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The Master Mummer, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 3 - Chapter 5 |
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_ BOOK III CHAPTER V Our plans were skilfully enough laid, but the Archduchess also had missed nothing. We rushed through the village of Argueil without having seen any sign of the carriage, and it was not until we had reached the vineyard-bordered road beyond that we saw it at last climbing the last hill to the convent. "Shall we catch it?" I gasped. The _chauffeur_ only smiled. "Monsieur may rest assured," he answered, changing into his fourth speed, notwithstanding the slight ascent. Half-way up the hill we were barely one hundred yards behind. The man glanced at me for instructions. "Blow your horn," I said. He obeyed. The carriage drew to the side of the road. We rushed by, and I caught a glimpse of three faces. My spirits rose. There was only the Baron to deal with. Madame Richard and Isobel were the other occupants of the carriage. "Stop, and draw the car across the road!" I ordered. The man obeyed. I sprang to the ground. The Baron had his head out of the window, and the driver was flogging his horses. "If you do not stop," I called out, "I shall shoot your horses." The driver took no notice. He had flogged his horses into a gallop, and was coming straight at me. I fired, and one of the horses, after a wild plunge came down, dragging the other with him, and breaking the pole. The driver was thrown on to the top of them and rolled off into the hedge, cursing volubly. The Baron leaned out of the window, and he had something in his hand which gleamed like silver in the sunlight. "I have had enough of you, my young friend," he said fiercely, and instantly fired. An unseen hand struck his arm as he pulled the trigger. I felt my hat quiver upon my head as I sprung forward. The Baron had no time to fire again. I caught him by the throat and dragged him into the road. "I have had more than enough of you, you blackguard," I muttered, and I shook him till he groaned, and threw him across the road. Isobel stretched out her arms to me--Isobel herself, but how pale and changed! "Arnold, Arnold, take me away!" she moaned. I would have lifted her out, but Madame Richard had seized her. "The child is vowed," she said. "You shall not touch her. She belongs to God." "Then give her to me," I cried, "for I swear she is nearer to Heaven in my arms than yours." The woman's black eyes flashed terrible things at me, and she wound herself round Isobel with a marvellous strength. For a moment I was helpless. "Madame," I said, "I have never yet raised my hand against a woman, but if you do not release that girl this moment I shall have to forget your sex." "Never!" she shrieked. "Help! Baron! Cocher!" Some blue-bloused men looked up from their work in the vineyards a long way off. It was no time for hesitation. I set my teeth, and I caught hold of the woman's arms. Her bones cracked in my hands before she let go. Isobel at last was free! "Jump up and get in the automobile, Isobel!" I said. "Bear up, dear! It is only for a moment now." Half fainting she staggered out and groped her way across the road. Once she nearly fell, but my _chauffeur_ leaped down and caught her. Then Madame Richard looked in my eyes and cursed me with slow, solemn words. I sprang away from her. She followed. I jumped into the automobile. She stood in front of it and dared us to start. The driver backed a little, suddenly shot forward, and with a wonderful curve avoided her. She ran to meet the peasants who were streaming now across the fields. We could hear for a few minutes her shrill cries to them. Then the vineyards became patchwork, and the still air a rushing wind. Our _chauffeur_ sat grim and motionless, like a figure of fate, and we did our forty miles an hour. "You have orders?" I asked him once. "But yes, Monsieur," he answered. "We go to Paris--and avoid the telegraph offices." All the while Isobel was only partially conscious. Gradually, however, her colour became more natural, and at last she opened her eyes and smiled at me. Her fingers faintly pressed mine. She said nothing then, but in about half an hour she made an effort to sit up. "Dear Arnold," she murmured, "you are indeed my guardian. Oh----" She broke off, and shuddered violently. "Please don't try to talk yet," I said. "I shouldn't have been much of a guardian, should I, if I hadn't fetched you out of this scrape? Besides, it was Monsieur Feurgeres who planned everything." "Arnold," she murmured, "I--haven't eaten anything for some time. They put things in my food to make me drowsy, so I dared not." Under my breath I made large demands upon my stock of profanity. Then I leaned over and spoke to the _chauffeur_. We were passing through a small town, and he at once slackened pace and pulled up at a small restaurant. With the first mouthful of soup Isobel's youth and strength seemed to reassert themselves. After a cutlet and a glass of wine she had colour, and began to talk. She even grumbled when I denied her coffee, and hurried her off again. In the automobile she came close to my side, and with a shyness quite new to her linked her arm in mine. So we sped once more on our way to Paris. Conversation, had Isobel been fit for it, was scarcely possible. But in a disjointed sort of way she tried to tell me things. "I was inside the house," she said, "and the door of the room was locked before I knew that Monsieur Feurgeres was