Among the faces now seen at Llangorren--most of them new to the place,
and not a few of forbidding aspect--there is one familiar to us.
Sinister as any; since it is that of Father Rogier. At no rare
intervals may it be there observed; but almost continuously. Frequent
as were his visits to Glyngog, they are still more so to Llangorren,
where he now spends the greater part of his time; his own solitary, and
somewhat humble, dwelling at Rugg's Ferry seeing nothing of him for days
together, while for nights its celibate bed is unslept in: the luxurious
couch spread for him at the Court having greater attractions.
Whether made welcome to this unlimited hospitality, or not, he comports
himself as though he were; seeming noways backward in the reception of
it; instead as if demanding it. One ignorant of his relations with the
master of the establishment might imagine _him_ its master. Nor would
the supposition be so far astray. As the King-mater controls the King,
so can Gregoire Rogier the new Lord of Llangorren--influence him at his
will.
And this does he; though not openly, or ostensibly. That would be
contrary to the tactics taught him, and the practice to which he is
accustomed. The sword of Loyola in the hands of his modern apostles has
become a dagger--a weapon more suitable to Ultramontanism. Only in
Protestant countries to be wielded with secrecy, though elsewhere little
concealed.
But the priest of Rugg's Ferry is not in France; and, under the roof of
an English gentleman, though a Roman Catholic, bears himself with
becoming modesty--before strangers and the eyes of the outside world.
Even the domestics of the house see nothing amiss. They are new to
their places, and as yet unacquainted with the relationships around
them. Nor would they think it strange in a priest having control there
or anywhere. They are all of his persuasion, else they would not be in
service at Llangorren Court.
So proceed matters under its new administration.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the same evening that Captain Ryecroft makes his quiet excursion down
the river to inspect the traces on the cliff, there is a little dinner
party at the Court; the diners taking seat by the table just about the
time he was stepping into Wingate's skiff.
The hour is early; but it is altogether a bachelor affair, and Lewin
Murdock's guests are men not much given to follow fashions. Besides,
there is another reason; something to succeed the dinner, on which their
thoughts are more bent than upon either eating or drinking. No spread
of fruit, nor dessert of any kind, but a bout at card-playing, or dice
for those who prefer it. On their way to the dining-room they have
caught glimpse of another apartment where whist and loo tables are seen,
with all the gambling paraphernalia upon them--packs of new cards still
in their wrappers, ivory counters, dice boxes with their spotted cubes
lying alongside.
Pretty sight to Mr Murdock's lately picked up acquaintances; a
heterogeneous circle, but all alike in one respect--each indulging in
the pleasant anticipation that he will that night leave his host's house
with more or less of that host's money in his pocket. Murdock has
himself come easily by it, and why should he not be made as easily to
part with it? If he has a plethora of cash, they have a determination
to relieve him of at least a portion of it.
Hence dinner is eaten in haste, and with little appreciation of the
dishes, however dainty; all so longing to be around those tables in
another room, and get their fingers on the toys there displayed.
Their host, aware of the universal desire, does nought to frustrate it.
Instead, he is as eager as any for the fray. As said, gambling is his
passion--has been for most part of his life--and he could now no more
live without it than go wanting drink. A hopeless victim to the last,
he is equally a slave to the first. Soon, therefore, as dessert is
brought in, and a glass of the heavier wines gone round, he looks
significantly at his wife--the only lady at the table--who, taking the
hint, retires.
The gentlemen, on their feet at her withdrawal, do not sit down again,
but drink standing--only a _petit verre_ of cognac by way of
"corrector." Then they hurry off in an unseemly ruck towards the room
containing metal more attractive; from which soon after proceed the
clinking of coin and the rattle of ebony counters; with words now and
then spoken not over nice, but rough, even profane, as though the
speakers were playing skittles in the backyard of a London beerhouse,
instead of cards under the roof of a country gentleman's mansion!
While the new master of Llangorren is thus entertaining his amiable
company--as much as any of them engrossed in the game--its new mistress
is also playing a part, which may be more reputable, but certainly is
more mysterious. She is in the drawing-room, though not alone--Father
Rogier alone with her. He, of course, has been one of the dining
guests, and said an unctuous grace over the table. In his sacred
sacerdotal character it could hardly be expected of him to keep along
with the company; though he could take a hand at cards, and play them
with as much skill as any gamester of that gathering. But just now he
has other fish to fry, and wishes a word in private with the mistress of
Llangorren, about the way things are going on. However much he may
himself like a little game with its master, and win money from him, he
does not relish seeing all the world do the same; no more she.
