CHAPTER XIX.
“What in the world brings you here this morning?” exclaimed Dame Moret.
Our hero could hear every word spoken, and such an effect had the name of Gaudet upon him, that hungry as he was he paused to listen. Not so Bill; neither understanding nor caring what was saying outside, but thinking solely of the stew before him, he looked imploringly at his officer, and pointed to the smoking viands, rubbing his lips with the back of his bony hands. Our hero made him a sign to help himself. Four-and-twenty hours, fast destroys politeness, so putting a fair portion on his plate, Bill retired to a corner and made himself happy.
Our hero was hungry, but he was also anxious and curious. When Dame Moret said, “What in the world brought you here this morning, Pierre Gaudet? I thought you were at sea in the Vengeance,” he listened eagerly.
“Curse the salt water and the Vengeance, too!” returned the man. “I’m ruined; two cursed Englishmen contrived to get off yesterday with the Vengeance, and somehow or other she caught fire at sea, and they ran her ashore, on the coast here. I want help.”
“But, I don’t understand you,” said Dame Moret; “how could two Englishmen run away with the lugger?”
“Give me a platter of that mess and a bottle of your best wine, and I will tell you all about it,” said Pierre Gaudet.
William Thornton turned round and sat down, and commenced satisfying his appetite, listening attentively, nevertheless, to what Pierre Gaudet said.
“There are more men in the kitchen,” whispered our hero, “for I can hear the murmur of their voices; though the captain of the privateer’s is by far the loudest.”
Having recounted the history of the taking of the Vengeance, the captain then told of their re-taking it; and how he and the mate of the Bon-Citoyen seized and fastened down, in the cabin of the privateer, one of the officers and a seaman.
“And why, Pierre Gaudet,” said Dame Moret, evidently in a surprised tone, “did you treat a brave officer, though an enemy, in that cruel way?”
“Ah! sacre! how tender-hearted you are, dame,” savagely laughed the privateer’s man; “why you must know it was the cursed young devil that shot my brother-in-law through the head, and thus won the schooner, one of the fastest and best boats in the line; and when Jacques Boussain would have knocked the fiery young diable on the head, that vile seaman we secured at the same time, drove his cutlass into him, and lefthim for dead. I swore when I heard this, for we in the Vengeance escaped in the fog, that if ever it was in my power, I’d take a bloody revenge on those two men; and, sacre tonnerre de Dieu, when I had them, I gloried in the revenge I intended to take. However, I’ll find them yet; if they escaped out of the Vengeance, and they must have done so, for else how could she have run ashore where she did, and the wind a side one? But where is your son, dame? I want him and his crew to go round with the next tide to where the vessel is; the wind is off shore now—something may be saved out of her, or her hull got off.”
“He went down in the lugger with the ebb tide,” said Dame Moret; “for we heard at daylight of a craft on fire being ashore at Caux point; but they did not get out to sea, for they were late on the ebb and grounded. You will find them a mile or two down the creek, waiting for the flood tide.”
“Sacre! that’s lucky! Then we will be off and join them. Come, my lads, finish your grub, and let us join Moret and his crew; we may get her off and into the creek; the tide’s rising, and the water’s smooth.”
There was then a murmuring of several voices, the laugh of some female, and the party left the house.
Lieutenant Thornton remained immersed in thought; so strange did it appear to him that any one connected with the Duchess of Coulancourt should be living on that part of the French coast, and that he should so strangely stumble upon the spot; he felt he was in a dangerous situation, and he wondered that Pierre Gaudet did not hear about them from the girl who had seen them enter, and the one that was cooking, with whom Bill Saunders had been so over polite, or the lad who had directed them to the house. Altogether it was a strange adventure.
Bill, who by this time had satisfied his appetite, looked at his officer, but was afraid to open his lips. However, in a few minutes the door was unlocked, and Dame Moret entered the room, closing the door.
