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The King's Esquires: The Jewel of France, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 42. In The Gloomy Gallery |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY TWO. IN THE GLOOMY GALLERY Leoni was the moving spirit of the adventure of what he felt to be another daring attempt to escape; for Francis, under the influence of the medicament that he had administered, was like a puppet in his hands; while Saint Simon, big, manly, and strong, ready to draw and attack any who should bar their way, spoke no word, but followed his leader's every gesture watchfully, suggesting nothing, doing nothing save that exactly which he was told. As they stood outside the door and began to move along the corridor, the place looked so lonely and the task so ridiculously easy, that the scheming, subtle doctor's heart smote him with a feeling of remorse. It seemed to be so cruel, so cowardly, to escape and leave that brave lad, who was ready to sacrifice his life in his master's service, alone there with his despair, waiting for the discovery that would probably end with his death. "Pish!" said Leoni to himself. "What is the boy to me? Nothing more than a pawn upon the chessboard of life, one of the pieces I am using for the sake of France--France, my country, for which I have ventured this. For what is this gay butterfly? King? Yes, the King upon the chessboard, whom it is my fate to move; and where I place him, there he stays. It is I, I in my calm, grave, unobtrusive way, who am the real King of France--now nearly at the pinnacle of my ambition, or shall be when I have achieved these last moves. And yet I am not happy. It jars upon me cruelly that I should have to leave this boy. Pooh! Absurd! I will not think about him," he muttered; and then with a silent mocking laugh, "And yet what is he? Only, as I say, a pawn, which the necessities of the position force me to sacrifice." These thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain, as, grasping the King's arm with one hand, he waved the other in the air as if in the act of casting all these thoughts behind him. But he winced the more, for the thought of Denis alone there in the King's chamber clung to him and seemed to press him down. But there was stern work awaiting him, for he would not, he could not believe that their escape could be as easy as it seemed. The corridor leading to the great gallery near the King's apartment appeared perfectly deserted; neither guard nor gentleman in attendance seemed at hand to hinder their approach to the arras which hid the secret door. But he did not believe and he would not trust so impossible a state of things. Stopping suddenly close up to the panelled wall, he signed to Saint Simon to close up. "Take the King's arm," he said; "he needs support. I am going forward. If you can make me out and the signal I give, follow quickly on. But wait till I raise my hand." He walked swiftly on, almost gliding like a shadow over the wall, for his footsteps made no sound, while as he passed one candle which gave out a feeble light a curious gleam flashed from one of his eyes. The next moment he was past, and right in the King's gallery, still without seeing anything to hinder his signalling to Saint Simon, and reaching safely the spot opposite to the secret door. "If I were alone," he thought, "I have but to cross here, pass behind the arras, make my way to the riverside, and then somehow I could, I would, reach France, with my country the richer for this night's work. But there is the King," he muttered softly; "there is the King." And he pressed himself back against the tapestry, looking in his sombre garb, in the faint light of the great place, like one of the needlework figures in the hangings. But his heart was beating fast, for all at once and quite unexpected there was the sound of footsteps, so slow and measured that he knew they must be those of a sentry; and the next minute a tall figure, dimly seen, came in his measured way along the gallery, as if to pass him, while Leoni's hand slowly glided towards the hilt of his sword and clutched it fast. He held his breath and nerved himself for the cat-like leap he was prepared to make as the sentinel came abreast, for he felt that it was impossible that the man could pass him without his being seen. But to the watcher's intense astonishment the sentry stopped short in the centre of the gallery, when he was about a dozen yards away, turned upon his heel, and began to retrace his steps. Leoni on the instant judged that the man had come to the end of his beat, and if this were so the task seemed easy, for by seizing the minute when his back was turned and he was at the full extent of his monotonous tramp in the other direction, it seemed to the doctor that it would be easy to step across the gallery, raise the arras, and pass into the secret way. "One at a time," muttered Leoni; "one at a time. Easy for us; but can I make my chief piece obey me and move alone?" The disposition was upon the watcher of the sentry to glide back at once to where he had left Saint Simon and the King; but he felt that he must make sure in this crisis of the adventure before he took his next step, and he waited, closely pressed up against the tapestry, looking more than ever like an embroidered figure, as the sentry halted far down the gallery, softened by distance into a mere shadow, turned, and resumed his pacing. The task seemed harder than ever to stand pressed there against the panelling, watching the coming of the stalwart guard, and it took all the doctor's nerve and self-command to stand there so absolutely still of body, while his nerves and thoughts were moving with an intensity that literally thrilled. "Coming towards his death," said Leoni mentally, as the man came on and on, gradually ceasing to be so shadow-like and dim as he advanced. "His life or mine. His life or mine. His life or mine," something within him seemed to keep on saying, till the end of the sentry's beat appeared to be quite over-passed and he was coming nearer, so near that Leoni felt he saw him at last and the crisis was there, when the man stopped, hesitated for a moment, then began pacing back just as before--but not quite, for almost