The Love of Monsieur

CHAPTER VI

THE ESCAPE

They walked quickly along under a wall, keeping in the shadow. Vigot received his orders and went forward alone. When last they saw him he was swaggering and staggering by turns up to the mercer’s, where he began pounding lustily upon the door for admittance. Trice and Quinn Mornay despatched by a side street to approach the tavern from another direction.

At the Fleece there was no unusual sign. From an open window came the rattle of dice, the clink of the counters, and the laughter of men. The night being still young, many people were passing to and fro upon the streets, and Mornay and Cornbury, wrapped in their cloaks, looking neither to the right nor left, pushed open the door at the front and walked boldly into the room. Several drinkers lounged upon the benches, and there was a game of basset in the corner, but the players were so intent that they had no eyes for the new arrivals. Cornbury drummed loudly upon the floor with his foot, and one of the fellows, a pigeon-breasted ensign in a dragoon regiment, cast a loser’s curse over his shoulder, but failed to recognize them. They ordered a drink and the room on the second floor at the head of the stairway.

Mornay’s reasons for this were obvious. He wanted a narrow passage, where more than two men would be at a disadvantage, and where all opportunity for outside interference would be obviated. The host himself brought their lights and bottles. When he saw that it was Monsieur Mornay who was his guest, he started back in amazement.

“Monsieur!” he cried. “You? I thought – ”

“Sh – Yes, it is I. But keep your tongue, Papworth. Is Captain Ferrers here?”

“No, sir. Two notes have arrived for him, but – ”

Mornay glanced significantly at the Irishman.

“You think he will come?”

“I should be sure of it, sir.”

“Very good. When he comes tell him Captain Cornbury and I are awaiting him.”

“But, sir, if you’ll pardon me, the Fleece Tavern is no place for you, sir. There’s been constables watching for you all yesterday and to-day.”

Mornay laughed a little to himself.

“’Tis plain I’m too popular. Listen, Papworth. I did you a good turn with the King when Captain Lyall was killed in your garden. Now you can return me the compliment.”

“Yes, monsieur, but – ”

“I’ll have no refusal.”

The man rubbed his chin dubiously while Cornbury told him their plans. When the Irishman had finished, Mornay slipped a handful of coins into his palm, which worked a transformation in his point of view.

“I’ll do what I can, monsieur,” he said, jingling the money. “But if there’s to be fighting, the Fleece will lose its good repute forever.” Mornay and Cornbury both laughed at the long face and hollow note of virtuous regretfulness and resignation in his voice.

“Ochone! If there has been a duel in yer garden once in forty years, I’d never be the man to suspect it,” said the Irishman. The landlord raised a deprecating hand and disappeared.

“The garden?” growled Mornay. “I hope it may not be necessary to carry this matter there.”

“But have ye thought? He may not come up to yer room?”

“He must – ”

There was a cautious knock at the door, and Vigot entered, despair and distress written upon his features.

“Monsieur! Ill news! There was no room to let at the mercer’s. To-morrow is market-day, and the house is full to the garret. He would not let me even inside the door.”

“Tonnerre de Dieu!”

“And worse yet, monsieur – this place is watched. A number of black, silent figures are regarding it from the shadows – ”

“Ye have read the man aright, Mornay,” said Cornbury.

“Mille diables! We must go by the roof. It is our only chance. Listen, Vigot. Do you go up those stairs and out upon the leads. Curse the fellow! if you cannot get into his house at the bottom you must get in at the top.”

Vigot was off again as the landlord entered.

“Monsieur Mornay, Captain Ferrers awaits you below.”

A quick glance passed between the two men. Mornay paused a moment before replying.

“Tell him, Papworth,” he said, coolly, “that Monsieur Mornay has a quiet room upstairs where matters can be privately discussed. I will await him here.”

The man departed.

Cornbury drained his bowl.