“Ah! mon pauvre garçon,” said the dame, “what an escape you have had from that sea brute! You must not stay here a moment; but I will save you from him. Why he did not kill you when you were in his power, I can’t think.”
“But, my good dame, I am longing to ask you a thousand questions. Did you hear what became of the duchess and Jean Plessis, after she was carried off at Toulon?”
“Oh, yes, my dear sir, and saw her too, not three months ago; but there is no time now for explanations. I must seek a place of safety, for my son-in-law will surely try to track you. Where I send you I shall be able to communicate withand see you, and in a few days I may be enabled to get you to sea.”
“I am sure,” replied our hero, “I know not how to express my gratitude. I will go anywhere you please for a day or two. I cannot promise to bear confinement longer; besides, I am perhaps placing you in peril. These are sad times in this country.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Dame Moret, “the worst is passed! the Reign of Terror has ended; but we must not lose time; some odd circumstance might bring Pierre Gaudet back. Do you go out through that door,” continued the dame, “and you will thus get out at the back into the orchard. I will send my daughter round to meet you; follow her, and she will take you to a place where you will both be safe; but pray impress upon your follower the necessity of caution and quietness.”
So saying, Dame Moret passed out through the door, and Lieutenant Thornton, turning to Bill, explained to him their situation, and the necessity of discretion.
“Bless your honour, if we had sailed out and knocked that piratical beggar, the captain of the Vengeance, on the head, we should be all right. I wish I had my hand on his throttle.”
“There were several men with him, Bill,” said Lieutenant Thornton; “but we must do nothing rashly; so keep quiet now, and follow me.”
Passing through another door facing the one they had entered the room by, our hero perceived they were in a large species of hall, with a wide wooden staircase, leading up into a heavy, clumsy gallery. Seeing a door open at the further end, he walked on, and, passing out, perceived a young woman, the same who was milking the cows when they first arrived, coming across a wide, paved court with a gate at the end leading into a large orchard, very thickly planted.
The girl, when she came up, looked our hero in the face, and said—
“Do you, monsieur, follow me at a short distance; and if we pass any one, do not speak or notice them.”
She then turned round and walked on rapidly, opening the gate into the orchard.
Lieutenant Thornton and his companion followed, and crossing the orchard, the girl passed out through a wicker gate, in an immensely thick, lofty hedge. There was a narrow road outside, and along this their guide proceeded, at a quick pace, till she came to a stile, where she quitted the road, and crossed two fields; and then our hero perceived right before them, surrounded by woods, a château, or country mansion, of considerable dimensions, with its quaint, high, tiled roof, innumberable chimneys and gables, and a fine lawn, bordered with lofty trees before its front. The girl led the way towards the back; a high stonewall shut in the out offices and large gardens, in which was a strong door, which she unlocked, and made a motion with her hand for them to come up, which they did, and entered through the door into a court-yard of considerable extent, and scrupulously neat.
“We have been very fortunate,” said the young woman; “I do not think any one observed us; it is a fête day at Havre, and nearly all our lads and lasses are gone there.”
“What château is this?” asked our hero, looking up at the building, which seemed to have been recently repaired and painted.
“This château!” said the girl, surprised. “Why, I thought mother told you! This is Coulancourt.”
“Coulancourt!” returned our hero, with a start.
“Yes,” said Annette Moret, the dame’s eldest unmarried daughter. “This is where the good duke was born; he was then only the Count de Coulancourt, his elder brother the duke held the great estates near Lyons, at whose death the late duke came to the title, and went to live near Lyons, and there married an English lady. But mon Dieu! how I am talking, and keeping you, monsieur, standing here in the yard!”
Lieutenant Thornton was so much surprised that he stood immersed in thought, till roused by Annette requesting him to walk in, having unlocked a door from a bunch of keys in her little basket.
Our hero looked round astonished, for all within the mansion was neat, and carefully preserved; they passed into the kitchen, where every utensil was bright and tidy, as if a dozen fairy hands had presided over them.
