The Indiscretion of the Duchess/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
The Duchess Defines Her Position.
WALKED on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top of the hill. In about three minutes’ time we met. There sat alone in the carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and stern cold eyes. He was smoking a cigar. I plucked my hat from my head and made as if to pass by.
“Who’s this?” he called out, stopping the carriage.
I began to recite my lesson in stumbling French.
“Why, what are you? Oh, you’re English! Then in Heaven’s name, speak English—not that gabble.” And then he repeated his order, “Speak English,” in English, and continued in that language, which he spoke with stiff formal correctness.
He heard my account of myself with unmoved face.
“Have you any writings—any testimonials?” he asked.
“No, my lord,” I stammered, addressing him in style I thought most natural to my assumed character.
“That’s a little curious, isn’t it? You become intoxicated everywhere, perhaps?”
“I’ve never been intoxicated in my life, my lord,” said I, humbly but firmly.
“Then you dispute the justice of your dismissal?”
“Yes, my lord.” I thought such protest due to my original.
He looked at me closely, smoking his cigar the while.
“You made love to the chambermaids?” he asked suddenly.
“No, my lord. One evening, my lord, it was very hot, and—and the wine, my lord——”
“Then you were intoxicated?”
I fumbled with my hat, praying that the fellow would move on.
“What servants are there?” he asked, pointing to the house.
“Four maids, my lord, and old Jean.”
Again he meditated; then he said sharply:
“Have you ever waited at table?”
We have all, I suppose, waited at table—in one sense. Perhaps that may save my remark from untruth.
“Now and then, my lord,” I answered, wondering what he would be at.
“I have guests arriving to-morrow,” he said. “My man comes with them, but the work will perhaps be too much for him. Are you willing to stay and help? I will pay you the same wages.”
I could have laughed in his face; but duty seemed to point to seriousness.
“I’m very sorry, my lord——” I began.
“What, have you got another place?”
“No, my lord; not exactly.”
“Then get up on the front seat. Or do you want your employers to say you are disobliging as well as drunken?”
“But the lady sent me——”
“You may leave that to me. Come, jump up! Don’t keep me waiting!”
Doubtfully I stood in the road, the duke glaring at me with impatient anger. Then he leaned forward and said:
“You are curiously reluctant, sir, to earn your living. I don’t understand it. I must make some inquiries about you.”
I detected suspicion dawning in his eyes. He was a great man; I did not know what hindrances he might not be able to put in the way of my disappearance. And what would happen if he made his inquiries? Inquiries might mean searching, and I carried a passport in the name of Gilbert Aycon.
Such share had prudence; the rest must be put down to the sudden impulse of amusement which seized me. It was but for a day or two! Then I could steal away. Meanwhile what would not the face of the duchess say, when I rode up on the front seat!
“I—I was afraid I should not give satisfaction,” I muttered.
“You probably won’t,” said he. “I take you from necessity, not choice, my friend. Up with you!”
And I got up beside the driver—not, luckily, the one who had brought Gustave de Berensac and myself the day before—and the carriage resumed its slow climb up the hill.
We stopped at the door. I jumped down and assisted my new master.
The door was shut. Nobody was to be seen; evidently we were not expected. The duke smiled sardonically, opened the door and walked in, I just behind. Suzanne was sweeping the floor. With one glance at the duke and myself, she sprang back, with a cry of most genuine surprise.
"Oh, you're mighty surprised, aren't you?" sneered the duke. "Old Jean didn't scuttle away to tell you then? You keep a good watch, young woman. Your mistress' orders, eh?"
Still Suzanne stared—and at me. The duke chuckled.
"Yes, he's back again," said he, "so you must make the best of it, my girl. Where’s the duchess?"
"In—in—in her sitting-room, M. le Duc."
"'In—in—in,'" he echoed mockingly. Then he stepped swiftly across the hall and flung the door suddenly open. I believe he thought that he really had surprised the duchess this time in spite of Jean's slow aged scamper ahead of him.
"Silence for your life!" I had time to whisper to Suzanne; and then I followed him. There might be more "fun" to come.
The duchess was sitting with a book in her hand. I was half-hidden by the duke, and she did not see me. She looked up, smiled, yawned, and held out her hand.
"I hardly expected you, Armand," said she. "I thought you were in Algeria."
Anybody would have been annoyed; there is no doubt that the Duke of Saint-Maclou was very much annoyed.
"You don't seem overjoyed at the surprise," said he gruffly.
"You are always surprising me," she answered, lifting her eyebrows.
Suddenly he turned round, saying "Sampson!" and then turned to her, adding:
"Here’s another old friend for you." And he seized me by the shoulder and pulled me into the room.
The duchess sprang to her feet, crying out in startled tones, "Back?"
I kept my eyes glued to the floor, wondering what would happen next, thinking that it would be, likely enough, a personal conflict with my master.
"Yes, back," said he. "I am sorry, madame, if it is not your pleasure, for it chances to be mine."
His sneer gave the duchess a moment's time. I felt her regarding me, and I looked up cautiously. The duke still stood half a pace in front of me, and the message of my glance sped past him unperceived.
