A CRISIS
Lydie returned to the palace in a very different frame of mind than
when, half an hour ago, she had run along corridor and staircase, her
nerves on the jar, her whole being smarting under the sense of wrong
and of injustice.
Hope had consoled her since then, and the thought that her own
cherished plan need not fail for want of a loyal man's help had in a
measure eased that strange obsession which had weighed on her heart,
and caused foolish tears to start to her eyes. She was also conscious
of a certain joy in thinking that the companion of her childhood, the
man who had been her earliest ideal was not so black a traitor as she
had believed.
Gaston had spoken of pitfalls, he owned to having been deceived, and
there is no woman living who will not readily admit that her
successful rival is naught but a designing minx. Gaston had always
been weak where women were concerned, and Lydie forgave him his
weakness, simply because he had owned to it and because she liked to
think of his fault as a weakness rather than as a deliberate
treachery.
Now she only thought of her project. When first she had talked of
commissioning _Le Monarque_, milor had entrusted her with all
necessary directions by which Captain Barre could most easily reach
the Stuart prince and his friends. It was but a very few weeks, nay
days ago, that she had been quite convinced that the King himself
would be foremost in the general desire to fit out an expedition for
the rescue of the unfortunate Jacobites, and naturally the fitting-out
of such an expedition would have been entrusted primarily to herself
and incidentally to her husband.
These directions she still had. All she had to do now was to embody
them in the secret orders which Gaston de Stainville would hand over
to the Commander of _Le Monarque_. Further orders would be anent
getting the prince and his friends on board, and the route to be taken
homeward, the better to ensure their safety.
Beyond that she would need some sort of token which, when shown to
Charles Edward Stuart by Captain Barre, would induce the young prince
to trust himself and his friends unconditionally to _Le Monarque_.
Lord Eglinton's signet ring had been spoken of for this object the day
of the Young Pretender's departure, but now of course she could not
ask milor for it. On the other hand she felt quite sure that a written
word from her would answer the necessary purpose, a brief note sealed
with the Eglinton arms.
The thought of the seal as an additional message of good faith first
occurred to her when she once more reached the West Wing of the
palace.
From the great square landing where she now stood, a monumental door
on her right gave on her own suite of apartments. On the left was the
long enfilade of reception rooms, with the vast audience chamber and
milor's own withdrawing room beyond.
She deliberately turned to the left, and once more traversed the vast
and gorgeous halls where, half an hour ago, she had suffered such keen
humiliation and such overwhelming disappointment. She forced herself
not to dwell on that scene again, and even closed her eyes with a
vague fear that the mental vision might become materialized.
Beyond the audience chamber there were two or three more reception
rooms, and from the last of these a door masked by a heavy portière,
gave on milor's study. All these apartments were now deserted, save
for a few flunkeys who stood about desultorily in the window
embrasures. From one of them Lydie asked if M. le Contrôleur des
Finances was within, but no one remembered having seen milor since the
_petit lever_, and it was generally thought that he had gone to
Trianon. Lydie hesitated a moment before she opened the door; she
scarcely ever entered this portion of the palace and had never once
been in milor's private rooms. But she wanted that seal with the
Eglinton arms, and would not admit, even to herself, that her
husband's presence or absence interested her in the least.
But on the threshold she paused. Milor was sitting at a gigantic
escritoire placed squarely in front of the window. He had obviously
been writing; at the slight sound of the creaking door and the swish
of Lydie's skirts, he raised his head from his work and turned to look
at her.
Immediately he rose.
"Your pardon for this intrusion, milor," she said coldly, "your
lacqueys gave me to understand that you were from home."
"Is there anything that you desire?"
"Only a seal with the Eglinton arms," she replied quite casually, "I
have need of it for a private communication."
He sought for the seal among the many costly objects which littered
his table and handed it to her.
"I am sorry that you should have troubled to come so far for it," he
said coldly, "one of my men would have taken it to your study."
"And I am sorry that I should have disturbed you," she rejoined. "I
was told that you had gone to Trianon."
"I shall be on my way thither in a few moments, to place my
resignation in the hands of His Majesty."
"Your resignation?"
"As I have had the honour to tell you."
"Then you will leave Versailles?"
"To make way for my successor, as soon as His Majesty hath appointed
one."
"And you go . . . whither?" she asked.
"Oh! what matter?" he replied carelessly, "so long as I no longer
trouble your ladyship with my presence."
