Chapter XV The Water of Affliction
The New Cornet—A Visit to Lindendaal—Fanshawe is Presented—The Family Skeleton—Madame Protests—Mademoiselle Insists—Mynheer is Mysterious—A Silent House—The Law Allows It—Not in the Bond—In the Canal—Sherebiah Owns Up
By his famous ride from Thielen to Breda Harry became doubly a popular hero. Neither citizens nor soldiers, Dutch or English, felt any particular concern with Sherebiah; but Harry’s feat, coming before the memory of his former exploit at Lindendaal had died out, raised him to a pitch of estimation that might well have made him vain, but which in truth he found only embarrassing. Fanshawe, on the other hand, whose ready device with the clock had, as Harry was the first to acknowledge, really been the means of saving Sherebiah, was regarded with cold unfriendliness and even dislike by the townsfolk. To tamper with the town clock they regarded as a monstrous and unpardonable offence, and there was some talk of laying a formal complaint before the Duke of Marlborough. The proposal was warmly debated in the borough council, and the burgomaster had to exercise all his tact to prevent the hotter heads from carrying the day.
As for Sherebiah, he was a different man. By his formal discharge from the army the cloud that had pressed upon him for nearly nine years was dissolved; and now that he had become by official licence, as it were, a man of peace in good earnest, he developed, not merely an unexpected lightness of spirits, but a surprising partiality for the company of soldiers. Every leisure moment he now spent in camp or barrack, retailing endless anecdotes of his former experiences as a man of war, and basing on these a right to criticise and instruct which younger men admitted with humility, to the immense disgust and chagrin of Robins.
A few days after the incident, Harry’s regiment marched into quarters at Breda, and General van Santen himself paid a flying visit to the town in order to introduce the new cornet to his messmates. Harry was welcomed with open arms, less through the general’s sponsorship than through the fame of his own exploits and the proof he had given of courage and daring. One little fact also, which leaked out in course of time, did much to consolidate Harry’s reputation as a thoroughly good fellow. He made it his business to find out the relatives of the man who had been killed during the night ride from Lillo. The poor fellow had left a wife and six children, the eldest a boy of sixteen—a slow, earnest, dogged youth who was overcome with shyness when Harry, at the interview with his tearful mother, asked to see him. Harry liked the look of the boy, and offered to apprentice him to an armourer. The mother gladly accepted; and Mynheer Grootz further undertook, at Harry’s persuasion, to provide employment for the widow and those of her children who were of age to work. This solicitude of Harry for the family of a man who after all had only been killed by the fortune of war, and had no claim upon him, made an impression on the officers of his regiment; and though it was never mentioned in his presence at mess, it doubtless accounted in large measure for his popularity with officers and men.
For some weeks Harry was fully occupied in learning his new duties, practising with sword and rapier, and improving his knowledge of Dutch: Sherebiah’s command of the language was of course no longer a mystery. Schomberg’s Horse, to which Fanshawe belonged, being likewise quartered outside Breda, Harry often had opportunities of conversation with his friend. Naturally Fanshawe was amazed to hear of the strange enmity of Mr. Berkeley, and shrewdly guessed that the soldier of fortune who had informed on Sherebiah was Captain Aglionby.
“And mark my words,” he said, “’twas another move against you. Sherry seems to have been a sort of watchdog to you; him out of the way, so much the less difficulty in aiming at you. Though what cause the squire has to wish you ill it passes my wit to divine.”
“And mine too. ’Tis a desperate revenge on me for being my father’s son.”
“Have a care, Harry. Having gone so far they will not easily be baulked, and in these cut-and-thrust times a blow in the dark, eh?—exit Harry Rochester.”
“I’ll be on my guard, never fear; and I still have Sherry.”
Harry had not forgotten his friends at Lindendaal. He rode over one free afternoon some three weeks after joining his regiment, and found that the ladies had heard of his promotion, and of his ride, from Mynheer Grootz. Madame de Vaudrey was ecstatic in her congratulations, and only deplored that his new coat was not more brilliant.
“It suits you well, mon ami,” she said, “but for myself I should like better the red than the blue.”
“Indeed, Madame,” replied Harry with a laugh, “I hadn’t given it a thought. There’s one advantage in a dull garb: it presents a less conspicuous mark to the enemy.”
“A point, Monsieur, to which also you had not given a thought till this moment,” said Adèle.
