When Marguerite reached her room, she found her maid terribly anxiousabout her.
"Your ladyship will be so tired," said the poor woman, whose own eyeswere half closed with sleep. "It is past five o'clock."
"Ah, yes, Louise, I daresay I shall be tired presently," saidMarguerite, kindly; "but you are very tired now, so go to bed at once.I'll get into bed alone."
"But, my lady . . ."
"Now, don't argue, Louise, but go to bed. Give me a wrap, and leave mealone."
Louise was only too glad to obey. She took off her mistress's gorgeousball-dress, and wrapped her up in a soft billowy gown.
"Does your ladyship wish for anything else?" she asked, when that wasdone.
"No, nothing more. Put out the lights as you go out."
"Yes, my lady. Good-night, my lady."
"Good-night, Louise."
When the maid was gone, Marguerite drew aside the curtains and threwopen the windows. The garden and the river beyond were flooded with rosylight. Far away to the east, the rays of the rising sun had changed therose into vivid gold. The lawn was deserted now, and Marguerite lookeddown upon the terrace where she had stood a few moments ago trying invain to win back a man's love, which once had been so wholly hers.
It was strange that through all her troubles, all her anxiety forArmand, she was mostly conscious at the present moment of a keen andbitter heartache.
Her very limbs seemed to ache with longing for the love of a man whohad spurned her, who had resisted her tenderness, remained cold to herappeals, and had not responded to the glow of passion, which had causedher to feel and hope that those happy olden days in Paris were not alldead and forgotten.
How strange it all was! She loved him still. And now that she lookedback upon the last few months of misunderstandings and of loneliness,she realised that she had never ceased to love him; that deep down inher heart she had always vaguely felt that his foolish inanities, hisempty laugh, his lazy nonchalance were nothing but a mask; that the realman, strong, passionate, wilful, was there still--the man she had loved,whose intensity had fascinated her, whose personality attracted her,since she always felt that behind his apparently slow wits there wasa certain something, which he kept hidden from all the world, and mostespecially from her.
A woman's heart is such a complex problem--the owner thereof is oftenmost incompetent to find the solution of this puzzle.
Did Marguerite Blakeney, "the cleverest woman in Europe," really love afool? Was it love that she had felt for him a year ago when she marriedhim? Was it love she felt for him now that she realised that he stillloved her, but that he would not become her slave, her passionate,ardent lover once again? Nay! Marguerite herself could not have toldthat. Not at this moment at any rate; perhaps her pride had sealed hermind against a better understanding of her own heart. But this she didknow--that she meant to capture that obstinate heart back again. Thatshe would conquer once more . . . and then, that she would never lose him. . . . She would keep him, keep his love, deserve it, and cherishit; for this much was certain, that there was no longer any happinesspossible for her without that one man's love.
Thus the most contradictory thoughts and emotions rushed madly throughher mind. Absorbed in them, she had allowed time to slip by; perhaps,tired out with long excitement, she had actually closed her eyes andsunk into a troubled sleep, wherein quickly fleeting dreams seemed butthe continuation of her anxious thoughts--when suddenly she was roused,from dream or meditation, by the noise of footsteps outside her door.
Nervously she jumped up and listened; the house itself was as stillas ever; the footsteps had retreated. Through her wide-open window thebrilliant rays of the morning sun were flooding her room with light. Shelooked up at the clock; it was half-past six--too early for any of thehousehold to be already astir.
She certainly must have dropped asleep, quite unconsciously. The noiseof the footsteps, also of hushed subdued voices had awakened her--whatcould they be?
Gently, on tip-toe, she crossed the room and opened the door to listen;not a sound--that peculiar stillness of the early morning when sleepwith all mankind is at its heaviest. But the noise had made her nervous,and when, suddenly, at her feet, on the very doorstep, she saw somethingwhite lying there--a letter evidently--she hardly dared touch it. Itseemed so ghostlike. It certainly was not there when she came upstairs;had Louise dropped it? or was some tantalising spook at play, showingher fairy letters where none existed?
At last she stooped to pick it up, and, amazed, puzzled beyond measure,she saw that the letter was addressed to herself in her husband's large,businesslike-looking hand. What could he have to say to her, in themiddle of the night, which could not be put off until the morning?
She tore open the envelope and read:--
"A most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for the Northimmediately, so I beg your ladyship's pardon if I do not avail myself ofthe honour of bidding you good-bye. My business may keep me employed forabout a week, so I shall not have the privilege of being present atyour ladyship's water-party on Wednesday. I remain your ladyship's mosthumble and most obedient servant, PERCY BLAKENEY."
Marguerite must suddenly have been imbued with her husband's slownessof intellect, for she had perforce to read the few simple lines over andover again, before she could fully grasp their meaning.
She stood on the landing, turning over and over in her hand this curtand mysterious epistle, her mind a blank, her nerves strained withagitation and a presentiment she could not very well have explained.
Sir Percy owned considerable property in the North, certainly, and hehad often before gone there alone and stayed away a week at a time; butit seemed so very strange that circumstances should have arisen betweenfive and six o'clock in the morning that compelled him to start in thisextreme hurry.
Vainly she tried to shake off an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness:she was trembling from head to foot. A wild, unconquerable desireseized her to see her husband again, at once, if only he had not alreadystarted.
Forgetting the fact that she was only very lightly clad in a morningwrap, and that her hair lay loosely about her shoulders, she flew downthe stairs, right through the hall towards the front door.
It was as usual barred and bolted, for the indoor servants were not yetup; but her keen ears had detected the sound of voices and the pawing ofa horse's hoof against the flag-stones.
