CHAPTER XX.
Our young hero must have slept soundly, for he did not awake when, in the dusk of the evening, Dame Moret and her daughter entered the room, quietly laid a cloth, put some cold fowl and ham upon the table, and finally lighted a lamp, which aroused him. He started up in great surprise, and seeing Dame Moret, said—
“I was so overpowered with sleep that I could really not resist indulging. I fear I am putting you to a great deal of trouble.”
“Oh no, monsieur, that you are not. I know how madame would have me act if she knew you were here; and now I know who you are, I am as anxious to serve you as madame herself. But I pray you take some supper; I have given your man his in the kitchen; he seems a very kind, simple-hearted creature, anxious to do anything; and after you have supped we will have half-an-hour’s conversation.”
“It will afford me much pleasure, my good dame,” said our hero, “for I long to ask a great many questions.”
“Very well; now pray take your supper, and I will come up by-and-by, when I have put some things to rights for your man. It’s a pity he does not understand our language.”
“Oh, he will pick it up very soon, Dame Moret,” said Lieutenant Thornton, with a smile, “for he is inclined to go to the fountain head for instruction.”
The good dame laughed, and hoping he would make a good meal, retired.
Our hero did eat heartily, for he was but one-and-twenty, and of a high and fearless disposition, and his critical situation did not trouble him; he scarcely bestowed a thought upon it. The loss of his time from his profession was the only thing that vexed him, and he resolved in a day or two to make an attempt to get off in a boat, and take his chance of reaching England, or some vessel of war.
When Dame Moret thought he had finished his supper, she and her daughter Annette re-entered the room. The latter removed the things, and the dame sat down, first putting a bottle of excellent Burgundy before our hero.
“You will find that very good wine, sir, for Monsieur l’Intendant loves a bottle of good Burgundy, and madame sent a good store here from Paris.”
“I am astonished at this place being called Coulancourt,” said our hero, “and at hearing that madame is living in Paris, and restored to her estates, for I feared she was in the power of her enemies.”
“I am so anxious to ask after her daughter, Mademoiselle Mabel,” said Dame Moret; “she was but a child, I may say, when she was here—six years old, I think—but she was as lovely, engaging a little girl as ever eyes beheld; and her little brother, Julian—alas! what a fate was his, so young, and such a noble boy!”
“Well, dame, I will tell you all about Mabel, and you shall tell me about Madame Coulancourt. How I should like to see her, and tell her how tenderly her daughter loves and remembers her.”
Lieutenant Thornton then told the attentive dame all his adventures, from the period Mabel was placed under his care till their arrival in England, and the singular abduction of the papers and jewels from the casket entrusted to him; and how Mabel was placed in a highly-respectable school, and under the care of a most kind French lady, the widow of Admiral Volney; finishing with an account of his mishap on board the Vengeance, and the cruel conduct of Captain Gaudet.
“Ah!” said the old dame, with a sigh, “he’s a sad, sad man!—as fierce and cruel as a wild beast when he drinks, and latterly he drinks very hard. He was not always so; before he became a privateer’s man he was very well; but I believe, sir, privateering makes a man very reckless and careless about shedding blood—they become very hardened.”
“It is often the case, dame; they know they seldom get quarter from their opponents, and that renders them reckless and savage. Then the love of plunder increases, they become little better than pirates.”
“You mentioned,” he continued, a moment after, “thatMadame Coulancourt was residing in Paris, and that her estates were restored to her. How did she escape from her enemies?”
“By their being guillotined, monsieur; but I will tell you all the particulars.
“I was, you must know, nurse to the Count de Coulancourt, who was born in this château. He became duke on his elder brother’s death, and, alas! was beheaded in his forty-eighth year; and I am now seventy-four years of age myself. When Monsieur de Coulancourt became duke, he bestowed upon me and my husband the farm and land we now hold; but we have added to it since. Fourteen years ago I lost my poor man, but the bon Dieu was good to me; I had kind and good children, and our farm prospered. When the duke married our kind and beautiful mistress, at Lyons, he took her to Paris, with her two handsome children, and, after a time, he came here. At this period the revolution had not yet shown itself formidable; nobody looked for the dethronement of their king, much less his cruel murder. Still the land was troubled, and people were unsettled, and at times riotous, and fiercely denouncing the nobility and clergy.
“The duke and duchess remained here in tranquillity, greatly beloved by all their dependents; and here was born an heir to the duke—as fine a baby as you ever beheld. Alas! it lived but three months, and was unfortunately, to the deep grief of its parents, carried off by the small-pox, then raging fearfully in this district. A summons from our ill-fated King called the duke to his council.