Harry laughed; then, changing the subject, he added: “Have you heard or seen anything more of Monsieur de Polignac and his friend?”
“Nothing, Monsieur Harry,” said the comtesse. “And indeed we do not wish to. I only fear lest his silence augurs no good for us. As for his friend, that odious captain——prrrut!”
Madame’s indignation was too great for articulate expression. The idea of Aglionby daring to pay his addresses to her was too monstrous. As was her wont in this mood, she prattled away about her late husband, Harry listening sympathetically and wondering at the half-smile on Adèle’s face. When taking his leave, he said:
“An old friend of mine, an English officer, is in camp at Breda. May I bring him, Madame, to call on you one day?”
“I shall be charmed, mon cher ami.”
“Fanshawe speaks little French, I fear, but——”
“Ah bah!” interrupted the lady, “that matters nothing at all. Adèle shall teach him.”
“I shall be charmed, as Mamma says,” said Adèle.
Harry smiled; nevertheless the suggestion set him thinking as he rode back, and he felt a shade of annoyance when Fanshawe, to whom he mentioned the circumstance, laughed heartily and quoted:
“‘Amo, amas, I love a lass’. Is she pretty, Harry? By George! I like the notion.”
The two rode out together in the following week; Fanshawe made a good impression on Madame de Vaudrey, and his stammering French and good-humoured laughter at his own mistakes appeared to form a bond of union between him and Adèle, for she was soon chatting and smiling with a friendliness and freedom quite different from her reserved attitude towards Harry. Fanshawe talked and laughed gaily all the way back; Harry on the contrary was decidedly glum; and when Sherebiah came to him at night as usual for orders his master’s unaccustomed moodiness did not escape him.
“What med be the meanen o’ this?” he muttered as he went away.
“‘Yanker didee dudel down
Dida dudel launter——’
I must ride out-along to Lindendaal one o’ these fine days, and putt a question to Katrinka—ay sure.”
One afternoon in the second week of September Harry, having finished his duties for the day, paid a visit by himself to Madame de Vaudrey. He found the good lady in tears, and Adèle with very pale cheeks and a suspicious redness about her eyes.
“Oh, Monsieur Harry!” cried the comtesse as he was shown in, “how glad I am to see you! This is a moment when I need a friend. Look at this letter from that odious Monsieur de Polignac. My poor dear husband! I am glad—it is horrible to say it—but yes, I am glad he did not live to see this terrible day. Read it, cher ami.”
Harry looked at the letter. It was a curt and formal note from Polignac intimating that, failing compliance with his suit, he was resolved to foreclose his mortgage on the estate one month from the date of the letter, as the terms of the deed provided. He still offered Mademoiselle his hand and heart; did she accept him as a husband he would immediately destroy the mortgage; he gave her a week to decide.
“The villain!” ejaculated Harry.
“He is within his right, Monsieur,” said Adèle.
“Right! Legal right, yes; no doubt it is so; but who but a villain would put the matter in this way!”
“What I do not understand,” said Madame de Vaudrey, “is his motive. If Adèle were a great heiress, I can understand that he should press his suit; but she is not; this poor little estate would not tempt an ambitious man; and as for herself, she has shown her aversion so plainly——”
“I hate him!” cried the girl, with a vehemence that surprised Harry, so unlike was it to her usual cold self-contained air.
“It is wrong to hate,” said her mother; “but the dear girl has no liking for him, and how should a man desire for a wife one to whom he is so indifferent?”
“Tell me,” said Harry, “is the mortgage for a large sum?”
“Alas! yes, for several thousand guilders; that is for the estate alone: the house is separately mortgaged, and the mortgagee in that case is content to receive his interest.”
“Have you no relatives who would advance the money?”
“Not one. We are poor exiles, and have not, I believe, one relative in the wide world.”
Harry was greatly distressed. It was clear that Adèle would never consent to marry Polignac, even if her mother wished it; and there was no escape from the dilemma save by raising the money.
“Are you quite sure you are so fully in the man’s power?” he asked.
“I know it too well. There is no flaw in the documents; my dear husband’s lawyer is a good man; we have no way of escape.”
“Of course you have consulted him?”
