Jacquetta. Baring-Gould Sabine

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СКАЧАТЬ where lived his mother and aunt; his father had saved nothing, the property barely allowed its proprietors to live on it. It was advisable, if not necessary, that the young baron should adopt a profession to supplement his small patrimony. Accordingly he had studied law, and had taken pains to familiarise himself with English, because he saw that it would help him at Nantes, where a good many English were settled, whither English vessels came, and where some commerce went on between the two countries; where accordingly little difficulties sprang up occasionally which demanded the intervention of a lawyer familiar with both tongues.

      Mr. Asheton was the son of an English merchant at Nantes, and as the Baron had had some business connection with his father’s house, the two young men came to know each other, and strike up a warm, if not very deep, friendship. They had just made a tour together of the Channel Islands, and were on their way home. There was a slight assumption of superiority and superciliousness in the tone of young James Asheton. He was the young man of the English colony at Nantes; a good deal of deference was shown him, his father was well off, he was of a marriageable age, and there were some dozen and a half young English girls at Nantes also marriageable. This is a condition of affairs not calculated to engender diffidence in a young man. He wore an eyeglass, and somewhat cocked his cap. He had fair hair, light whiskers, so fine that the soft air on the vessel blew them about, and he was constrained to stroke them back with his delicate hand, on which were several rings.

      ‘What is that thing-a-bob sticking up on the coast yonder?’ asked Mrs. Fairbrother, pointing eastward, after the steamer had left Jersey.

      ‘That ma’m, is Coutance cathedral,’ answered Asheton. ‘And, for a thing-a-bob, is a noble pile, in the early Norman style of architecture.’

      ‘Is it in France?’

      ‘Certainly, but on the extreme verge. An earthquake would send it over into debatable waters.’

      ‘Well, that is odd,’ remarked the old lady, ‘because it is nearer Jersey than England; we can’t even see our own coast from here, and we can those of France. How comes it that the islands belong to us and not to the French?’

      ‘The Channel Islands,’ explained Mr. Asheton, stroking his whiskers, ‘are the only remains of the Duchy of Normandy that are held by the British crown.’

      ‘You know, mamma, that William the Conqueror was Duke of Normandy before he became King of England,’ said Jacquetta hastily, afraid lest her mother should commit herself. The girl saw a twinkle in the young Englishman’s eye.

      ‘My dear,’ answered the old lady frankly, ‘I know nothing about it. I have no head for the kings of England. Indeed, I only remember about two of them, Edward who picked up a lady’s garter, and refused to stand on the Bible, and Charles I who walked and talked thirty years after his head was cut off. Yes—by the way, there was another—Alfred, who burnt some cakes. It is enough for me, my dear, to know and to love the name of our gracious Queen. Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, and make them fall. Amen.’

      ‘What, ma’m, a Republican? Wish to overthrow the monarchy?’ exclaimed Mr. Asheton nibbling his whiskers.

      ‘Fiddlesticks. I mean the enemies of our great and gracious sovereign lady Queen Victoria—and—make—them—fall.’

      Jacquetta drew her pretty lips together; a little tightening of her eyebrows might have been observed. She did not like the tone of the Englishman; he was laughing at her mother.

      ‘Madame has never been in France before? nor Mademoiselle?’ asked the baron.

      ‘O never, neither of us,’ answered Mrs. Fairbrother eagerly. ‘And whatever I shall do if I find Aunt Betsy dead I don’t know. Has one to send notice to the registrar? and what is registrar in French? And how about the will, taking inventory, and undertaker, and all that? They don’t burn the dead in France, do they? I have read about such things; and I saw it done in a play once, only just as they were about to light the fire, the corpse blazed away out of a revolver at them and drove them away, and so saved the widow—but, no, I haven’t got it quite right, it was an Irishman who took the place on the settee, that is what it was called, I think. I hope nothing of the sort is done in France.’

      ‘Certainly there are no suttees there, ma’m,’ answered Asheton.

      ‘Well, I did not know. They are Catholics.’

      ‘Let us hope, madam, your aunt will be alive,’ said the baron. ‘I would grieve to think that your first visit to my poor country should be made under sad circumstances.’

      ‘One must be prepared, you know,’ said Mrs. Fairbrother. ‘Whatever Jacket and I will do in a foreign land with all their queer ways, I’m sure I can’t tell. Fairbrother ought to have come with us, but he couldn’t leave the shop—business, I mean, couldn’t or wouldn’t—his foreman is a sharp man and honest. It is too bad, sending off us unprotected females like this, scrimmaging after a dead aunt, and neither of us knowing how to manage.’

      ‘Where, if I may ask, did madame your aunt live?’ inquired the baron.

      ‘Near Nantes,’ answered the girl for her mother, who was too vague in her ideas of locality to give an intelligible answer. But Mrs. Fairbrother replied as well, eagerly,

      ‘At a place called Chanticleer.’ Then seeing her daughter’s lips move, she said, ‘Now, I know I’m right. I can’t be wrong. I know it has to do with cocks and hens.’

      ‘Yes, mamma, you are quite right—Champclair.’

      ‘Champclair?’ exclaimed the baron, and raised his eye brows. ‘May I presume to ask the name of the deceased lady?’

      ‘Oh yes, Mary Elizabeth Pengelly,’ answered Mrs. Fairbrother. ‘Miss Betsy Pengelly. She had been companion to an old French lady with a blasphemous name, that is, a name which should only be mentioned in the pulpit. It has to do with the broad road that leads to destruction. My aunt got Chanticleer by the old lady’s will when she died.’

      ‘Ah! my faith,’ exclaimed the baron, ‘Madame de Hoelgoet.’

      ‘That’s it—Hellgate.’

      ‘That is very singular,’ remarked the young Frenchman; ‘as it happens, I know the circumstances, and you will perhaps allow me the honour of assisting you in any way that lies in my power. On my desire to serve you, madame, you may calculate. Madame de Hoelgoet was a near relative of my mother and of the aunt who lives with her at château, and,’ he smiled, ‘my mother has always felt a little annoyed because Madame de Hoelgoet left Champclair out of the family to a—what you call her—a companion. But that need make no difference. I do not feel with my mother in this matter. I have even heard that Madame Pain-au-lait—excuse me if I do not give the name quite as you pronounce it—deserved all she got. Madame de Hoelgoet suffered for many years from a most painful internal disorder, and Madame Pain-au-lait was devoted to her, and ministered to her through all, with unexampled devotion. No, for my part, I rejoice that she received her due, and my joy is doubled when I think that Champclair will pass now into such fair and excellent hands,’ he made a bow to Mrs. and then to Miss Fairbrother.

      ‘Well, baron,’ said the old lady with a pleased expression illumining her broad good-natured face, ‘I’m glad you see it in that light, and express it so prettily. It shows you have a right way of looking at things, my lord.’ Since she had heard that Montcontour was a baron, she insisted on ‘my lording’ him, to Asheton’s great amusement. ‘I haven’t seen my Aunt Betsy for an age, but I’ve СКАЧАТЬ