“We never saw our beloved master again. The whole country became convulsed, father rose against son, and son against father. Thank God! we all survived the convulsion here, except our poor priest and one or two of the small gentry. The former was killed in the streets of Havre—but you know enough of the horrors that took place. Years rolled by, and the estate of the Coulancourts fell to the nation, for they said the duke was a malignant and an aristocrat, and it went into neglect, for no one came near it. In these remote parts, we could not hear what had become of the duchess and her children. People were afraid to speak during the Reign of Terror. At length that ended, and we thanked God that we were spared. Time went on, and at last, to our intense joy, we had a message from Paris sent down to us to say that the duchess—or rather, madame, for titles were all extinguished in France—had been tried in Paris, and was declared innocent of every crime against the state; the rulers restored to her Coulancourt and some other property, but the great bulk of the duke’s estates the nation still retained. This was a relief to us all. Workmenwere employed to restore the château, and madame expressed a wish that I would travel up to Paris to see her, and I did. Oh, mon Dieu! monsieur, how we wept when we saw each other! Ah! she was still beautiful, though thin and careworn. She was ignorant whether her child had reached England, and she dared not communicate with that country. She told me how she confided her daughter to a young and gallant lad, and that he had safely got her on board ship, for that good Monsieur Jean Plessis—no better man living—watched over her and madame with unceasing care. She told me that the officer’s name was Thornton, and that in the casket there were jewels of value, and nearly twenty thousand francs in gold, besides certificates of Mabel’s birth, her brother’s also, and of her own marriage with her first husband.
“I stayed nearly a month in Paris with my mistress; she could scarcely bear to part with me, but said, when she could get leave, she would come and live in Coulancourt. She ordered her intendant, Monsieur Jean Plessis——”
“Jean Plessis,” inquired our hero; “was he a married man?”
“Yes, monsieur, and a very nice, pretty, good lady his wife is; and his daughter, she is nearly eighteen, is a remarkably pretty, clever demoiselle—plays the great piano in the saloon so nicely. She and her mother remain six months of the year here, and we keep up the place just as if madame herself was expected.”
“Do you think a letter could be got safely to Madame Coulancourt?” asked our hero, anxiously.
“Oh dear yes, monsieur, quite easily. My son writes to Monsieur Jean Plessis constantly; he could enclose one for madame.”
“Then I will write this night. It will so ease her mind to hear all about Mabel; though it will grieve her to hear of the loss of the contents of the casket.”
“Oh, the joy of knowing her beloved child is safe and well,” said the dame, “will render her grief for the loss of the casket trifling.”
“Do not you think, dame, that we might get a boat in this navigable creek, and be able to put to sea?”
“Not for a little while, monsieur; quite impossible. I have not yet told you about the Vengeance. Captain Gaudet, with the help of my son’s lugger and another craft from Havre, have floated the hull of the Vengeance, and towed her inside of the creek and stranded her. One of my son’s crew came back to tell us the news; and, besides, they have sent out two coast-guard boats to watch the coast. They say there is a corvette or a frigate off and on, as if with the intention of landing,or looking out for some of the crew of the ship that thought to cut out the Vengeance; so you had better stay quiet for a few days. It would be terrible to arouse suspicion. My son-in-law, Captain Gaudet, you may be sure, will watch the creek.”
Lieutenant Thornton thought for a moment, and then said—
“Well, Dame Moret, I should be sorry to do anything rash, and perhaps bring trouble on those who have so kindly assisted me. I will write to Madame Coulancourt to-night. How long do you suppose it would take to have an answer from Madame Coulancourt?”
“Not more than five or six days, monsieur. I will send the letters from Havre by the post.”
“Well, then I will wait till I hear from madame before I attempt my escape, and when I do make an effort for freedom I shall not, I trust, involve any one in my mishap should I fail.”
“Ah! mon Dieu! you must be guided,” said Dame Moret; “you are young and sanguine; but to try to get out of the country now will be a very hazardous attempt.”
“I should like,” said our hero, “to obtain a change of garments for several reasons.”
“They may easily be procured,” said Dame Moret. “My son will get you a plain country gentleman’s sporting costume. I will give out that a young friend of Monsieur l’Intendant is coming here for a week’s fishing in our trout streams; as you speak the language so well you may amuse yourself in that way without creating any suspicion, but your man must change his dress also, and he can then pass for your servant.”
Lieutenant Thornton was pleased with this arrangement; as he would thus avoid confinement, a thing he detested, and he was fond of trout-fishing.
“I have quite funds enough, dame,” said our hero, taking out from his belt some gold pieces, to the amount of ten pounds. “These will purchase most of the articles I require.”
“You had better keep them, monsieur,” said the dame, “for a time of need. We will get you whatever you require. Madame would be very angry indeed if we did not.”