“Yes; he can do nothing. It is law, he tells me; we have no other property the sale of which might pay off the mortgage; I have nothing but my jewels, the gifts of my dear comte, and they would not bring one-tenth of the sum we need. The income from the estate would enable us to pay off the mortgage in ten years if we were given time.”
A ray of light struck suddenly upon Harry.
“Does Mynheer Grootz know?” he asked.
“Oh no! Mynheer Grootz is indeed a friend, but he could do nothing—nothing.”
“I am not sure of that. I think he should be told. It is a matter of business; he is a shrewd man of business; he may be able to see a way out of the difficulty that we are ignorant of; with your leave I will put the case to him.”
“No, Monsieur Harry, I forbid it. I prefer that Mynheer Grootz should not know. He has enough to do, I am sure, without being troubled with a poor woman’s affairs. I do not say he has not a good heart; he has; he knows how fond I am of rare tulips, and has so kindly given me bulbs; but no, I could not seek other favours from him, I could not indeed. Besides, the lawyer has said, nothing can be done; Mynheer Grootz can do nothing against the law.”
“True, Madame; and yet—it is a chance; it can surely do no harm——”
“You do not understand, Monsieur; it may do the very greatest harm.”
Harry was mystified, especially as he fancied he detected the glimmer of a smile on Adèle’s face.
“I do not understand——” he began.
“Mother cannot explain,” said Adèle quietly. “I do not agree with her; I think she is quite mistaken; certainly Mynheer Grootz should be told.”
“Adèle, you are a child; one cannot expect you to understand.”
“Maman chérie, do you think so? You are a goose, petite Maman. Monsieur, believe me, it will be the very best thing in the world to consult Mynheer Grootz.”
“Adèle!”
“It will, Mamma. It is a poor chance, I fear, but ought we to neglect even the least? and you do not wish me to marry Monsieur de Polignac?”
“Mon Dieu, non! A thousand times no! The odious man!”
“Then, Madame,” said Harry, “I will venture to see Mynheer Grootz as soon as I can,—or perhaps write to him.”
“Eh bien! it is against my will. I protest; I can do no more. You will tell him I protested?”
“Certainly, I shall not forget. I will let you know what he says; perhaps he will come himself. Madame, have a good heart; why, if all else fails, there is my man Sherry; you remember how he embraced the gentlemen?”
Adèle laughed, but the comtesse was too much distressed to see any humour in the situation. Harry was surprised at the flutter into which his simple suggestion had thrown her, and rode away feeling puzzled at the strange ways of women.
He was spared the necessity of writing to Mynheer Grootz, for on reaching his quarters he learnt that the merchant had called during the evening, and had left word that he might be seen next afternoon after his business with the commissary was concluded. He heard Harry’s story quietly.
“Leave it to me, Harry,” he said, his little eyes twinkling. “I will promise dis Monsieur de Polignac a little surprise. He is a noble; zo I guess by de name. Dey are all de same, dese nobles; and I promise Monsieur de Polignac zall be made to know dat dis is Holland, not France, and moreover dat one honest Dutchman is match for a score of rascal French. Dis man dink he have only a woman to deal wid; well, he zall be undeceive.”
“Will you see Madame de Vaudrey, then, or write to her?”
“No, neider will I zee her, nor write to her. But you—you will tell her by no means to answer dis Monsieur de Polignac. He will foreclose in a month, you zay? Very well. He zall meet wid a surprise. Now tell me one ding. Madame la Comtesse—did she ask you to come to me?”
“Quite the contrary, Mynheer; she did not wish it, I did not understand why; the reasons she gave were somewhat lame.”
Then for the first time in Harry’s knowledge of the Dutch merchant he saw him excited.
“By den donder!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. Noting Harry’s glance of astonishment he chuckled again, adding: “I tell you dis; you alzo zall zee someding.” He wagged his forefinger knowingly.
“You have told me nothing,” said Harry with a smile.
“No, dat is true. In good time. You do not yet know me, Jan Grootz.”
Harry gave Madame de Vaudrey the Dutchman’s message, and after that found only one opportunity of visiting her for nearly a month. On that occasion she showed him a final letter from Polignac, announcing that on a specified day he would attend at the house to receive payment of his mortgage, or, in default, possession of the property. The comtesse had heard nothing from Grootz, and was in great distress, refusing to be comforted when Harry assured her that all would be well. On his return to Breda he wrote to Grootz informing him of Polignac’s letter, and next day received a reply asking him to arrange if possible to keep the day named free.
