Chapter 8 The Gamester by Rafael Sabatini
INVITATIONS
Those summer days were busy days for Mr Law, perfecting his measures for the entire control of all French colonial possessions, of America, Asia and Africa.
Meanwhile, the news from Louisiana was far from good. Of the precious metals in which the land had been described as rich, little or nothing was yet being extracted; no more was heard of the fabulous ubiquity of precious stones, the reports of which had served to build up the credit of the Mississippi Company and attract buyers for the shares.
None of this perturbed Mr Law. The gold and silver and the gems might or might not exist; but the fertility and productivity of the land were facts upon which he could confidently count to yield the riches he promised to his shareholders. Meanwhile he was careful to suppress the unfavourable reports he had received, lest their publication should have an unnecessarily discouraging effect not only upon the stock of the Mississippi Company but upon that of those other companies which it was already rumoured that Mr Law would shortly be controlling.
His social consequence standing already so high under the Regent's patronage, earned him in those summer days an invitation to spend a week at Sceaux.
It came as a surprise, for whilst he had enjoyed the honour of presentation to the Duke and Duchess of Maine, he could hardly conceive that the pursuits to which he owed his fame would commend him to a lady who, outside of the noblesse, sought only wits and men of letters, both to promote and to share in the delights of her court at Sceaux.
"Semper sursum," was his comment to Catherine, with whom, as was usual, relations had resumed their coldly courteous normal after the explosion on the night of the Duchess of Berri's ball. "Semper sursum. Ever upwards. I may be the ignoble adventurer you like to account me, but it remains that I carry you from height to height. Our company is desired by her Grace of Maine, no less, the lady with secret aspirations to be Queen of France."
He thrust before her the scented note from the Duchess' secretary Malézieux. It was charged with the device of a hive and a bee, emblems of the Society of the Mouche-à-miel, the invention and presidency of which made up the affectation under whose cover her Grace pursued the more dangerous affectation of conspiring.
Catherine looked it over coolly. "Ah, yes," she said. "The Count of Horn had told me to expect it."
She made the statement with such calm that her husband not unreasonably suspected defiance. Despite his warning she had continued to encourage the Count's frequent visits in the Rue de Grenelle and his regular attendance upon her on every occasion of their frequent meetings elsewhere.
Latterly Mr Law's brother had mentioned to him that there was talk of her constantly being seen with Horn among the fashionable riders who frequented that chestnut-bordered avenue along the river, the Cours la Reine. Mr Law fully aware of this, observing it, knowing himself deliberately defied, continued amiably indifferent, adding no word to the representations he had made. It was a silence that left Catherine vaguely uneasy, secretly tormented by suspense, and it was in a passionate desire to end it that she flung down the name of Horn like a gage of battle.
"The Count of Horn?" he echoed reflectively. "So that is the explanation. I was puzzled to think why our company should be desired at Sceaux, and hardly flattered."
"Not flattered? You are exigent. We could be paid no higher compliment short of a command to Versailles."
"That, of course, will be the view of Monsieur de Horn. It does not accord with mine. I owe my loyalties to His Highness, the Regent, and unlike your Monsieur de Horn, I give my loyalties where they are due."
"What do you imply against him?"
"That affecting devotion to the Regent, he would do better to hold aloof from that court of discontent, the household of the Maines, where calumny of His Highness is the least of the offences, and treason the worst. It is of a piece with all the rest I know of your Monsieur de Horn, an escroc, contemptible and faithless. If you felt the need to pick a gallant, it would have been more flattering to me to have picked one less disreputable."
"I was not concerned to flatter you."
"You make it evident."
"Nor does slander affect my esteem for a great gentleman."
"Slander?" He uttered a short laugh. "A rascal who was kicked out of the Austrian Army, an escroc who is in everybody's debt, a swindler who takes money--a million--from Bernard the Jew for corrupt services which he neglects to render. That is your great gentleman. Be proud of deserving his attention."
"Lies will not diminish that pride. And when we go to Sceaux..."
"We do not go to Sceaux."
Dismay loosened her mouth. "How? Not go to Sceaux? You would dare to refuse what amounts to a royal command?"
"I have given you my views on Sceaux and its activities. That should suffice."
"Very well. As you please." She stood tense and quivering. "But understand that whether you go or not, I certainly shall."
"Ah!" He merely sighed. "That would give rise to comment. I mean, if you went without me."
"Then perhaps you will perceive also the propriety of accompanying me."
He strove with his impatience. "I have tried to tell you that loyalty to His Highness makes it impossible that I should go."
"That is but a pretext. The Duke and Duchess of Maine were at the Duchess of Berri's ball at the Luxembourg. How, then, can you talk of disloyalty in good relations with those whom even the Regent's daughter receives? Besides, there is no reason why I should be bound by such ties of loyalty as yours."
"Or any other ties, it seems."
"Or any other ties," she agreed. "So make your decision without regard for me. For whatever you may decide, I shall certainly be the Duchess of Maine's guest." She turned to go. "You understand?"
Very quietly he answered her. "I understand that I have Monsieur de Horn to thank for this defiance, and that he becomes too troublesome. It has never been my way to prevail with you by violence, Catherine, and since I cannot prevail with you by reason, I must hope to do better with your Count."
She turned again, to face him, and she had lost some breath, "Are you mad? How do you suppose that he will receive you? Do you dream that a man of his station will tolerate your impertinences?"
"Reassure yourself. I shall be strictly pertinent."