In vain our hero insisted; the dame was obstinate, so he allowed her to have her own way, resolving to have his another time.
After some further conversation Dame Moret rose to retire, telling the gentleman he would find his room ready, and that one of her daughters would be in attendance morning and evening. Our hero insisted that she should not take that trouble, as Bill was an excellent cook, as most seamen are, and that a few simple necessaries was all that they required, and it would attract less observation.
Dame Moret smiled.
“Oh, as to that, monsieur, there is no fear, for every day some of my family come here to dust the furniture and keep things neat; besides, they all know the intendant is expected in a few days, and may bring visitors with him.”
After Dame Moret had retired, our hero sat down, taking paper, pens, and ink from an open desk the old dame showed him, and spent an hour or two writing to Madame Coulancourt the full particulars of everything that had occurred to Mabel and himself since their parting from her. He also mentioned the discovery he had made, through Madame Volney’s communication, with respect to her brother, and the finding of the portrait, asking if she thought it were possible to trace the papers and effects lost by Madame Volney when forced to fly from Paris.
This detail committed to paper, he resolved to await the return of an answer to his letter before he made any attempt at an escape. He had a great desire to hear what became of his commander, Sir Sidney Smith, whether he remained at Havre, or was sent further into the interior.
The next day Rose, the youngest daughter of Dame Moret, the damsel he had first spoken to, and who had so kindly and fortunately directed him to her mother’s, came to the château to take his letter, and to provide for their wants for the day. She brought in her basket coffee, eggs, and poultry. Rose was a very pretty modest girl of seventeen, and looked quite pleased at being of service to our hero, who, not being in love, could see that Rose had a pair of very bright and sparkling eyes, and as neat a foot and ankle as any maiden in the province.
“I have brought you the key of the saloon, monsieur,” said Rose; “you may like to look at the pictures; and there is a piano and harp there. They belonged to Madame Coulancourt, she played so beautifully; but I was only a child in those days. But Mademoiselle Plessis plays the piano; they will be here in a few days, and then it will not be so lonely for you.”
“I shall not be lonely,” replied our hero, helping Rose to unlock the door of the grand saloon, “if you will pay me a visit daily. Your pretty face will drive away all my gloomy thoughts.”
Rose blushed, but laughing, said—
“You will have Mademoiselle Julia to chat with. She is so pretty and lively, that you cannot be dull where she is.”
“Did you hear anything at Havre yesterday, Rose,” questioned our hero, as they opened the shutters to admit the light, which before only entered from loopholes left in the shutters, “anything about the English prisoners taken on board the Vengeance, I mean?”
“Yes, monsieur; my sister told me they had been marchedto Rouen, and that the Commander and the young officer with him were to be sent to Paris.”
“To Paris!” repeated Lieutenant Thornton, in a tone of regret; “I am sorry for that. I fear they will endure a long captivity.”
Our hero now looked round the noble saloon, full sixty feet in length, and hung round with pictures in antique frames.
“That is, I suppose, the late Duke de Coulancourt?” he inquired, looking at a half-length portrait, suspended over the lofty white marble chimney-piece.
“Yes, monsieur, that is his picture; he was a young man when that was taken, in the Royal Guards of Louis XVI. There, on the wall opposite, is his grandfather, who commanded the famous Musketeers. I will go now, monsieur, because your letter must be enclosed, and sent from Havre before night.”
“I am giving you and all your family a great deal of trouble, and they and you may incur some risk from protecting me and my comrade.”
“Not at all, monsieur; especially as Captain Gaudet has got plenty of employment. He is going to repair the Vengeance, and he thinks of nothing else. He fancies also that you and your man were either drowned or burned in the vessel; for my brother, who was with my mother this morning, says he does not seem to trouble about anything but the repairs of the craft.”
After the departure of Rose, Lieutenant Thornton spent some time in examining the pictures and the saloon itself, which was finished in the costly but heavy style of the preceding century. The late duke’s portrait was that of a remarkably handsome man of some five-and-twenty years, but there was an expression of great melancholy over the features, which our hero judged was habitual to them and not the fault of the artist, for the portrait was beautifully and artistically painted. He took a survey of every article in the saloon, which, however, created a painful sensation, as they recalled those that were gone, and the melancholy fate of those whom neither rank, wealth, virtue, nor position, could save from the doom of the criminal.
Several days passed over, somewhat tedious, it is true, to our hero, though he chatted for an hour or two daily with pretty Rose Moret, who did all she could to please her handsome and rather dangerous guest. She showed him the gardens, gathered him the choicest flowers for his chamber, and told him all the news. William Thornton was grateful, kind, and attentive to his engaging companion, and his heart and principles were too good and upright to take any undue advantage of Rose’s innocence and naïvetê.
