The Launching of Roger Brook (17 page)

Seeing that he was expected to eat with his fingers, Roger set to. The fish had been plain boiled with a clove of garlic and, owing to their freshness, Roger found them excellent. He would have much preferred them fried, but guessed that these poor fisher-folk could not afford the luxury of fat. There was a jug on the table, but no glass, and on drinking from it, Roger found that it contained still cider of an incredible sourness; and it was all he could do, in deference to his host, to prevent his face screwing up into an agonised grimace.

When he had done the Captain bowed him up on deck again and calling to two of his men they went down to eat their share of the mess of fish.

Roger now found that the coast was clearly visible and an hour later the masts of the shipping in the great port of Le Havre could be clearly made out. The fishing fleet duly put into its own harbour, which was some little way from the big naval dock and the basins in which the merchantmen were berthed.

There were no landing formalities to go through here so it remained only for Roger to thank his rescuers. Having Georgina’s jewels safely round his waist again he felt that he could well afford to be at least as generous as he had been with Dan, so he gave the swarthy Captain five out of the fourteen pounds that remained to him. The Frenchman did not appear to have expected so handsome a present and with many barely understandable expressions of gratitude bowed Roger on to the wharf as though he had been a veritable Prince.

Roger had yet to learn that the poor of France were in such a sad condition of slavery to the nobility that, far from daring to lay a finger on him, they would almost certainly have executed any reasonable order that he cared to give without expecting to be rewarded in any way for their services. As it was, he walked off into the town with the happy
feeling that he had satisfactorily maintained the honour of England and the belief that every English gentleman was a
milor
rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

The clocks of the city were chiming half-past three as he landed and it was again a pleasant sunny afternoon. Turning into the
Rue François ler
, which, as it chanced, was the busiest and most fashionable thoroughfare of the town, he entered its turmoil, turning his head swiftly from side to side as each new sight or sound of this strange foreign town caught his attention. Although the street was comparatively broad for the times the upper storeys of the houses that lined it projected so far above the lower that they almost met overhead. In this it differed little from streets that he knew well in Winchester and Southampton, but its occupants seemed to him almost as if they were all got up in fancy dress.

In France, a much richer and more colourful standard of attire was still maintained among the upper classes than had of recent years become the fashion in England. Few gentlemen had as yet abandoned wigs unless their own hair was prolific and in that case they still wore it powdered. Cloth was still regarded as a bourgeois material, except for wear when travelling, and the men from the smart equipages who were shopping in the street were nearly all clad in satin or velvet, while their ladies were dressed in flowered silk shirts with bulging panniers and wore absurd little hats perched on elaborate powdered coiffures, often as much as a foot and a half in height.

Even the common people seemed more colourful than those in English provincial cities, as the grisettes aped the fashions of their betters, the postilions and footmen were all dressed in gaudy liveries, and the sober black of the countrywomen who had come into market was relieved by their picturesque local head-dresses of white lace.

The goods of the shopkeepers in this busy centre were displayed not only in the bow windows but also on trestles outside their shops and the wealth of articles they offered struck Roger as in strange contrast to the dire poverty of the fishermen he had just left.

The street was so crowded with vehicles and its sides so cluttered with stalls that half-a-dozen times Roger had to dodge beneath the heads of horses, or swerve to avoid the wheel of a coach, in order to escape being run over. But at
every opportunity he paused to sniff up the spicy scent that came from an
epicerie
or to stare into a shop window in which, to him, unusual goods were displayed.

Behind the narrow panes of one halfway down the street he saw an array of swords, and stopped to look at them. In England, civilians no longer wore swords habitually, but he had been quick to notice that here in France, every man who, from his raiment, had any pretension to quality carried a sword at his side: in fact it was obviously the hallmark by which the gentry distinguished themselves from their inferiors.