With nervous, trembling fingers Marguerite undid the bolts one by one,bruising her hands, hurting her nails, for the locks were heavy andstiff. But she did not care; her whole frame shook with anxiety at thevery thought that she might be too late; that he might have gone withouther seeing him and bidding him "God-speed!"
At last, she had turned the key and thrown open the door. Her ears hadnot deceived her. A groom was standing close by holding a couple ofhorses; one of these was Sultan, Sir Percy's favourite and swiftesthorse, saddled ready for a journey.
The next moment Sir Percy himself appeared round the further cornerof the house and came quickly towards the horses. He had changed hisgorgeous ball costume, but was as usual irreproachably and richlyapparelled in a suit of fine cloth, with lace jabot and ruffles, hightop-boots, and riding breeches.
Marguerite went forward a few steps. He looked up and saw her. A slightfrown appeared between his eyes.
"You are going?" she said quickly and feverishly. "Whither?"
"As I have had the honour of informing your ladyship, urgent, mostunexpected business calls me to the North this morning," he said, in hisusual cold, drawly manner.
"But . . . your guests to-morrow . . ."
"I have prayed your ladyship to offer my humble excuses to His RoyalHighness. You are such a perfect hostess, I do not think I shall bemissed."
"But surely you might have waited for your journey . . . until afterour water-party . . ." she said, still speaking quickly and nervously."Surely this business is not so urgent . . . and you said nothing aboutit--just now."
"My business, as I h
ad the honour to tell you, Madame, is as unexpectedas it is urgent. . . . May I therefore crave your permission to go.. . . Can I do aught for you in town? . . . on my way back?"
"No . . . no . . . thanks . . . nothing . . . But you will be back soon?"
"Very soon."
"Before the end of the week?"
"I cannot say."
He was evidently trying to get away, whilst she was straining everynerve to keep him back for a moment or two.
"Percy," she said, "will you not tell me why you go to-day? Surely I, asyour wife, have the right to know. You have NOT been called away to theNorth. I know it. There were no letters, no couriers from there beforewe left for the opera last night, and nothing was waiting for you whenwe returned from the ball. . . . You are NOT going to the North, I feelconvinced. . . . There is some mystery . . . and . . ."
"Nay, there is no mystery, Madame," he replied, with a slight tone ofimpatience. "My business has to do with Armand . . . there! Now, have Iyour leave to depart?"
"With Armand? . . . But you will run no danger?"
"Danger? I? . . . Nay, Madame, your solicitude does me honour. As yousay, I have some influence; my intention is to exert it before it be toolate."
"Will you allow me to thank you at least?"
"Nay, Madame," he said coldly, "there is no need for that. My life is atyour service, and I am already more than repaid."
"And mine will be at yours, Sir Percy, if you will but accept it, inexchange for what you do for Armand," she said, as, impulsively, shestretched out both her hands to him. "There! I will not detain you. . . my thoughts go with you . . . Farewell! . . ."
How lovely she looked in this morning sunlight, with her ardent hairstreaming around her shoulders. He bowed very low and kissed her hand;she felt the burning kiss and her heart thrilled with joy and hope.
"You will come back?" she said tenderly.
"Very soon!" he replied, looking longingly into her blue eyes.
"And . . . you will remember? . . ." she asked as her eyes, in responseto his look, gave him an infinity of promise.
"I will always remember, Madame, that you have honoured me by commandingmy services."
The words were cold and formal, but they did not chill her this time.Her woman's heart had read his, beneath the impassive mask his pridestill forced him to wear.
He bowed to her again, then begged her leave to depart. She stood on oneside whilst he jumped on to Sultan's back, then, as he galloped out ofthe gates, she waved him a final "Adieu."
A bend in the road soon hid him from view; his confidential groom hadsome difficulty in keeping pace with him, for Sultan flew along inresponse to his master's excited mood. Marguerite, with a sigh that wasalmost a happy one, turned and went within. She went back to her room,for suddenly, like a tired child, she felt quite sleepy.
Her heart seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and, though itstill ached with undefined longing, a vague and delicious hope soothedit as with a balm.
She felt no longer anxious about Armand. The man who had just riddenaway, bent on helping her brother, inspired her with complete confidencein his strength and in his power. She marvelled at herself for havingever looked upon him as an inane fool; of course, THAT was a mask wornto hide the bitter wound she had dealt to his faith and to his love. Hispassion would have overmastered him, and he would not let her see howmuch he still cared and how deeply he suffered.
But now all would be well: she would crush her own pride, humble itbefore him, tell him everything, trust him in everything; and thosehappy days would come back, when they used to wander off together in theforests of Fontainebleau, when they spoke little--for he was always asilent man--but when she felt that against that strong heart she wouldalways find rest and happiness.
The more she thought of the events of the past night, the less fear hadshe of Chauvelin and his schemes. He had failed to discover the identityof the Scarlet Pimpernel, of that she felt sure. Both Lord Fancourtand Chauvelin himself had assured her that no one had been inthe dining-room at one o'clock except the Frenchman himself andPercy--Yes!--Percy! she might have asked him, had she thought of it!Anyway, she had no fears that the unknown and brave hero would fall inChauvelin's trap; his death at any rate would not be at her door.
Armand certainly was still in danger, but Percy had pledged his wordthat Armand would be safe, and somehow, as Marguerite had seen himriding away, the possibility that he could fail in whatever he undertooknever even remotely crossed her mind. When Armand was safely over inEngland she would not allow him to go back to France.
She felt almost happy now, and, drawing the curtains closely togetheragain to shut out the piercing sun, she went to bed at last, laidher head upon the pillow, and, like a wearied child, soon fell into apeaceful and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER XVIII THE MYSTERIOUS DEVICE
The Scarlet Pimpernel Page 17