hold a great part of my heart."

"And you of mine, my most beautiful Princess," He replied. "I would, though, that I had the courage to beg you to forget me; for your betrothed surely deserves that you should make him happy."

"And I will make him so, never fear. Having gone contrary to the fashion by taking a lover before my marriage, 'tis my intent to continue in my eccentric course, and be faithful to my husband afterwards."

" 'Tis a wise decision," Roger agreed gravely. "If he were not so fine a man I would be sick with envy; but honesty compels me to admit that he is more worthy of you than myself."

"Say not so, dear miller's youngest son. No gentleman of France or England could have shown greater devotion to his lady, or more gallantry on her behalf, than you have done."

He smiled. "That is as it should be in an old romance; but when it comes to marriage more sterling qualities are of greater worth. He, too, fought on your behalf. I was more fortunate, that is all. He loves you as devotedly as I have ever done, and in addition has qualities that I lack. I often lie to gain my ends and that is a thing he would never do. I am an adventurer by instinct and, though I was sorely tempted in your case, I doubt if I shall ever marry; whereas he is the very pattern of upright manhood best suited to be the father of a woman's children and give her a constant love."

It had cost Roger a lot to say that, but he wanted to leave an impression with her that she had not, after all, lost so much by losing him; and thus cause her heart to incline the more speedily towards her husband.

He was all the more disconcerted when she suddenly cried in a tone of reproach: "Oh, Rojé, Rojé! You have no need to praise his qualities and decry your own. Have I not told you that I will be a good wife to him; and this marriage gives both him and me a better prospect of contentment than any our parents would have made for us. But 'tis not for their worthiness that women love men. If aught could make me love him 'tis his generosity in having left us here expressly that you might take me in your arms again. Yet you waste these precious minutes in talking like a fool!"

Her eyes were swimming with tears as she swayed towards him and, all his better resolutions gone, he caught her to his breast. For a few moments they clung together, then she took from her middle finger a great sapphire ring and put it on the little finger of his left hand.

"Take this," she said, smiling wanly. "You'll not need it to remember me by, but it may serve you in some emergency. 'Twas the ring de Caylus gave me on my betrothal to him, so in any case I would wear it no longer. And 'twould pleasure me to think that his gift had saved you in a time of trouble."

As he thanked her she went to the table and poured two glasses of wine. Giving him one she lifted the other, and said: "Should we meet again 'twill be only as friends, so I give a toast. To our memories and our future friendship."

"To our memories and our future friendship," he repeated, and they both drank down the wine.

Their empty glasses were still in their hands when de la Tour d'Auvergne re-entered the room.

She turned away to hide her tear-dimmed eyes, but he did not even glance at her, and said to Roger with a smile: "I have chosen and vetted the best fresh mount in the stables, and 'tis outside ready saddled for you. What we owe to one another no words can express so let us not attempt it. Instead we'll wish each other God-speed and a renewal of our friendship. May it not be too long before we meet again. Let's drink a glass of wine to that."

"You put my own thoughts better than I could have put them myself," Roger smiled back; and filling the glasses he drank again with de la Tour d'Auvergne. Then all three of them went out into the night.

As they reached the yard the Vicomte murmured: "Your best road is to Gisors, and thence to Gournay."

"And yours?" asked Roger. "I would like to know as I shall be thinking of you."

"We shall make for Evreux and should reach the town by six o'clock. Tis there I hope to find a priest to marry us."

"My prayers for your happiness go with you."

"And mine with you for your good fortune."

Athenais was already seated in the chaise. As the Vicomte settled himself beside her she extended a slender hand to Roger. Bowing over it he kissed her fingertips. Then he took one last look at the beautiful face that four years before, when still that of a child, had thrown an instant enchantment over him. He had seen it proud, angry, sullen, disfigured, and finally, as the adoring face of a most lovely woman. The magnificent blue eyes were still dim with tears but they smiled bravely, and serenely now, upon him. He released her hand and closed the door.

Before the chaise was out of the yard he had mounted the horse that the ostler was holding for him. A moment later his love and his friend were being whirled along the road to the north-west as fast as six fresh horses could carry them; while he had turned his mount on to the road to the north-east and was settling down to ride for his life—and to reach England with the letter that might prevent a war.

CHAPTER XXIV

ONE THOUSAND LOUIS REWARD

I T was just on four in the morning when Roger galloped out of the courtyard of the Grand Cerf at Mantes; at a quarter to six he drew rein in that of the De Blanmont at Gisors. In the stable he changed his horse for a chestnut gelding and, within five minutes, was on his way again.

Now that the morning light had come the peasants were wending their way out into the fields, but he took no notice of them or of the countryside through which he passed. His every thought was con­centrated on choosing the best ground for his mount, and seeing that each time he adjusted its pace it should not jolt and tire him needlessly.

By seven o'clock he reached Gournay, changed his chestnut for a bay mare at the Auberge du Nord, and took the road to Neufchatel. This stage was longer than the last and the vigour of the good wine he had drunk in Mantes had now passed out of him. Moreover, shortly after eight o'clock it began to rain, which soon made the going heavier; so he did not reach Neufchatel until a quarter past nine.

He had now covered over fifty miles and still had twenty-five to go; the fourth and last stage of his journey being considerably the longest; so, on dismounting in the yard of the Lion d'Or, he decided to give himself a rest before undertaking it.

Going into the inn he ordered coffee, laced it well with cognac and, lying back in an elbow chair with his long legs stretched out before him, drank it slowly. At a quarter to ten he went out into the rain, mounted a mettlesome strawberry roan that had been saddled for him and took the road to Dieppe.

A wind had now got up and was blowing the rain against his face in gusty squalls. Before he covered half the distance he was feeling both tired and dejected. His knees and thigh muscles were aching acutely from their hours of constant pressure on his mounts, in two places he was saddle-sore and the slippery reins were hurting where he gripped them with the gloved fingers of his left hand. Despite these physical afflictions he had no doubts about his ability to reach Dieppe, but he was now extremely perturbed by the state of the weather. The fine spell had clearly broken and with every mile he covered towards the sea'conditions worsened, so he was desperately afraid that all sailings might be cancelled on that account.