His delight in arms had often led him to regret that the fashion of carrying a sword has gone out at home; and the next day or two, until he could get a passage back to England, offered an excellent opportunity to indulge himself in such a foible. For a moment he hesitated, the carefulness inherited with his Scots blood causing him to wonder if the expense was really justified for a few hours’ amusement, but he found a ready pretext in the thought that nothing could make a more satisfactory and lasting souvenir of both his first day alone in the world and of his visit to France; so he entered the shop, and, in a carefully chosen phrase, asked to look at some of the swords.

The armourer at first produced several court swords suitable to Roger’s height, but as he would have to put his purchase away on his return to England he decided to buy a proper duelling weapon of a man’s length which he could use when fully grown if ever he was called out.

The man hid a smile and laid a number on a long strip of velvet for Roger’s inspection. They varied in price from a
pistol
to six
louis
, according to their condition and the ornamentation of their hilts, so most of them were beyond Roger’s pocket. After testing several he selected one that had been marked down to a
louis
and a half, on account of its plain old-fashioned hilt, but had a blade of fine Toledo steel.

On his taking out his money to pay for it he explained that he had only just landed in France and the armourer readily agreed to send one of his apprentices along the street to have it changed at the nearest bank, so Roger asked for three of his remaining guineas to be changed.

While the lad was gone Roger chose a frog, which cost a
crown
, for attaching the sword to his belt, and buckled it
on. The change arrived as twenty-four
crowns
and at first Roger was a little puzzled by it. He knew that a French
louis
was the equivalent of an English pound, but a crown in England meant five shillings so it looked as if his three guineas had miraculously turned into six
louis
. The armourer smilingly explained to him. A
louis
was worth twenty-four
livres
, or
francs
as they were now beginning to be called; a
pistol
twenty and a French
crown
only three, or half the value of an English one; so he had been given the French equivalent for his money less a shilling in the guinea, which had been deducted for the exchange.

Having paid thirteen
crowns
for his purchases he pocketed the remaining eleven three-
franc
pieces, thanked the armourer and left the shop with a little swagger at the thought of the fine figure he must now cut with the point of his long sword sticking out behind him.

A few doors farther down he noticed a hat shop and suddenly realised that, having lost his own, he probably did not cut such a fine figure after all. The defect was soon remedied by the purchase of a smart high-brimmed tricorne with a ruching of marabout which cost him another three
crowns
. It was somewhat elaborate by contrast with his plain blue cloth coat but definitely in the fashion of the French gentlemen who were passing up and down the crowded street.

It next occurred to him that he would need a few toilet articles for the night and a change of linen, so he turned back towards the quay and visited several other shops he had noticed, including a tanner’s where he bought himself a leather bag, and a mercer’s, at which, amongst other things, he selected a fine lace jabot that he put on there and then in place of his own crumpled linen neck-band.

His purchases completed, he suddenly realised that he was very hungry, so he turned into a
patisserie
. On looking round he was astonished at the wonderful variety of cakes and sweets displayed, most of which he had never seen in England. Seating himself at a little marble-topped, gilt-edged table, he ordered hot chocolate and soon made heavy inroads into a big dish of cakes, sending in due course for more chocolate éclairs, as he found this admirable invention of Louis XIV’s most famous chef particularly delightful.

To his relief he had found on his shopping expedition
that, whereas the Normandy patois of his rescuers had been almost incomprehensible to him, he had little difficulty in understanding the French spoken by the townsfolk. By asking them to speak slowly he could usually get their meaning, anyhow at a second attempt, and by thinking out carefully what he wished to say himself before speaking he had succeeded quite well in making himself understood.

On paying his score he asked the white-coated pastrycook behind the counter if he could recommend a good clean inn which was not too expensive.

‘Monsieur,’ declared the man with a smiling bow, ‘you could have asked no one better than myself. Go to
Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys
, down on the
Quai Colbert
. There your lordship will find soft beds and excellent fare for the modest sum of a
crown
a day; also a cellar renowned and company of the most distinguished. The host, Maître Picard, is an honest man and will serve you well. He is my uncle by marriage, so I can vouch for him. Please to mention me and you will lack for nothing.’