Something must be done to put a stop to it; and it is to talk over this
something the two have planned their present interview--some words about
it having previously passed between them.
Seated side by side on a lounge, they enter upon the subject. But
before a dozen words have been exchanged they are compelled to
discontinue, and for the time forego it.
The interruption is caused by a third individual, who has taken a fancy
to follow Mrs Murdock into the drawing-room; a young fellow of the
squire class, but--as her husband late was--of somewhat damaged
reputation and broken fortunes. For all having a whole eye to female
beauty; which appears to him in great perfection in the face of the
Frenchwoman--the rouge upon her cheeks looking the real rose-colour of
that proverbial milk-maid nine times dipped in dew.
The wine he has been quaffing gives it this hue; for he enters half
intoxicated, and with a slight stagger in his gait; to the great
annoyance of the lady, and the positive chagrin of the priest, who
regards him with scowling glances. But the intruder is too tipsy to
notice them; and advancing invites himself to a seat in front of Mrs
Murdock, at the same time commencing a conversation with her.
Rogier, rising, gives a significant side look, with a slight nod towards
the window; then muttering a word of excuse saunters off out of the
room.
She knows what it means, as where to follow and find him. Knows also
how to disembarrass herself of such as he who remained behind. Were it
upon a bench of the Bois, or an arbour in the Jardin, she would make
short work of it. But the ex-cocotte is now at the head of an
aristocratic establishment, and must act in accordance. Therefore she
allows some time to elapse, listening to the speech of her latest
admirer; some of it in compliments coarse enough to give offence to ears
more sensitive than hers.
She at length gets rid of him, on the plea of having a headache, and
going upstairs to get something for it. She will be down again by and
by; and so bows herself out of the gentleman's presence, leaving him in
a state of fretful disappointment.
Once outside the room, instead of turning up the stair-way, she glides
along the corridor; then on through the entrance-hall, and then out by
the front door. Nor stays she an instant on the steps, or carriage
sweep; but proceeds direct to the summer-house, where she expects to
find the priest. For there have they more than once been together,
conversing on matters of private and particular nature.
On reaching the place she is disappointed--some little surprised.
Rogier is not there; nor can she see him anywhere around!
For all that, the gentleman is very near, without her knowing it--only a
few paces off, lying flat upon his face among ferns, but so engrossed
with thoughts, just then of an exciting nature, he neither hears her
light footsteps, nor his own name pronounced. Not loudly though; since,
while pronouncing it, she feared being heard by some other. Besides,
she does not think it necessary; he will come yet, without calling.
She steps inside the pavilion, and there stands waiting. Still he does
not come, nor sees she anything of him; only a boat on the river above,
being rowed upwards. But without thought of its having anything to do
with her or her affairs.
By this there is another boat in motion; for the priest has meanwhile
forsaken his spying place upon the cliff, and proceeded down to the
dock.
"Where can Gregoire have gone?" she asks herself, becoming more and more
impatient.
Several times she puts the question without receiving answer; and is
about starting on return to the house, when longer stayed by a rumbling
noise which reaches her ears, coming up from the direction of the dock.
"Can it be he?"
Continuing to listen she hears the stroke of oars. It cannot be the
boat she has seen rowing off above? That must now be far away, while
this is near--in the bye-water just below her. But can it be the priest
who is in it?
Yes, it is he; as she discovers, after stepping outside, to the place he
so late occupied, and looking over the cliff's edge. For then she had a
view of his face, lit up by a lucifer match--itself looking like that of
Lucifer!
What can he be doing down there? Why examining those things, he already
knows all about, as she herself?
She would call down to him, and inquire. But possibly better not? He
may be engaged upon some matter calling for secrecy, as he often is.
Other eyes besides hers may be near, and her voice might draw them on
him. She will wait for his coming up.
And wait she does, at the boat's dock, on the top step of the stair;
there receiving him as he returns from his short, but still unexplained,
excursion.
"What is it?" she asks, soon as he has mounted up to her, "_Quelque
chose a tort_?"
"More than that. A veritable danger!"
"_Comment_? Explain!"
"There's a hound upon our track! One of sharpest scent."
"Who?"
"_Le Capitaine de hussards_!"
The dialogue that succeeds, between Olympe Renault and Gregoire Rogier,
has no reference to Lewin Murdock gambling away his money, but the fear
of his losing it in quite another way. Which, for the rest of that
night, gives them something else to think of, as also something to do.
Volume Three, Chapter X.