Early on the morning of that September day, Grootz with Harry, Sherebiah, and two men with large bags slung at their saddles, rode out from Breda to Lindendaal. When the door was opened by old Jean, and they had entered, Grootz bade him close it and slip one of the bolts half-way into its socket. After a short conversation with the servant he went into the reception-room, had the bags laid on the table, threw himself into the biggest chair, and calmly lit his pipe.
“Madame abhors tobacco, Mynheer,” Harry ventured to say.
“Huh! Zo I now remember. It is a pity; I must put out my pipe, even though she be not here.”
“She is gone from home, then? I fancied so by the manner of your entering.”
“Ja! At dis moment she and de juffrouw are, as I suppose, fast asleep in Breda. Dey come dere last night.”
“Oh! And we receive Monsieur de Polignac?”
“Dat is zo; we receive Monsieur de Polignac.”
Deprived of the solace of his pipe, Grootz settled himself to sleep in his chair. An hour or more later he was wakened by Harry.
“Here they are, Mynheer!”
“Zo!”
He was up in a moment, and from the window saw Polignac, accompanied by Aglionby and two sturdy henchmen, walking up the drive towards the house.
“Zooks!” exclaimed Sherebiah, “here be Rafe Aglionby again. ’Twill be no cuddle this time if I lay hands on him. No thanks to he I be not a dead corpse to-day.”
“Sherebiah, it is my turn,” said Grootz solemnly.
“Zackly, Mynheer, all fair and no favour.”
The four men came to the door, and the bell gave forth a resounding clang. All was silent within the house, and Jean at Grootz’s orders paid no heed to the appeal. Again the bell sounded; again there was no response. Then Aglionby with an oath began to hammer on the door with his riding-whip. Even this noisy summons being disregarded, after a moment’s consultation Polignac ordered one of his men to burst in the door. It yielded easily to his force, and the four trooped in—to find themselves confronted by Grootz, with Harry and Sherebiah behind him. At the same moment six of the men about the estate came quietly from behind the house and arranged themselves in two parties on both sides of the entrance, outside, and out of view from within. Jean had fulfilled his instructions.
Polignac halted in some embarrassment when he saw Grootz, and Aglionby looked far from comfortable at this unexpected meeting with the two men he had injured.
“Messieurs, I ask you,” began Grootz in slow, halting French, “what is the meaning of this forcible entry?”
“Pardon, Monsieur,” replied Polignac, recovering his sang-froid instantly. “I have not the pleasure. I came to see Madame la Comtesse de Vaudrey.”
“Zo? And permit me to ask, what is your business with Madame la Comtesse de Vaudrey?”
“Before I reply, permit me to ask by what right you question me, and what you are doing here?”
“Decidedly, Monsieur. My name is Jan Grootz; I am here by the power of attorney I hold from Madame de Vaudrey. I beg you see it is in due form.”
He exhibited a roll of parchment which Polignac glanced at; he was patently annoyed; his mouth twitched towards his left ear. Aglionby meanwhile had edged towards him, evidently with the intention of whispering something; but Sherebiah noted the movement and exclaimed:
“Keep a still tongue, Rafe Aglionby, ’ee were best, I tell ’ee.”
“You are aware, then, Monsieur,” said Polignac, “that I come according to due notice as required by law to demand payment of a bond, or possession of this estate, as provided in the deed?”
“Yes; I know it; what is the amount payable under the bond?”
“Fourteen thousand guilders, Monsieur.”
Grootz pointed through the open doorway of the reception-room to the bags upon the table.
“There is the money, Monsieur. You will please to count it, and give me a quittance, and hand the bond to me to be destroyed.”
With disappointment and rage written upon his face, Polignac proceeded to count the money with Aglionby’s assistance. It was a longish process, and neither of the men felt quite at ease under the gaze of the onlookers. At last it was finished; Polignac wrote a receipt, and gave the cancelled bond to Grootz. Not a word was spoken while these formalities were complied with. Harry noticed that Sherebiah had placed himself between Aglionby and the door.