The recommendation sounded so good that Roger did not hesitate to accept it and, having secured directions from the pastrycook, he set off to
Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys
.

When he reached it he was a little disappointed. The inn was a small one in an old and poor part of the town, and its interior had long lacked paint, but it overlooked the
Bassin Vauban
where much interesting shipping activity was in progress and Roger felt that he could not expect to lodge in a palace for three francs a day; so he went in and asked for the host.

Maître Picard proved to be a fat, oily-looking man of lethargic habits, but he was quick enough to smell money in Roger’s smart feathered hat and fine lace jabot. Washing his hands with invisible soap and bowing at every sentence with the servility of his tribe he confirmed the terms that Roger had been given and took him up to an attic room. As he saw his prospective guest’s look of distaste at such poor accommodation he hastened to explain that there were rooms more suitable to a gentleman of his quality on the lower floors, but they ran from six
francs
to a half
pistol
a day.

Having turned down the bed and seen that the cotton sheets were clean, Roger decided that even small economies now would help him to make a better show when he got to
London; so he told the landlord that as he would not be staying for more than a few nights the room would serve.

Maître Picard then inquired about supper. A
pot-au-feu
followed by a dish of vegetables and
petit cœurs à la Reine
—the cream cheese of the locality—were in with the price of the room. But the English
milor
would not find such simple bourgeois fare at all to his taste. No doubt he would wish a turbot and a chicken cooked to supplement them?

Full as he was with cream-filled chocolate éclairs, Roger felt that at the moment there was nothing he would wish less, and he said so; adding that when supper-time came he felt sure that a bowl of soup and some cheese would prove ample for his needs.

Resentful now that he should have been deceived into believing his customer a man of wealth by the feathers and lace he wore, the landlord gave a surly nod and shuffled from the room.

Roger unpacked his few belongings, then, bolting the door, undid his clothes and took the knobbly sausage of gold trinkets from round his waist. It had chafed him considerably so he was much relieved to be free of it, but he wondered now what to do with his treasure. As he knew, its bulk and weight made it awkward to carry done up in a packet in one of the pockets of his coat yet if he distributed it about his person he felt that here, in this crowded city, he would run a considerable risk of losing some of it through having his pockets picked. After a little thought he decided that if he could find a safe place his best course would be to hide it for the night somewhere in the room.

A careful inspection of the floor revealed a loose board under the deal washstand, so he prized it up and thrust his hoard as far under it as he could reach. He had hardly got the board back into place when there came a knock on the door.

Swiftly adjusting his clothes he opened it to find outside a spotty, depressed-looking chambermaid who had come up to ask if he required anything.

Taking off his crumpled blue coat he asked her if she could press it for him and let him have it back as soon as possible.

When she had gone he re-examined his business-like-looking sword with the keenest pleasure and made a few passes with it; but he soon wearied of this and began to
wonder how best to amuse himself. The window of the attic did not look out on the
Bassin Vauban
but on to the narrow, dirty stableyard of the inn. The dinner hour was long since past and that of supper, even if he had wanted it, not yet come. So he decided to take a turn along the quays and look at the shipping, while it was still light. As soon as the chambermaid brought back his coat he put it on and, going downstairs, went out on to the wharf.

After an hour’s walk he returned to
Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys
and went into its parlour. The ‘company of the most distinguished’ promised by the pastrycook turned out to consist of two men engaged in a game of backgammon, who looked like ill-paid sea captains, an old man in a blue cloth suit, with a shock of white hair, a fine forehead and watery blue eyes, and a lanky fellow of about thirty dressed in a red velvet coat that looked somewhat the worse for wear. The old man was staring vacantly in front of him while he toyed with a tot of spirits and Roger decided that he was either dotty or three-parts drunk; the man in the red velvet was reading a badly-printed news-sheet through a quizzing glass, but he lowered it as Roger came in, gave him a sharp glance, and, bowing slightly, said: