MORRY EXPLAINS
"I had thought it too late for roses, fair mistress. Permit me to
compliment you upon my mistake."
Gabrielle started, blushing, as Lord Denningham, in a morning-suit of
brown cloth, embroidered with gold thread, and with rich lace ruffles
at neck and wrists, stood bowing before her, having approached unseen
from behind a clump of bushes.
Her curtsey was severely formal as she made her reply.
"I see no roses, sir, nor did I come to look for them, but rather to
make a first acquaintance with my mother's native land."
He did not take the hint that she would prefer her own company, but
turned to pace slowly down the garden path by her side.
"A bleak and doleful country," he observed, pointing to the long vista
of moors stretching northwards. "No wonder its people are sour of face
and surly of temper."
"You speak from experience, I doubt not?" she retorted, quickening her
steps.
"Nay, this also is my first visit."
"I should have thought that you needed some strong attraction then, my
lord, to remain, seeing that you find Brittany so little to your taste."
"I have found the attraction already, fair mistress."
A low bow pointed the compliment and further ruffled her temper.
But discretion bade her ignore his words.
"You have friends in Brittany, sir?" she asked, and wished that she had
not come so far on a morning ramble.
"If I could count one fair lady such, I should ask no more of life," he
replied, with exaggerated humility.
Again she crimsoned, not from coyness but hot anger.
"I prefer straight answers," she said coldly.
"Alas! Mistress, I should offend did I speak more plainly."
He had contrived to move a little in advance, so that he could look
back into the pretty face only half concealed by the lace hood she had
flung over her curls.
Her eyes certainly did not invite tender speeches.
"You mock me, my lord," she retorted, her chin tilted aggressively.
"Your purpose in coming to Brittany concerned--concerned----"
He did not attempt to help her, but watched, with insolently admiring
gaze, the hotly flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
"Concerned?"
"My brother Morice."
"Indeed!"
Passion brought her to a halt for all her haste to reach the house.
"Do you think I know _nothing_, sir, of your wicked plots?"
"You wrong me, fairest. Of what plots can I think but how to steal the
citadel of your heart?"
"You may try to turn aside my thoughts with empty phrases, but I have
heard of your fine Corresponding Society, and of your proposed
deputation to the liberty-loving _heroes_ of Paris after their
wholesale massacre of defenceless men and women."
"Your pardon, most gracious lady. But, an' I dared, I would warn you
that pretty ears are made to listen only to pretty speeches and not to
harken to matters of which they know nothing."
He spoke as one might to a petulant child, so that she could have cried
for very chagrin and anger.
It was bitter after the heroics of that mad journey. But she would
teach him that women are to be reckoned with.
"We shall see when Morice comes," she retorted. "He will listen to his
true friends, and--and his conscience."
The last words forced the smile to mocking lips. It was humorous
indeed to associate a conscience with one of the gayest young bucks of
Carlton House.
What lengths the argument might have led to is uncertain. My Lord
Denningham, I fear, was finding that beauty in a passion bade fair to
be irresistible, and rosy lips the more tempting in a pout, when a
diversion was called by Mistress Gabrielle herself.
Wide-eyed she stood, turning from her tormentor, whilst anger died away
into pleased welcome on her face.
"Morry!" she cried, and pushed past the man who would have hindered
her, running lightly down the path and across a tangled stretch of
neglected lawn, straight into the arms of her brother, who came at
great strides to meet her.
"Gabrielle!"
"Oh, Morry! I am so glad."
He bent to kiss her with an affection that augured well for his temper,
whilst she smiled up at him, half-curious, half-defiant, wondering when
the scolding would begin.
Morice seemed in no hurry to commence, though he looked down doubtfully
into his sister's eager face.
"Did the good fairies bring you, Gay?" he asked, giving her the pet
name of long years ago, with a wistfulness she did not fail to note.
"Tell me, child, what brought you hither?"
She faced him straightly, with a tiny wrinkle now between her brows.
"The honour of Varenac and Conyers," she replied, with the air of some
grizzled veteran rather than a maid in her teens. "It seems that these
poor, ignorant peasants, who are now to call you Seigneur, wanted a
leader in crying 'Vive le roi.' And so I came to help them, hearing
that you had forgotten how to be a leader of men, and were ready to
echo new tunes with foul meaning."
She paused, out of breath, and fully expecting a torrent of angry words
in reply.
To her surprise there was silence for one of those long minutes in
which one hears the twittering of birds and the drowsy hum of Nature's
myriad voices.
Then Morice spoke, not angrily, but with humility and steadfast purpose.
"It is true, Gay," he said. "I had forgotten many things, of which you
do well and bravely to remind me. Yet Brittany had taught me those
neglected lessons already. I came from Kernak hither to meet my people
and cry with them 'Vive le roi'."
"You?"
