BOOK IāEngland
FRANCIS ELLERY leaned against the side of a bus which apparently had abandoned the idea of going any further in the fog. He was tired and his stiff knee was hurting him abominably. It was with a deep sense of relief that he heard the sharp voice of Sergeant Cripps far ahead give the order for them to break up and get home as best they could.
Borcher the hatter, who had marched with him at the end of the squad, adjusted his scratch wig with blue fingers and then buttoned his tunic tightly over the yellow waistcoat which proclaimed his Liberal tendencies. āWhat are ye down for tonight, Ellery?ā he asked.
āCommittee for London defense. And you, Borcher?ā
The hatter snorted as he hobbled off aggrievedly into the dense mist. āWaterworks patrol. But Iāll never get there in this fog. A lot of blasted nonsense anyway. This damned Corsican certainly plays hob with our lives.ā
āMāsieur,ā said a pleasant feminine voice from above, āis it possible you can tell us where we are?ā
Ellery looked up and was able to make out that all the upper seats on the bus were occupied by people in evening clothes. āFrench,ā he thought. Many times he had seen Ć©migrĆ©s starting off like this for dinner and unconcernedly taking the cheapest way of getting there.
A male voice said in French, āAllow me to attend to this, Gabrielle, if you please,ā adding in slow and halting English, āYou in blue coat, where is Can-non Square?ā
Looking up at the row of expectant heads, Frank answered: āCannon Square is a good quarter mile from here. Iām afraid youāll have to chance the rest of the way on foot. The bus will never get you there now.ā
The masculine voice lapsed into French again. āThis filthy London! These stupid English! Tonight there will be a soft haze over Paris and people will be riding in open carriages to dinner or the opera. I canāt stand to live among these savages any longer. I think I shall cut my throat tonight and be done with it.ā He leaned over the rail and called down brusquely in English, āA shilling, my man, to show the way.ā
Frank laughed. āAs it happens, Iām going in your direction and Iāll be glad to guide you without any fee, handsome though your offer is.ā He paused and then added in French: āI forgive you, māsieur, for not finding London to your liking on a night like this. But may I point out that many thousands of exiles from your gentle France have found it a safe and friendly sanctuary?ā
He heard the pleasant feminine voice expostulating in a low tone. āJules, will you never learn? Must you always say such things? One can tell from his voice that heās a gentleman.ā
āI mean it,ā said the man impatiently. āI shall cut my throat tonight.ā
Through the open door of a tavern a hoarse voice said, āYe wonāt see a āand afore yer āumping face in āart a āour.ā This was no exaggeration. Already the tog was settling down like a damp blanket, with blinding, choking insistence, blotting out the buildings, filling every crevice, turning the lights from shopwindows into faint yellow smudges against the pervading gray. Voices heard at a distance of more than a dozen feet seemed to issue from the air with a suggestion of ventriloquism. It was a lucky thing, Frank said to himself, that he knew every foot of this part of London.
The French party was climbing down the steps of the bus with much talk and laughter. He wondered that they could be so gay. It was the talk of London that most of them had been forced to accept any form of menial work which offered and that they subsisted on almost nothing. This was largely hearsay, however, for the refugee colony kept exclusively to themselves and had little to do with their English neighbors.
The owner of the pleasant voice proved to be a young girl with a worn cashmere shawl around her shoulders. The rest were shadowy figures to him, even when they had reached the ground and stood about in an expectant group, but somehow he could see her as clearly as though she were on a floor of a ballroom with candles by the hundred. She was wearing a Mary Queen of Scots cap, and under its tartan band her reddish-brown hair curled closely. Her face was a slender oval in which her dark and lively eyes seemed unusually large. He could see that her feet (skirts were being worn much shorter than ever before this season) were very trim in a fragile pair of velvet slippers and that the hand clasping the shawl around her neck was small and white. She was so lovely, in fact, that he had a tendency to stammer when he addressed her.
āIf you can spare the time, mademoiselle, I will try to find sedan chairs for you and your friends.ā
The man who had offered him the shilling, and who had followed immediately after her down the steps, did not favor this idea. Frank saw that he was tall and quite handsomely attired in lavender coat with a flowing cravat and a well-powdered wig.
āWeāre late as it is, Gaby,ā said the dandy. āThe Comtesse will think weāre not coming and will be having a perfect tantrum.ā
The girl nodded and then said to the Englishman: āI think we shall have to walk, māsieur. Will you be so very kind as to show us the way, then?ā
Frank bowed. āI know this section quite well, but it will be necessary to proceed with the greatest caution. Iām going to walk close to me buildings so I can feel my way along. You had better fellow in single file, and I suggest you join hands. Itās very easy to become separated in a fog like this.ā
The dandy muttered to himself in French, āWhat an abominable situation!ā But the girl said in gay tones: āIāll follow after you, māsieur, and I shall hold on to your coattails. I hope you wonāt think it too undignified, but we canāt afford to lose you. Jules, take this end of my shawl. It will be like a game.ā
Frank thought, āIām going to play follow-my-leader with the court of Versailles.ā The disgruntled Jules was saying, āBut, Gaby, I would rather you held my coattails and I took his.ā The rest of the party fell into line with more talk and laughter than before. Some of them were elaborately dressed, and all of the women had jewels sparkling on their necks.