“Really, Mademoiselle Annette,” said our hero, “one would imagine some fairies had the care of everything here; all is so neat and carefully arranged.”
Annette laughed, saying—
“Oh, monsieur, the fairies are my sister and myself, and our farm girls. Madame Coulancourt spares no expense, and orders that every article should be kept as neat as if she lived here herself. Her intendant and his daughter come here twice a year to receive rents, and see that madame’s tenants want for nothing. The people here would die for madame if she required it. The intendant is a good man, and his daughter is a pretty nice girl; they stay here a month, perhaps more, at a time. But come upstairs, monsieur; my mother desired me to put you in Monsieur l’Intendant’s room, and your man can have his servant’s chamber.”
Full of thought Lieutenant Thornton followed Annette, who was a very tidy and well-mannered girl, though not so pretty as her younger sister, whom our hero had met on the road.
“I did not bring the keys of the grand saloon, monsieur, but here is Monsieur l’Intendant’s room;” and throwing open a door, she entered, and unbolted and unbarred the shutters. This room was small, but remarkably neat; there was a book-case full of books, a fowling-piece, a brace of pistols over the mantel-piece, a telescope on a stand, and sundry useful articles on the tables.
“That door,” said Annette, pointing to one, “leads to a bedroom, which you can occupy; all is aired and prepared, for we expect monsieur and his daughter in a week.”
“Does no one inhabit the château? Are you not afraid of its being plundered?”
“Oh dear, no, monsieur; two men sleep every night in the out buildings, and one walks about all night with a big dog. Indeed, for the last six months this precaution has been unnecessary, for there are no strangers about now; things have dropped into their old way, thank God! They were terrible times three years ago.”
“If the men who sleep here,” said our hero, “find out, which they must, that we are here, it may come to the ears of Captain Gaudet, and that would bring your good mother into trouble.”
“No fear of that, monsieur. When they are told that madame has ordered the persons who are here not to be disturbed or spoken of, it’s enough. Not a word will be said. Besides, Captain Gaudet is detested here; my eldest sister made an unfortunate match when she married him. He is from St. Valery, and was captain of a small brigantine; but when the war broke out he joined with his brother-in-law, also of St. Valery, to fit out a privateer, and being fortunate they after a time purchased the Vengeance, and the Bon-Citoyen, and cruised in company. Since the war he has grown so ferocious and cruel, that the men about these parts, who shipped with him at first, have left him, and my brother, who owns a coasting and fishing lugger, will have nothing to do with him. My sister, who lives near Havre, and has two children, contrives somehow to manage him when not excited by drink, but when drunk he is terrible. My youngest sister you met this morning has gone to Havre to see her sister, and take her a present of fowls’ eggs and butter. Now, monsieur, I must go; in the evening I will return with food and all things you may require; till then keep the door locked. You can walk in the great walled garden, for no one can see into it, and it is in very nice order.”
The young man expressed his gratitude and thanks to Annette Moret for the kindness he received; but Bill, whom they found in the kitchen very quietly lighting a fire from materials he had found in a cellar, said—
“I hope, sir, you will be so good as to ax for a small bit of backee and a pipe.”
“Backee!” interrupted Annette, with a smile. “I understand sailors can’t live without tobacco;” and taking a key from her basket, she unlocked a cupboard, in which Bill, with an exclamation of joy, beheld a row of pipes; and taking down a jar, Annette showed him it was full of the weed he so dearly loved. This so transported him, that he was within an ace of rewarding Annette with an embrace, had not our hero’s look and the girl’s serious manner stopped him.
When Annette had retired, Bill was allowed to smoke a pipe in the court-yard, for, strange to say, Lieutenant Thornton never at any period of his life indulged in tobacco in any shape.
Leaving Bill, therefore, to his pipe and his meditations, he returned to the intendant’s sitting-room, and throwing himself into a comfortable arm-chair, fell into a profound sleep from fatigue, not having rested the two previous nights.