She was too amazed to speak another word.
"Yes, I. Do not fear that I lie to you, child. I come _now_ as
Marquis, not citizen, to my own."
Still she was incredulous.
"But Michael said you had come to bid the peasants of your villages
join the patriots--become Revolutionaries."
"I did so come."
"With Marcel Trouet!"
"He went first to Paris; but he will be coming to Varenac."
"And he----"
"Will meet a different reception to what he anticipated."
"I don't understand."
Her cry was one of perplexity.
"I cannot tell you all, Gay; only see, sister mine, I found a teacher
in Brittany worth a hundred Trouets and Denninghams."
The last word took her mind momentarily from the vital subject.
"Lord Denningham!" she echoed. "Did you know he was here, and Sir
Stephen Berrington too? Lord Denningham was with me but now----"
She turned from her brother, as she spoke, to glance behind.
But the garden path was empty. There was no sign of the tall figure
which had stood barring her way ten minutes previously.
"He must have returned to the house," she went on. "They were angry
that you were not here."
"When did you arrive?"
"Last night. Mr. Berrington and Cousin Jehan brought me, with Nurse
Bond for chaperon. Poor nurse! She's a mighty poor traveller, and
cried 'lack-a-day' every moment she could spare from her groanings."
But Morice had no thought for the sufferings of Nurse Bond.
"De Quernais!" he repeated. "He is here?"
"Oh, no. He returned to Kernak last night. He wanted me to go too,
but I waited for you. He promised to ride over this morning with
Cecile."
The colour burned suddenly in Morice's cheeks.
"Cecile?"
The speaking of a name may betray one.
Gabrielle, looking up sharply, understood at once who the teacher of
Varenac honour had been.
A dimple deepened in her cheeks.
"You have met Cousin Cecile?"
"Yes."
"Jehan tells me she is pretty."
"It ... it is true."
"You do not appear very certain, sir."
"It is because I am too certain. She is as lovely as she is good."
"Then it is she who called you M. le Marquis?"
What woman could have resisted the touch of raillery?
But Morice was very serious in his reply.
"It is for that reason that I _am_ Marquis de Varenac, and cry 'Vive le
roi,'" he answered. "She showed me what loyalty meant. I have been
fool and knave, Gay, but pray Heaven she may not know it, till I have
proved my honour."
Another pause.
"Jehan!" whispered Gabrielle. "Oh! if only he had not returned last
night to Kernak! But how did you miss him?"
"I should have been here myself ere midnight, but lost my way in the
stretch of forest which lies between. I should have had a sorry night
had it not been for the hospitality of a charcoal burner, who allowed
me to sleep in his hut."
"And now----"
"We must not delay, sister. There is work to be done, and at once,
though ... though I fear that Cecile will not come over to-day."
Instinct of sympathy bade Gabrielle put loving arms about his neck.
"But to-morrow we will go to her," she whispered. "And Jehan will see
then that you are indeed the Marquis."
"I would that Jehan were here now," he answered. "I tell you, Gay, we
should not wait an instant. Trouet and his red-cap orators from Paris
may be here at any time now to do their devil's work. Let's to the
house and see what steps we must take first to make sure of our
hearing; my Breton is too halting to face an assembly of tenants
unaided."
"There is Pierre," Gabrielle replied. "He was butler and valet for
forty years to the old Marquis Gilles. Last night he wept for joy to
see me. His daughter Olerie told me he would do anything for a
Varenac. If all are like him our task is easy."
"Good. But did you not say that Denningham and Steenie were here?"
"Yes, they are both here."
"If I could see Pierre first, it would be better."
Gabrielle nodded brightly.
"Stay here," she commanded, "and I will bring both him and Michael.
Then we can arrange."
"Michael Berrington? What is he doing here?"
She frowned and blushed at the same time.
"I told you--he accompanied Jehan and me."
Their eyes met, and it was Morice's turn to smile. It appeared that
little Cecile had taught him how to be observant, amongst other things.
"So, so, my Gay. Is that the reason you flout my lord?"
The lashes drooped over tell-tale eyes, but rosy lips were scornful.
"I _hate_ Lord Denningham."
"And you do not hate Michael? Aha! Gay, though I will not tease you
now, but only wish you happiness when you seek it. Now run away and
bring those two to me. We'll hold a Royalist Council between us which
shall quash the designs of Trouet and his brood for ever."
So spoke Morice, lightly enough, yet with a deeper note vibrating in
his voice--a note that had not been there before Cecile touched and set
it throbbing with her little hand.
Gabrielle was laughing softly to herself as she sped away back over the
lawns, and across the pretty rustic bridge, which led by way of the
avenue to the house.
She did not notice how a man stood crouching amongst the shrubs to her
left as she passed--so near that the hem of her white gown touched his
foot.
But Lord Denningham smiled.