“Zo!” said Grootz. “Wait one minute, Monsieur.” He unrolled the deed, ran his eye over it, then looked up and said with deliberate gravity: “Permit me to draw your attention to the fact that the property named in this document is the land belonging to the estate. It does not include the house and its appurtenances. Wherefore it appears, Monsieur, that you, with a band of ruffian hirelings, have violently broken into the private house of a lady who enjoys the protection of the Dutch flag. That is, permit me to observe, Monsieur, a breach of the law, and subjects you to a penalty—heavy, no doubt; I do not know the law. But for the present, since the law moves somewhat slowly, it would not surprise me if the servants of Madame la Comtesse, who are devoted to their mistress, should prefer to anticipate the sentence. They may be disposed to do what every honest and indignant Hollander would certainly do in the circumstances.”
At a signal the half-dozen Dutch servants moved to the door and blocked the entrance.
“Men,” said Grootz to them, “these gentlemen, who are not Hollanders, have broken into your mistress’s house. I do not give you any advice; but for myself I do not think it would be a breach of the law if you should throw these gentlemen into the canal yonder.—Do not be alarmed, gentlemen; it is cold, I fear, and dirty, but as honest Hollanders Madame de Vaudrey’s servants will not allow you to drown, for all their indignation.”
Half-way through this speech Polignac and Aglionby had both made to draw their swords; but the six Hollanders seized upon them; in a trice they were overpowered. Their two men looked on, trembling. Polignac, white to the lips, held his peace; but Aglionby, after wriggling vainly in the hands of his captors, turned his head towards Sherebiah and cried:
“Zounds, Sherry, you will not stand by and see your own cousin so misused. ’Tis a vile plot. I have done nothing; what are the ladies to me? what is Polignac to me? Sherry, unhand these boors; I shall catch my death of cold; Sherry, I say, blood is thicker than water——”
“Ay sure, but it bean’t so cold.”
“Od rat you!” shouted the enraged captain as he was hauled with Polignac out of the house. He kept up his clamorous entreaties and oaths until the very moment when, with a sounding splash, he was heaved into the canal, and with spluttering breathlessness struck out with Polignac for the other side. A moment’s observation sufficed to show the Hollanders that their victims could swim; they watched the scene with Dutch stolidity, Grootz placidly smoking his long-deferred pipe.
“Ay, ’tis the water of affliction, as the Book says,” remarked Sherebiah sententiously as he watched the swimmers gain the farther bank, clamber up, and slink away, Aglionby obviously pouring out the vials of his wrath upon the miserable Frenchman. “’Tis the fust time for many a day cold water have gone down Rafe’s throat, and mebbe he’s changed his mind by now about blood bein’ thicker ’n this water.”
“I admire your strategy, Mynheer,” said Harry to Grootz.
“Zo! We must send dis money to Polignac; his house is near at hand. Dere is one ding to zay: de house is mine, after all. I paid off de mortgage last week—let us zay, for a friend. Dat is all dat Madame need know: Grootz has paid de bonds—both bonds, house and land—for a friend: a matter of business; you understand.”
“Very well, Mynheer; I will be diplomatic if she asks for more information.”
But Harry was as much puzzled by Grootz’s attitude as he had been by the lady’s.
“So Captain Aglionby is your cousin?” he said to Sherebiah later in the day.
“Ay, to be sure: old feyther’s sister’s son. A fine loven feller for a coz, bean’t he, sir?”
“He has got off too lightly, Sherry.”
“Mebbe, but he’ll come to his reckonen some day. You mind seein’ me trounce un the day arter I shouted for the noble lord?”
“Yes, and you would not tell me the reason.”
“Nay, I was ’shamed for my blood. Folks thowt ’twas Rafe as loosed John Simmons. ’Twarn’t him; ’twas me.”
“You!”
“Ay. I knowed as the highway business were a trick o’ Rafe’s, and I knowed as how Simmons would split on un. Fat’ll be in fire then, thinks I. Rafe’ll go to hangman, and poor old feyther o’ mine’ll die o’ shame at such a kicken end for his own sister’s child. I couldn’t stand that, sir, so when Willum Nokes was a-snoren I took down keys from the nail and had Simmons out in a twink.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you fought the captain.”
“Ay, but it do. Here was I, goen agen the law, diddlen Sir Godfrey and other high justices, cheaten hangman and all—and what for, I axe ’ee? ‘Cos Minshull blood was cussed wi’ mixen wi’ Aglionby’s. Aglionby blood had got to pay, someways, and so it did, to be sure, for I took a half-pint or so out of Rafe that mornen.”