“The man’s an arrant coward. Ten guineas that he doesn’t come. Why, monsieur, he couldn’t have entrapped us better himself. Ye’ve made the bait too tempting. He’ll smell a rat.”

“Pouf! Cornbury, he has it all his own way. Twenty guineas that he comes.”

Cornbury did not answer; he was bending towards the door, his mouth and eyes agape, as though to make his hearing better. But only the clatter of the game and the sound of the coarsened voices of the players came up the dimly lighted stairway. Upon the coming of this man hung Mornay’s only chance for success.

Five minutes they waited in silence, but at last there was a sound of footsteps upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Ferrers and Mr. Wynne stood before them. The exuberance and confidence of Captain Ferrers’s smile found no echo in the face of Wynne, who looked sullenly and suspiciously at Cornbury and the Frenchman, as though the adventure were little to his liking. Mornay arose from his bench with great politeness, the perfection of courtesy and good-will, and waved Captain Ferrers to a seat. Cornbury sat puffing volumes of smoke, with an appearance of great contentment and unconcern.

Captain Ferrers was clearly taken off his guard, and his smile became the broader. He had at first thought Monsieur Mornay’s promise to come to the Fleece a mere French flippancy. Surely, after what had happened he could expect no clemency from Ferrers. Monsieur Mornay would have been flattered had he known how much of Captain Ferrers’s thoughts he had occupied during the last few hours. The Frenchman’s demeanor in the house of Mistress Clerke, his earnestness, his self-confidence, his assurance and poise, outdid anything that Ferrers remembered of that presumptuous person. A man with one leg in the grave or a lifetime of imprisonment staring him in the face would only play such a part because of one or two circumstances: he was using a desperate resort to gain some great end – perhaps to influence Mistress Barbara for clemency in the case of the death of Sir Henry Heywood; or else he was the real heir of the estate which Mistress Barbara was enjoying. To tell the truth, Ferrers did not care what he was. If the Frenchman came to the Fleece Tavern, he would be in the Tower by midnight. The prison would know no distinctions. He hated this man as one hates another to whom he is under obligations and who has done him a great injury. And if he was the real heir, come to dispossess Mistress Barbara and balk him in a marriage that meant a fortune beyond the wildest dreams, the worse for him. He should suffer for it!

All of these things passed again somewhat heavily through his mind. The air of unconcern and assurance which he met in the faces of both Mornay and the Irishman disarmed him. He thought how easy it had been to gain his ends, and comfortably fingered the whistle in his pocket with which he should presently call in his hounds upon his enemy. Nor would his pistols be required. If he had wished he could have sent his constables up from below to take these men in the trap they had made for themselves. But he enjoyed the situation. It was as easy as a game of quinze with the mirror behind your opponent’s back.

“Monsieur Ferraire,” began Mornay, pleasantly, “I am meeting you to-night at great risk of my life. I thank you that you have kept my plans and this rendezvous a secret.”

Ferrers’s small eyes blinked as though they had been liberally peppered, but the smile did not disappear.

“What I have to say is to your great advantage. If after I am through you still wish to meet me, I shall be at your service below in the garden, or elsewhere. Will you sit down?”

The Captain’s lip twitched a little and his fingers left the whistle and moved to a chair-back.

It was apparent that Mornay’s mind was a thousand miles from all thought of distrust or suspicion. He was as guileless as a child. Cornbury had filled another pipe and crossed his legs.

“It will be useless to sit or talk, monsieur,” said Ferrers, coldly. “I have brought Mr. Wynne with an object which cannot be mistaken. If you are agreeable, Mr. Wynne will talk with Captain Cornbury as to the arrangements.” He folded his arms and walked to the window with an air of rounding off a conversation.

Mornay arose from his seat and walked around the table to the side nearest the door.

“You must hear me, monsieur,” he said, calmly. “I offer you friendship and a proposition which cannot but be to your advantage.” Ferrers had turned, but his head shook in refusal.

“There can be but one proposition between us, Mornay.”