The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  THE SUMMONS

  With the morning came a general feeling of relief. The Vicar was almostjocose, and Mrs. Lorimer made timid attempts to be mirthful though theparting with her children sorely tried her fortitude.

  The boys' spirits were subdued, but they burst forth uproariously as soonas the station-cab was well outside the gate. Ronald and Julian cheeredthemselves hoarse, and Pat scuttled off to the back of the house torelease Mike from his chain to participate in the great rejoicing.

  There was no disguising the fact that everyone was pleased--everyoneexcept Olive who went away to her father's study which had been leftin her especial charge, and locked herself in for a morning ofundisturbed reading.

  Avery could not feel joyful. The thought of Piers was still with hercontinually. She had heard so little of him--merely that he had followedhis grandfather to the grave supported by the old family solicitor fromWardenhurst, Lennox Tudor, and a miscellaneous throng of neighbours; thathe had borne himself without faltering, and had gone back to his solitudewith no visible sign of suffering. Only indirectly had she heard this,and she yearned to know more.

  She knew that like herself he was practically devoid of relatives,--thelast of his race,--a figure of splendid isolation that would appeal tomany. She knew that as a wealthy and unmarried baronet, he would begreatly sought after and courted; made much of by the whole county, andhalf London as well. He was so handsome, so romantic, so altogethereligible in every way. Was it for this that he had left that note ofhers unanswered? Did he think that now that his horizon had widened thenearer haven was hardly worth attaining? Above all, if he decided totake that which she had so spontaneously offered, would it satisfy him?Would he be content therewith? Had she not done better to have waitedtill he came again to ask of her that which she had till the day of hisbereavement withheld?

  It was useless to torture herself with such questionings. Because of herpromise to the dead, she had acted, and she could now but await theresult of her action. If he never answered,--well, she would understand.

  So passed yet another day of silence.

  She was busy with the household accounts that night which Mrs. Lorimer inher woe had left in some confusion, and they kept her occupied till longafter the children had gone to bed, so late indeed that the servants alsohad retired and she was left alone in the dining-room to wrestle with herdifficulties.

  She found it next to impossible to straighten out the muddle, and shecame at length reluctantly to the conclusion that it was beyond herpowers. Wondering what the Reverend Stephen would have said to such acrime, she abstracted a few shillings from her own purse and fraudulentlymade up the deficit that had vexed Mrs. Lorimer's soul.

  "I can write and tell her now that it has come right," she murmured toherself, as she rose from the table.

  It was close upon eleven o'clock. The house was shuttered and silent. Thestillness was intense; when suddenly, as she was in the act of lighting acandle, the electric bell pinged through the quiet of the night.

  She started and listened. The thought of Piers sprang instinctively toher mind. Could it be he? But surely even Piers would not come to her atthis hour! It must be some parishioner in need of help.

  She turned to answer the summons, but ere she reached the hall it wasrepeated twice, with nervous insistence. She hastened to withdraw thebolts and open the door.

  At once a voice accosted her, and a sharp pang of disappointment oranxiety, she knew not which, went through her.

  "Mrs. Denys, is she here?" it said. "May I speak with her?"

  It was the unmistakable speech of a Frenchman. By the light of thehall-lamp, Avery saw the plump, anxious face and little pointed moustacheof the speaker. He entered uninvited and stood before her.

  "Ah! But you are Mrs. Denys!" he exclaimed with relief. "_Madame_, I begthat you will pardon me! I am come to you in distress the most profound.You will listen to me, yes?"

  He regarded her with quick black eyes that both confided and besought.Avery's heart was beating in great throbs, she felt strangely breathlessand uncertain of herself.

  "Where do you come from?" she said. "Who are you?"

  But she knew the answer before it came. "I am Victor, _madame_,--VictorLagarde. I am the valet of _Monsieur Pierre_ almost since he was born. Hecalls me his _bonne_!" A brief smile touched his worried countenance andwas gone. "And now I am come to you, _madame_,--not by his desire. _Maisnon_, he does not know even that I am here. But because he is in great,great misery, and I cannot console him. I have not the power. And he isall alone--all alone. And I fear--I fear--" He broke off with eloquenthands outspread. Avery saw the tears standing in his eyes.

  She closed the door softly. "What is it?" she said. "Tell me whatyou fear!"

  He looked at her, mastering his emotion with difficulty."_Madame, Monsieur Pierre_ has sentiments the most profound. Hefeel--_passionnement_. He try to hide his sentiments from me. But me--Iknow. He sit alone in the great hall and look--and look. He sleep--neverat all. He will not even go to bed. And in the great hall is an_escritoire_, and in it a drawer." Victor's voice sank mysteriously."To-night--when he think he is alone--he open that drawer, and I seeinside. It hold a revolver, _madame_. And he look at it, touch it, andthen shake his head. But I am so afraid--so afraid. So--_enfin_--in mytrouble I come to you. You have the influence with him, is it not so? Youhave--the power to console. _Madame--chere madame_--will you not comeand speak with him for five little minutes? Just to encourage him,_madame_, in his sadness; for he is all alone!"

  The tears ran down Victor's troubled face as he made his earnest appeal.He mopped them openly, making no secret of his distress which was toopathetic to be ludicrous.