"Then you will have no objection if I return to my father until your
future plans are more mature?"
"Objection?" he said with a pleasant little laugh. "Nay, Madame, you
are pleased to joke."
She felt a little bewildered: this unexpected move on his part had
somehow thrown all her plans out of gear. For the moment she scarcely
had time to conjecture, even vaguely, what her own future actions
would be if her husband no longer chose to hold an important position
in the Ministry. The thought that his resignation would of necessity
mean her own, suddenly rushed into her mind with overwhelming
violence, but she was too confused at present to disentangle herself
from the maze of conflicting emotions which assailed her, when first
she realized the unexpected possibility.
She was toying with the seal, forgetful somehow of the purpose and the
plans which it represented. These not being in jeopardy through
milor's extraordinary conduct, she could afford to dismiss them from
her mind.
It was the idea of her husband's resignation and her own future which
troubled her, and strangely enough there was such an air of finality
about his attitude that, for the moment, she was somewhat at a loss
how to choose a line of argument with which to influence him. That she
could make him alter his decision she never doubted for a moment, but
since the first day of their married life he had never taken any
initiative in an important matter, and his doing so at this moment
found her at first wholly unprepared.
"Am I to understand that my wishes in so vital a decision are not to
be consulted in any way?" she asked after a momentary pause.
"You will honour me, Madame, by making me acquainted with them," he
replied.
"You must reconsider your resignation," she said decisively.
"That is not possible."
"I have much important business of the nation in hand which I could
not hand over to your successor in an incomplete state," she said
haughtily.
"There is no necessity for that, Madame, nor for depriving the nation
of your able, guiding hand. The post of Comptroller of Finance need
not be filled immediately. It can remain in abeyance and under your
own matchless control, at the pleasure of His Majesty and M. le Duc
d'Aumont, neither of whom will, I am sure, desire to make a change in
an administration, which is entirely for the benefit of France."
She looked at him very keenly, through narrowed lids scanning his face
and trying to read his intent. But there was obviously no look of
sarcasm in his eyes, nor the hint of a sneer in the even placidity of
his voice. Once more that unaccountable feeling of irritation seemed
to overmaster her, the same sense of wrath and of injustice which had
assailed her when she first spoke to him.
"But this is senseless, milor," she said impatiently. "You seem to
forget that I am your wife, and that I have a right to your
protection, and to a fitting home if I am to leave Versailles."
"I am not forgetting that you are my wife, Madame, but my protection
is worth so little, scarcely worthy of your consideration. As for the
rest, my château of Vincennes is entirely at your disposal; a retinue
of servants is there awaiting your orders, and my notary will this day
prepare the deed which I have commanded wherein I humbly ask you to
accept the château, its lands and revenues as a gift from me, albeit
these are wholly unworthy of your condescension."
"It is monstrous, milor, and I'll not accept it," she retorted. "Think
you perchance I am so ready to play the _rôle_ of a forsaken wife?"
A strange thought had been gradually creeping into her mind: a weird
kind of calculation whereby she put certain events in juxtaposition to
one another: the departure of Gaston de Stainville, for he had told
her that he was prepared to go to Scotland whether she helped him in
his expedition or not: then Irène would be temporarily free, almost a
widow since Gaston's return under those circumstances would have been
more than problematical; and now milor calmly expressing the
determination to quit Versailles, and to give away his château and
lands of Vincennes, forsooth, as a sop to the forsaken wife, whilst
Madame de Stainville's provocative attitude this morning more than
bore out this conclusion.
Lydie felt as if every drop of blood in her body rushed up violently
to her cheeks, which suddenly blazed with anger, whilst his, at her
suggestion, had become a shade more pale.
"I am free to suppose, milor, that Madame de Stainville has something
to do with your sudden decision!" she said haughtily; "therefore,
believe me, I have no longer a wish to combat it. As the welfare of
France, the work which I have in hand, interests you so little, I will
not trouble you by referring to such matters again. By all means place
your resignation in His Majesty's hands. I understand that you desire
to be free. I only hope that you will assist me in not washing too
much of our matrimonial linen in public. I have many enemies and I
must refuse to allow your whims and fantasies to annihilate the fruits
of my past labours, for the good of my country. I will confer with
Monsieur le Duc, my father; you will hear my final decision from him."