Bill Saunders smoked, and cooked, and feasted, and made love to Rose’s sister when she came. And she appeared to enjoy Bill’s method of learning French, for many a cheerful laugh did our hero hear from below, and an incessant clatter of tongues; how they understood one another he could not say, but they seemed remarkably pleasant together.
At length, on the tenth day, Dame Moret made her appearance, with a letter and a huge bundle of garments.
“A letter from madame at last, monsieur. I have had one also, and here is a bundle of clothes made as if for my son, who is a tall man like yourself. In these garments you may walk about the country and fish to amuse yourself, for madame says you must not on any account think of escaping till you see Monsieur Plessis, who will bring a passport all ready for your use to travel into Flanders. But what an old gossip I am; you are dying to read your letter, which will of course tell you a great deal more, and better than I can.”
“You are as kind to me as if I were one of your own family; and, believe me, I shall never forget in after years, if I am spared, Dame Moret and her kind daughters.”
“You are a brave, handsome garçon, and God will restore you to your own country. And perhaps some of these days you may marry Mademoiselle Mabel; and if there is peace soon, I may live to see you both, and my dear mistress in this old château.”
The young man felt his cheeks flush, for the dame’s words struck a chord in his heart. Might he ever feel sufficient love for Mabel Arden to make her his wife, provided her feelings for him were reciprocal? was a question he had often asked himself. He, however, replied—
“She will not probably remember me when we meet again. She was very little more than thirteen when last I saw her; indeed, I was not more than seventeen myself. I doubt if we should recognise each other.”
“I do not think so,” said the dame, thoughtfully; “she may have changed considerably, for a young girl springing into womanhood does change much; but you, I should say, have altered but little in features; you have gained height and strength, it may be; but she would know you, I feel satisfied, for Mademoiselle Mabel was no common child, even when only six years old. The memory of early years will cling to her as the ivy to the oak. But excuse me, monsieur, I will leave you to read your letter.”
Lieutenant Thornton was very thoughtful as he broke the seal of Madame Coulancourt’s letter. We shall merely touch upon certain points that deeply interested and strongly affected himself. The part that he felt most keenly was MadameCoulancourt’s explanation having reference to the death of her beloved brother, Sir Oscar de Bracy, whom she felt quite satisfied was his father. For a time he could scarcely proceed. This intelligence, though he had not the happiness of remembering his parents, made him feel acutely this cruel disappointment, for he had hoped that he would have lived to reach England, and acknowledge him as his son. It was some balm to his grieved heart to learn that Sir Oscar had received Mr. Stanmore’s letters, and fully acknowledged him and his niece Mabel in his will, and before witnesses. Madame Coulancourt begged him not to grieve over the loss of the papers in the casket, as she was fully confident of being able, through the agency of Monsieur Jean Plessis, to obtain duplicates of them, which would do equally as well. She also stated that she had every reason to hope that her son Julian had not perished at the time of his separation from her at Lyons, but was, with many others, forced to serve the Republic, in either the army or the navy, and that she was exerting herself to trace him. She also entreated him not to attempt an escape from the country till he had seen Jean Plessis, who, with his wife and daughter, and a young friend, were, in a week or so, to leave Paris for Coulancourt. There was a slight rumour of peace with Great Britain, which she ardently prayed for, as she longed to return to her native land. The intelligence she was able to give him was told her by a Madame de Fenuille, a great friend of Madame Volney’s, who had lately returned to France from England, viâ Hamburg. She also sincerely congratulated him upon the singular discovery of his birth, and consequent connection with her by ties of blood, and this unexpected discovery accounted for the affection she had so unaccountably felt for him from the very first and only interview they ever had. She was at the time struck with his features, which seemed to recall the long past, though she could not, so troubled as she then was, tax her memory; but now she felt satisfied it was his resemblance to a beloved brother.
Our hero read the kind and affectionate letter of his aunt with deep emotion; it contained much besides, bearing proof the writer was depressed at the death of a brother she had fondly hoped to have seen once more.
That night the young sailor slept but little. He felt deeply grieved at his father’s death; for, like Madame Coulancourt, he had looked forward to Sir Oscar’s return to Europe, and that any mystery yet attached to his birth would be cleared up; he was of course not acquainted with the ample details in Sir Oscar’s will and papers, all of which Mr. Stanmore possessed, and which awaited his return to England.
Besides having his thoughts bent upon the loss he had thusincurred, with a very serious feeling, they also rested upon Mabel Arden. Hitherto he had only remembered her as an endearing child—as a sister. She was now, he was assured, a fair and beautiful girl; would she be so changed by the lapse of five years, as to baffle his memory of her features? Then it occurred to him that, from untoward circumstances, years might elapse before his foot would again rest on England’s soil.