She gave him a long, silent look of dislike. Then she shrugged. "You must rush upon your ruin if you will."
On that she left him, and it was some moments before he moved. He was roused by the clock on the overmantel striking the hour of ten, the hour at which almost invariably he paid his morning visit to the Rue Quincampoix, to cast his expert eye over the operations of the day and issue instructions for the guidance of his brother, who remained as his deputy on the spot.
Suddenly realizing that he was late, he cast off the gloomy absorption in which Catherine had left him and was moving towards the door, when it was opened by a footman. With a murmured apology, the man would have withdrawn again, but that Mr Law checked him.
"What is it, Gilles?"
"Pardon, monsieur. I am seeking Madame. It is that Monsieur le Comte de Horn is here."
"Here? Then why do you not introduce him?"
"He is below, monsieur, on horseback. I am sent to inquire if Madame will be riding with him this morning."
Mr Law glanced at the timepiece. He drew a bow at a venture.
"Monsieur le Comte is rather early."
"I think not, monsieur. This is his usual hour."
It was what Mr Law desired to know. These morning rides, then, slyly undertaken in his absence, were something of a regular practice. No wonder that tongues were wagging and that a rumour of scandal had reached the ears of his brother.
From the tranquillity of Mr Law's countenance, the footman could gather no hint of the indignation within him. "Ask Monsieur le Comte to give himself the trouble of coming up."
The footman bowed himself out, to return presently ushering the visitor. Horn, booted, spurred and handling a riding switch, came in briskly, his manner effusive. "My dear Baron! I had no thought to intrude upon you. It is Madame la Baronne whom I seek, for the honour of escorting her should she choose to ride this morning. I trust I do not disturb you."
"In fact," said Mr Law, "you begin to disturb me a good deal."
"How?" The handsome face became serious, the tall figure was drawn stiffly to its full height.
"It occurs to me that Madame may have been riding with you too often lately." He spoke with the utmost urbanity. "It is giving rise to talk. You would not know that, of course. But now that I tell you, I am sure you will agree that she should decline the honour for the future."
The young Count, at his ease, smiled with a touch of insolence. "I understand. If you assure me that it is Madame la Baronne's wish, I must regretfully bow to it."
"I can assure you that it is mine," said Mr Law. Quickly, without giving the other time to speak, he went on: "And there is another matter on which I am glad of a word with you. I understand that it is by your good offices that we are honoured with an invitation to Sceaux. It is flattering, but unhappily my affairs, as you will understand, do not permit me to be absent from Paris just at present. We shall, therefore, be reluctantly constrained to decline that honour also."
The Count's face had darkened; his manner became more distant. "That your affairs should keep you here was more or less to be expected. A money-changer--your pardon, a banker--must wait upon his clients. But, to be frank, my dear Baron, I perceive in that no reason to deny Madame la Baronne the entertainment Sceaux will offer her. The Countess of Horn, who returned a little while ago from England and who is a compatriot of the Baroness, will be accompanying me to Sceaux, and we shall be happy to have your lady with us."
"Even so, however, too much honour. I do not choose that my wife should go without me."
For all that from the outset Horn had been conscious of the hostility under the courtly phrases, the steel under the silk, he was now momentarily at a loss. He stumbled a little in his protest. "For that, in the circumstances, I think I have the right to ask a reason."
"It is the same as the reason why I do not wish that Madame la Baronne should ride with you again."
Horn flushed. His temper was beginning to slip from him. "Do you know, my dear Lass, that I begin to find you almost offensive."
"Is it possible? It is an impression that I have earnestly sought not to convey."
"Then let me tell you that you fail. I have no more to say to you, I think." He bowed perfunctorily. "I shall have the honour to wait upon Madame la Baronne, to take her wishes in the matter of Sceaux."
"A moment, Monsieur le Comte. It is foolish not to perceive that my wishes are those that count, and you are already aware of them. I fear you compel me reluctantly to inform my servants that you are not again to be admitted."
The Count's face was suddenly white. He lost his head. Perhaps he forgot how deeply he stood in this man's debt; or perhaps, in his passion and arrogance, he did not choose to remember it. His hand tightened on his whip. "Canaille!" he said, through his teeth, and yielding to an impulse of passion he slashed at Mr Law's face.
Only by promptly raising his arm did the Scot save his countenance. Even as he parried, his hand closed over the whip and a swift wrench snatched it from Horn's hand. Mr Law bowed, calmly ironical.
"So much was not necessary, monsieur. But at least it has the advantage of being definite. My friends shall wait upon you today." And he cast the whip at the Count's feet.
"On me? Your friends? My God! Have you the impudence to conceive I'll meet you? Do men of my quality fight with money-changers? It may be done in England, or, perhaps, in Scotland."
Mr Law looked at him steadily without replying, whilst Horn continued.
"It does not happen in France, let me tell you, my good fellow." He shook and slobbered in rage, and all the while Mr Law, with the imperturbability of the complete gamester in the face of whatever stake may be on the board, continued steadily to stare at him. "For low rascals who forget their place a gentleman has a cane or a whip, as you've discovered."
He stooped to recover his whip, whereby he lost some dignity. Then resuming it, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the door.
"At your pleasure," said Mr Law. "After all, there are weapons more suitable than the sword for escrocs and cheats and such folk who forget the obligations birth imposes. I shall see that you discover it, Monsieur le Comte."
But the Count had already reached the threshold, and gave no heed.
"Well, well! You go off with the honours," Mr Law called after him. "For today."