She turned once more toward the door. He had not spoken one word in
interruption, as with a harsh and trenchant voice she thus hurled
insult upon insult at him. She only saw that he looked very pale,
although his face seemed to her singularly expressionless: whilst she
herself was conscious of such unendurable agony, that she feared she
must betray it in the quiver of her mouth, and the tears which
threatened to come to her eyes.
When she ceased speaking, he bowed quite stiffly, but made no sign of
wishing to defend himself. She left the room very hurriedly: in
another second and she would have broken down. Sobs were choking her,
an intolerable anguish wrung her heartstrings to that extent, that if
she had had the power, she would have wounded him physically, as she
hoped that she had done now mentally. Oh! if she had had the strength,
if those sobs that would not be denied had not risen so persistently
in her throat, she would have found words of such deadly outrage, as
would at least have stung him and made him suffer as she was suffering
now.
There are certain pains of the heart that are so agonizing, that only
cruelty will assuage them. Lydie's strong, passionate nature
perpetually held in check by the force of her great ambition and by
her will to be masculine and firm in the great purpose of her life,
had for once broken through the trammels which her masterful mind had
fashioned round it. It ran riot now in her entire being. She was
conscious of overwhelming, of indomitable hate.
With burning eyes and trembling lips she hurried through the rooms,
and along the interminable corridors. The flunkeys stared at her as
she passed, she looked so different to her usual composed and haughty
self: her cheeks were flaming, her bosom heaving beneath the
primly-folded kerchief, and at intervals a curious moan-like sound
escaped her lips.
Thus she reached her own study, a small square room at the extreme end
of the West Wing, two of its walls formed an angle of the structure,
with great casement windows which gave on that secluded spinney, with
its peaceful glade which she loved.
As soon as she entered the room her eyes fell on that distant beech
plantation. A great sigh rose from her oppressed heart, for suddenly
she had remembered her great purpose, the one project which was
infinitely dear to her.
The graceful beech trees far away, with their undergrowth of bracken
and foxgloves gleaming in the sun, recalled to her that Gaston was
waiting in their midst for her message to _Le Monarque_.
Thank God, this great joy at least was not denied her. She still had
the power and the will to accomplish this all-pervading object of her
life: the rescue of the Stuart prince from the hands of his enemies
and from the perfidy of his whilom friends.
This thought, the recollection of her talk with Gaston, the work which
still remained for her to do, eased the tension of her nerves and
stilled the agonizing pain of her heart.
With a tremendous effort of will she chased away from her mental
vision the picture of that pale, expressionless face, which seemed to
haunt her. She forced herself to forget the humiliation, the
injustice, the affront which she had suffered to-day, and not to hear
the persistent echo of the deadly insults which she had uttered in
response.
Her study was cool and dark; heavy curtains of soft-toned lavender
fell beside the windows, partially shutting out the glare of the
midday sun. Her secretaire stood in the centre of the room. She sat
down near it and unlocked a secret drawer. For the next quarter of an
hour her pen flew across two sheets of paper. She had in front of her
a map of a certain portion of the West Coast of Scotland, with
directions and other sundry notes carefully written in the margins,
and she was writing out the orders for the commander of _Le Monarque_
to reach that portion of the coast as quickly as possible, to seek out
Prince Charles Stuart, who would probably be on the look-out for a
French vessel, and having got him, and as many friends of his as
accompanied him, safely aboard, to skirt the West Coast of Ireland and
subsequently to reach Morlaix in Brittany, where the prince would
disembark.
There was nothing flustered or undetermined about her actions, she
never paused a moment to collect her thoughts for obedient to her will
they were already arrayed in perfect order in her mind: she had only
to transfer them to paper.
Having written out the orders for Captain Barre she carefully folded
them, together with the map, and fastened and sealed them with the
official seal of the Ministry of Finance: then she took one more sheet
of paper and wrote in a bold clear hand:
"The bearer of this letter is sent to meet you by your
true and faithful friends. You may trust yourself and
those you care for unconditionally to him."
To this note she affixed a seal stamped with the Eglinton arms: and
across the words themselves she wrote the name "Eglinton!"
There was no reason to fear for a moment that the Stuart prince would
have any misgivings when he received this message of comfort and of
hope.
Then with all the papers safely tied together and hidden in the folds
of her corselet, she once more found her way down the great staircase
and terraces and into the beech wood where M. de Stainville awaited
her.