not there--that the letter was not a true one. My aunt came and talked to me. She tried to be kind at first. Afterwards she was very angry. She said that my grandfather was an old man, that he wished to see me before he died. I must go with her at once. I said that I would go if I might see you first, but that only made her more angry still. She said that my life had been a disgrace to our family, that I must not mention your name, that I must speak as though I had just left the convent. Then I, too, lost my temper. I said that I would not go to Illghera. I did not want to see my grandfather, or any of my relations. They had left me alone so many years that now I could do without them altogether. She never interrupted me. She looked at me all the time with a still, cold smile. When I had finished she said only, 'We shall see,' and she left me alone. They brought me food, and after I had taken some of it I was ill. After that everything seemed like a dream. I simply moved about as they told me, and I did not seem to care much what happened. Then in Paris Adelaide came into my room. She brought me some chocolate, and she told me that you were near. I think that I should have died but for her. I began to listen to what they said. I found out that they never meant to take me to Illghera. It was the convent all the time. Adelaide brought me more chocolate, and kissed me. Then I made up my mind to fight. I would not take their food. I told myself all the time that I was not ill--I would not be ill. That is why I was able to look out for you, to strike at the Baron when he tried to shoot you, and to walk by myself. Arnold, why does my aunt hate me so?" I did not answer her, for even as she talked her voice grew fainter and fainter, and in a moment or two she was in a dead sleep. Her head fell upon my shoulder, her hand rested in mine. So she remained until we reached the outskirts of Paris. Then the noise of passing vehicles, and the altered motion of the car over the large cobble-stones woke her. She pressed my arm. "I am safe, Arnold?" she murmured, with a shade of anxiety still in her tone. "Quite," I assured her. In a few moments we turned into the Rue de St. Antoine and drew up before Monsieur Feurgeres' house. In the hall we met Tobain. I could see that she had been weeping, and her tone, as she took me a little on one side, was full of anxiety. "Monsieur," she murmured, "I am afraid----" I stopped her. "The young lady first," I said. "She has been ill. Where shall I take her?" She threw open the door of the dining-room. A small round table, elegantly appointed, was spread with such a supper as Feurgeres knew well how to order. There was a gold foiled bottle, flowers, salads and fruits. Tobain nodded vigorously as she drew up a chair for Isobel. "It was Monsieur himself who ordered everything," she exclaimed. "He was so particular that everything should be of the best, and the wine he fetched himself." "Where is Monsieur Feurgeres?" I asked, struck by some note of hidden feeling in her tone. "I will take you to him," she answered, "if Mademoiselle will wait here." In the hall she no longer concealed her fears. "Monsieur," she said, "I am afraid. Soon after you had left, and the master had given his orders for the supper, he called me to him. He was standing before the door of Madame's chamber, the room which it is not permitted to enter, and his hands and arms were full of flowers. He had been to the florists himself, I knew, for there were more than usual. 'Tobain,' he said, 'always, as you know, I lock the door of this room when I enter. To-day I shall not do so. But you must understand that no one is permitted to enter but my friend, Mr. Arnold Greatson, who will return this evening. Those are my orders, Tobain.' 'But, Monsieur, dejeuner?' 'Remember, Tobain--Mr. Arnold Greatson only.' Then I caught a glimpse of his face, Monsieur, and I was afraid. I have been afraid ever since. It was the face of a young man, so brilliant, so eager. I was at my master's marriage, and the look was there then. He went in and he closed the door, and since then, Monsieur, I have heard no sound, and many hours have passed. Monsieur will please enter quickly." For myself, I shared, too, Tobain's nameless apprehensions. I left her, and knocked softly at the door. There was no answer. So I entered. The room was in darkness, but the opening of the door touched a spring under the carpet, and several heavily-shaded electric lamps filled the apartment with a soft dim light. Monsieur Feurgeres was sitting opposite to me, his eyes closed, a faint smile upon his lips. He had the air of a man who slept with a good conscience, and whose dreams were of the pleasantest. Close drawn to his was another chair, against which he leaned somewhat, and over the arm of which one hand was stretched, resting gently upon the soft mass of deep pink roses, whose perfume made fragrant the whole room. I spoke to him. "Monsieur Feurgeres," I cried, "it is done. I have brought Isobel. She is here." There was no answer. Had I, indeed, expected any, I could almost have believed that the smile, so light and delicate a thing, which quivered upon his pale lips, deepened a little as I spoke. But that, of course, was fancy, for Monsieur Feurgeres had won his heart's desire. Softly, and with fingers which felt almost sacrilegious, I broke off one of the blossoms with which the empty chair was laden, and with it in my hands I went back to Isobel. _ |
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