Then came what I had looked for—the gradual dawning of the position on the duchess, and the reflection of that dawning light in those wonderful eyes of hers. She clasped her hands, and drew in her breath in a long “Oh!” It spoke utter amusement and delight. What would the duke make of it? He did not know what to make of it, and glared at her in angry bewilderment. Her quick wit saw the blunder she had been betrayed into. She said “Oh!” again, but this time it expressed nothing except a sense of insult and indignation.
“What’s that man here for?” she asked.
“Because I have engaged him to assist my household.”
“I had dismissed him,” she said haughtily.
“I must beg you to postpone the execution of your decree,” said he. “I have need of a servant, and I have no time to find another.”
“What need is there of another? Is not Lafleur here?” (She was playing her part well now.)
“Lafleur comes to-morrow; but he will not be enough.”
“Not enough—for you and me?”
“Our party will be larger to-morrow.”
“More surprises?” she asked, sinking back into her chair.
“If it be a surprise that I should invite my friends to my house,” he retorted.
“And that you should not consult your wife,” she said, with a smile.
He turned to me, bethinking himself, I suppose, that the conversation was not best suited for the ears of the groom.
“Go and join your fellow-servants; and see that you behave yourself this time.”
I bowed and was about to withdraw, when the duchess motioned me to stop. For an instant her eyes rested on mine. Then she said, in gentle tones:
“I am glad, Sampson, that the duke thinks it safe to give you an opportunity of retrieving your character.”
“That for his character!” said the duke, snapping his fingers. “I want him to help when Mme. and Mlle. Delhasse are here.”
On the words the duchess went red in the face, and then white, and sprang up, declaring aloud in resolute, angry tones, that witnessed the depth of her feelings in the matter:
“I will not receive Mlle. Delhasse!”
I was glad I had not missed that: it was a new aspect of my little friend the duchess. Alas, my pleasure was short-lived! for the duke, his face full of passion, pointed to the door, saying “Go!” and, cursing his regard for the dignity of the family, I went.
In the hall I paused. At first I saw nobody. Presently a rosy, beaming face peered at me over the baluster halfway up the stairs, and Suzanne stole cautiously down, her finger on her lips.
“But what does it mean, sir?” she whispered.
“It means,” said I, “that the duke takes me for the dismissed groom—and has re-engaged me.”
“And you’ve come?” she cried softly, clasping her hands in amazement.
“Doesn’t it appear so?”
“And you’re going to stay, sir?”
“Ah, that’s another matter. But—for the moment, yes.”
“As a servant?”
“Why not—in such good company?”
“Does madame know?”
“Yes, she knows, Suzanne. Come, show me the way to my quarters; and no more ‘sir’ just now.”
We were standing by the stairs. I looked up and saw the other girls clustered on the landing above us.
“Go and tell them,” I said. “Warn them to show no surprise. Then come back and show me the way.”
Suzanne, her mirth half-startled out of her but yet asserting its existence in dimples round her mouth, went on her errand. I leaned against the lowest baluster and waited.
Suddenly the door of the duchess’ room was flung open and she came out. She stood for an instant on the threshold. She turned toward the interior of the room and she stamped her foot on the parqueted floor.
“No—no—no!” she said passionately, and flung the door close behind her, to the accompaniment of a harsh, scornful laugh.
Involuntarily I sprang forward to meet her. But she was better on her guard than I.
“Not now,” she whispered, “but I must see you soon—this evening—after dinner. Suzanne will arrange it. You must help me, Mr. Aycon; I’m in trouble.”
“With all my power!” I whispered, and with a glance of thanks she sped upstairs. I saw her stop and speak to the group of girls, talking to them in an eager whisper. Then, followed by two of them, she pursued her way upstairs.
Suzanne came down and approached me, saying simply, “Come,” and led the way toward the servants’ quarters. I followed her, smiling; I was about to make acquaintance with a new side of life.
Yet at the same time I was wondering who Mlle. Delhasse might chance to be: the name seemed familiar to me, and yet for the moment I could not trace it. And then I slapped my thigh in the impulse of my discovery.
“By Jove, Marie Delhasse the singer!” cried I, in English.
“Sir, sir, for Heaven’s sake be quiet!” whispered Suzanne.
“You are perfectly right,” said I, with a nod of approbation.
“And this is the pantry,” said Suzanne, for all the world as though nothing had happened. “And in that cupboard you will find Sampson’s livery.”
“Is it a pretty one?” I asked.
“You, sir, will look well in it,” said she, with that delicate evasive flattery that I love. “Would not you, sir, look well in anything?” she meant.
And while I changed my traveling suit for the livery, I remembered more about Marie Delhasse, and, among other things, that the Duke of Saint-Maclou was rumored to be her most persistent admirer. Some said that she favored him; others denied it with more or less conviction and indignation. But, whatever might chance to be the truth about that, it was plain that the duchess had something to say for herself when she declined to receive the lady. Her refusal was no idle freak, but a fixed determination, to which she would probably adhere. And, in fact, adhere to it she did, even under some considerable changes of circumstance.