as soon as his back was turned Leoni's command over his nerves and muscles ceased, and he began to glide silently along by the tapestried panels to reach Saint Simon and the King at last. No word was spoken now but the single one "Follow," as Leoni softly took the King's hand and led him over the ground he so lately had traversed, pausing after a time as the trio came within sight of the sentry, and standing close up against the wall, to wait till the man reached his nearest point to the secret door to turn in his automaton-like fashion and begin marching back. Leoni waited till the sentry half covered the distance he had to traverse, and then led the King swiftly and silently till they were nearly opposite the panel door, to pause once more--three shadowy figures now--to wait there during the most crucial time, for the great test was now at hand. Could he trust the King to remain silent till the man turned back--if he did turn back without distinguishing that he was not alone in the gloomy gallery? But Leoni was a man of resource, and to meet this difficulty he bade Saint Simon lie down at full-length close to the wall, while he pressed the King behind the pedestal of a statue standing in a niche a few yards away. It was a great risk, but the King seemed plunged in a deep sleep, and at a time like that something had to be risked. It was the daring of the plan that carried it through, and the fact that the sentry's perceptions were dulled by habit. Hence it was that he came on, gazing introspectively and seeing nothing but his own thoughts, which were of the near approaching time when he would be relieved, and return to the guard chamber, supper, and sleep. Leoni hardly breathed as once more he watched the man come on nearer and nearer, apparently to his death, for this time Leoni softly drew the keen stiletto that he wore, and crouched ready to ensure silence and save the King if he were driven to the last extremity. But that was not to be. The man came to the full extent of his paced-out beat, turned, and marched back, while before he was half the distance to the other end the doctor had glided across the gallery, raised the arras, and pressed the boss, fully expecting to find that the door was fast; but it yielded silently, and the doctor's heart leaped as he drew in a long deep breath of cool moist air. Dropping the arras, he stood for a moment gazing after the shadowy sentry, feeling startled to see how far he was still from the end of his beat; and, acting contrary to the mode he had planned in his determination to seize this opportunity if it could be done, he glided swiftly across to where the King was standing, and caught him by the arm. "Come," he whispered, with his lips to Francis's ear, when the King yielded as if he were a portion of the speaker's self, walking with him silently till they were half across the gallery, when all at once a bright light threw up into bold relief the figure of the sentry at the far limit of his tramp, and the two fugitives stood out plainly before Saint Simon like two black silhouettes upon the distant glow. "Lost!" sighed Leoni, as, utterly unnerved, he stood tightly pressing the King's wrist, unable even to stir, but listening to the sounds of voices which came weirdly and whispering along the gallery--challenge, reply, and order of the changing guard. Before recalling the fact that the bearers of the light were hardly likely to discern them at so great a distance, he recovered himself and pressed on towards the door and raised the tapestry, when without word of direction Francis passed through, followed by Leoni, and the arras was dropped. "Saint Simon," muttered the doctor, as without closing the door he led the King onward for about a dozen yards, before returning to the open door with the intention of kneeling down to raise the hangings slightly and watch. "Must I leave him behind--another?" he muttered; and then he started, to clap his hand to his dagger again and prepare to strike, for there was a faint rustling sound from the open door and then the faintest of faint clicks, followed by the expiration of a heavy breath as from one who could contain it no longer. Leoni stood with his arm raised on high and his stiletto pointing downwards. The next moment it had dropped to his side, for from out of the darkness in front there came the whispered words: "Are you there?" "Saint Simon!" cried the doctor, not beneath his breath, for he was too much excited by his surprise to control his emotion, as he stretched out his left hand to grip his follower by the arm. "I did not expect this," he muttered. "Too dangerous to stay," said Saint Simon. "Yes, and you were right; it was bravely done." "But what about the garden door? It will be fast." "The saints forbid!" muttered Leoni. "Follow and attend the Comte. I will go on first and see." He glided on with extended hands, expecting momentarily to touch the King, but did not overtake him till the little landing was reached, where Francis was standing at the head of the flight of steps. Leoni pressed past him and began to descend, holding his master once more by the hand, which he dropped as soon as they were at the foot, and then passed on rapidly with his pulses throbbing and in a state of ungovernable excitement such as he had not felt since the commencement of the adventure. But this was of short duration. Schooled now by previous experience, Leoni ran his hand along close to the angle at the top of the wall upon his left, expecting moment by moment that it would come in contact with the ledge. He was quite right. It did, and glided into the niche, when a chill seized upon his heart and made it cease its heavy beat. The niche was empty! By the King's orders the outer door must have been locked, and they were prisoners as fast as ever, unless some other scheme could be devised. For a few brief moments Leoni gave way to despair. Then with an angry ejaculation he pressed on with extended hands, covered the few yards more that had to be passed before the door was reached, touched it, and swept his hands towards the lock, and once more no longer in full command of his faculties, he uttered a faint cry of joy. The key was in the lock. _ |
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