  Avery looked at him in dismay. She knew not what to say or do; and evenas she stood irresolute the hall-clock struck eleven through the silenceof the house.

  Victor watched her anxiously. "_Madame_ is married," he insinuated. "Shecan please herself, no? And _Monsieur Pierre_--"

  "Wait a minute, please!" she interrupted gently. "I want to think."

  She went to the unlatched door and stood with her face to the night. Shefelt as if a call had come to her, but somehow--for no selfishreason--she hesitated to answer. Some unknown influence held her back.

  Victor came softly up and stood close to her. "_Madame_," he said in awhisper, "I tell you a secret--I, Victor, who have known _MonsieurPierre_ from his infancy. He loves you, _madame_. He loves you much._C'est la grande passion_ which comes only once in a life--only once."

  The low words went through her, seeming to sink into her very heart. Shemade a slight, involuntary gesture as of wincing. There was something inthem that was almost more than she could bear.

  She stood motionless with the chill night air blowing in upon her, tryingto collect her thoughts, trying to bring herself to face and consider thematter before she made her decision. But it was useless. Those last wordshad awaked within her a greater force than she could control. From themoment of their utterance she was driven irresistibly, the decision wasno longer her own.

  Piers was alone. Piers loved her--wanted her. His soul cried to hersthrough the darkness. She saw him again as in her dream wrestling withthose cruel iron bars, striving with vain agony to reach her. And alldoubt went from her like a cloud.

  She turned to Victor with grey eyes shining and resolute. "Let usgo!" she said.

  She took a cloak from a peg in the hall, lowered the light, took the keyfrom the lock, and passed out into the dark.

  Victor followed her closely, softly latching the door behind him. He hadknown from the outset that the English _madame_ would not be able toresist his appeal. Was not _Monsieur Pierre_ as handsome and as desirableas though he had been a prince of the blood? He walked a pace behind her,saying no word, fully satisfied with the success of his mission.

  Avery went with swift unerring feet; yet it seemed to her afterwards asif she had moved in a dream, for only the vaguest impression of thatjourney through the
night remained with her. It was dark, but thedarkness did not hinder her. She went as if drawn irresistibly--evenagainst her will. At the back of her mind hovered the consciousness thatshe was doing a rash thing, but the woman's heart in it was too deeplystirred to care for minor considerations. The picture of Piers in hislonely hall hung ever before her, drawing her on.

  He had not sent for her. She knew now that he would not send. Yet shewent to him on winged feet. For she knew that his need of her was great.

  There was no star in the sky and the night wind moaned in the trees asthey went up the long chestnut avenue to the Abbey. The loneliness wasgreat. It folded them in on every hand. It seemed to hang like a pallabout the great dim building massed against the sky, as though the wholeplace lay beneath a spell of mourning.

  Emerging from the deep shadow of the trees, she paused for the first timein uncertainty. Victor pressed forward instantly to her side.

  "We will enter by the library, _madame_. See, I will show you the way.From there to the great hall, it is only a few steps. And you will findhim there. I leave you alone to find him."

  He led her across a dew-drenched lawn and up a flight of steps to thedoor of a conservatory which gave inwards at his touch.

  Obedient to his gesture, Avery entered. Her heart was beating hard andfast. She was conscious of a wild misgiving which had not assailed herduring all the journey thither. What if he did not want her after all?What if her coming were unwelcome?

  Silently Victor piloted her, and she could not choose but follow, thoughshe felt sick with the sudden apprehension that had sprung to life as sheleft the sleeping world outside. She seemed to be leaving her freedom,all she valued, behind her as she entered this shadowy prison. And allfor what? Her quivering heart could find no answer.

  There was a heavy scent of hothouse flowers in the air. She almostgasped for breath in the exotic fragrance of the unseen blossoms. Astrong impulse possessed her to turn and flee by the way she had come.

  "_Madame!_" It was Victor's voice, low and entreating. He had opened aninner door, and stood waiting for her.

  Had he seen her wavering resolution, she wondered? Was he trying tohasten her ere it should wholly evaporate--to close the way of escapeere she could avail herself of it? Or was he anxious solely on Piers'account--lest after all she might arrive too late?

  She could not determine, but the urgency of his whisper moved her. Shepassed him and entered the room beyond.

  It was dimly lighted by a single shaded electric lamp that illumined awriting-table. She saw that it was the ancient library of the Abbey, awonderful apartment which she knew to contain an almost pricelesscollection of old parchments. It was lined with bookshelves and had themusty smell inseparable from aged bindings.

  Victor motioned her silently to a door at the further end, but beforeeither of them could reach it there came a sudden footfall on the otherside, the handle turned sharply, and it opened.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Victor, and fell back as one caught red-handed in acrime.

  Avery stood quite motionless with her heart beating up against herthroat, and a tragic sense of trespass overwhelming her. She could notfind a single word to say, so sudden and so terrible was the ordeal. Shecould only wait in silence.

  Piers stood still as one transfixed, with eyes that blazed sleepless outof a drawn, pale face; then at length with a single snap of the fingersimperiously he dismissed Victor by the still open door.

  It closed discreetly upon the Frenchman's exit, and then only did Piersmove forward; he came to Avery, drew her to a chair, knelt mutely downbefore her, and bowed his head upon her lap.