āThieves are sure to be out on a night like this,ā said Frank. āYou must all hold tight to your purses and other valuables.ā
Behind him the girl whispered with a suggestion of a laugh: āDonāt worry about that. Iām quite sure we havenāt a sovereign between us. As for the jewels, theyāre all copies. The good uncle got the originals long ago.ā
He led the way slowly, with a quite perceptible limp, until the corner was reached, conscious every step of the way of the light tug of her hand. Here he turned cautiously to the right. āThe way now is narrow and rough,ā he called. āStep with the greatest care.ā He dropped his voice. āItās very muddy, mademoiselle. Your shoes will suffer, Iām afraid.ā
She seemed to be enjoying the adventure. āThen itās all for the best. My shoes are quite old, and if they get very muddy my father will have to allow me another pair.ā
āHave you been in this country long?ā
āNearly fifteen years. I was so young when we left France that I have no recollection of it at all.ā
āThen England must seem like home to you.ā
āNo, māsieur.ā Her tone was quite decided. āWe live to ourselves, you know. Weāve been taught we must remain French in everything, and most particularly in our thoughts. Itās hoped we shall be returning home soon. My father has rented our present place for many years but he refuses to take a lease. He says it would show a lack of faith if he did. Most of the others do the same. Lately, though, it has seemed to some of us thatāthat it will still be such a very long time.ā
The impatient voice behind them said, āYouāre doing a great deal of talking, Gaby.ā
āItās no concern of yours, Jules. And, if you please, donāt tug so hard on my shawl. Youāll choke me.ā
Frank said to himself, āShe likes to talk to me.ā The thought set his heart beating fast. Nothing seemed more important than for this lovely member of the exiled colony to have a good opinion of him. Aloud he said: āIām afraid youāre right, mademoiselle. It will be a long time before you can hope to return to France. Napoleon is more firmly settled than ever. And now that Russia is joining with him against usāāā
āBut, māsieur, itās not certain that the Tsar will desert us!ā
āIām very much afraid it is. Iām in a position to know because I publish a newspaper, the Tablet.ā He said this with the deliberate intention of identifying himself in her mind and, perhaps, of impressing her a little. āWeāve been given official information on the secret clauses in the treaty that the Tsar signed with Napoleon at Tilsit. They call for a declaration of war against Great Britain, and we expect it any day now.ā
He thought he detected a suggestion of admiration for the Corsican ruler of France when she said: āHe has won so many victories! The armies of France are so strong that sometimes we think he can never be beaten.ā
āSometimes I think you talk too much,ā grumbled Jules.
āWas your father in the French Army?ā asked Frank.
āNo, māsieur. The aristocracy of France is divided into three classes. We are of the court, not the army. All of us here are of the court.ā
The unfriendly Jules said, āGabrielle!ā and then lapsed into a torrent of rapid French which Frank could not follow. He caught the name De Salle, however, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that his beautiful companion was none other than Gabrielle de Salle, the acknowledged belle of the colony. She would be a great heiress when Napoleon fell and the estates of the Royalists were restored. He had heard it said that the Duc de Berri, third in line for the throne, always paid her marked attention when he was in London. Frank could still feel the light pressure of her hand, but suddenly she seemed to be thousands of leagues removed from him. A daydream which had been growing rosily in his mind as they moved so carefully through the thick gray mist began to dissolve.
The cellar was being dug for a new building at the next corner, and a torch blazed briskly atop the bastion of planks around it. Pausing to consider the best course to follow, Frank saw that the girl was taking advantage of the illumination to look him over carefully. He became acutely aware of his limp and of the ill-fit of his blue tunic of the St. George Marching Association. āSheāll think Iām a regular scarecrow,ā he said to himself.
What she saw was a thin young man with friendly and alert dark eyes in an angular face. He was not at all handsome, she decided, although there was something pleasant about his face; perhaps it was a suggestion of intelligence in the width of his brow or the straight bridge of his long nose. What she noticed most about him was an air of eagerness as though he expected much of life and was in a hurry to meet it. This made her feel sorry for him, but she could not have explained why. It may have been a conviction that his spirit would be checked by the lagging gait of his crippled knee.
āMāsieur, why do you carry a broomstick?ā she asked as they began to edge around the plank barricade.
āI belong to a London company of Fencibles,ā he explained in a rather Self-conscious tone. āTheyāre being organized all over England again to meet the threat of invasion. This is the third time Iāve joined. First was in ā98 when we were so sure Boney was coming over. Then we got feverishly to work in ā04, when he had his army back of Boulogne and was collecting a fleet of barges. This time itās certain that heāll try it. There arenāt rifles to go around, so we drill with broomsticksā.
There was a hint of a laugh in her voice. āCan you be turned into good soldiers that way?ā
āSergeant Cripps doesnāt think so. He gave us such a dressing down this afternoon that I havenāt recovered my self-respect since.ā
This, he realized, was a mild report of what had happened. Looking them over with a blistering eye, the five-foot-two martinet had said: āYeāre a poor lot, gemāmen, and thatās the sullem truth. Ye come out as a matter oā jooty but atter ye does yer bit oā drill ye goes home and eats yerselves dizzy on mutton and steamed pudding. There isnāt one oāye as has lost a inch abart the tripe line, ācepting Mr. Ellery, who hasnāt none to spare. Let me tell ye this. Itās only bloody hard fighting whatās going to count, and yeād better get that through yer heads. Weāll be lucky if weāre alive three months from now, and our wives and childers as well. This is going to be war, and weāre all in itāright up to our bleedinā necks! Nah then, do ye want me to make a fair imitashun oā fighting men outa y...