CHAPTER XXVIII
THE SEQUEL OF THE COMEDY
Mirrab, during that very brief drama in which she herself had played thechief role, had vainly tried to collect her scattered wits. For the lastfew hours two noble gentlemen, one of whom wore gorgeous purple robes,had been plying her with wine and with promises that she should see theDuke of Wessex if she agreed to answer to the name of "Lady Ursula,"seeing that His Grace never spoke to any one under the rank of a lady.
A clever and simple trick, which readily deceived this uneducated,half-crazy wench, whose life had been spent in gipsy booths, and whoseintellect had long been quashed by the constant struggle for existence,which mostly consisted of senseless and fantastic exhibitions designedfor the delectation of ignorant yokels.
She liked the idea of being called "my lady" even when it was done inmockery, and was delighted at the thought of appearing in this new guisebefore the Duke of Wessex, for whom she had entertained a curious andpassionate adoration ever since the dramatic episode of Molesey Fair.She liked still more the voluptuous garments which she was bidden todon, and was ready enough to concede to the young foreigner who thusembellished her, any favours which he chose to demand.
That had been her training, poor soul! her calling in life--a vulgartrickster by day, a wanton by night. Do not be too hard in yourjudgment, mistress! she knew nothing of home, very little of kindred;born in the gutter, her ambition did not soar beyond good food and alittle money to spend.
The Duke of Wessex had saved her life; she was proud of that, and sincethat day she had had a burning ambition to see him again. She had hopedthat a warning from the stars would prove a certain passport to hispresence, but His Eminence the Cardinal and the other young gentlemanhad assured her that a noble name would alone lead her to him.
Thus she had been content to wait a few hours: the wine was good and theforeigner not too exacting. After awhile she had dropped to sleep likesome tired animal, curled up on a rug on the floor. The clash of armshad roused her, and finding that every door yielded to her touch, sheran out, in eager curiosity to see whence came the sound. Her first cry,on seeing that strange moonlit combat, was one of sheer terror; then sherecognized Wessex, and gave him a cry of warning.
But the wine which she had drunk had made her head heavy. She would haveliked to go to the Duke, but the room seemed to be whirling unpleasantlyaround her. Ere she had time to utter another word the young foreignerhad roughly seized her wrist and dragged her away. She was too weak toresist him, and was reluctantly compelled to follow his lead. The nextmoment he had closed the door on her, and she knew nothing more.
Excitement had somewhat dazed her, but a moment or two later shepartially recovered and collected her scattered senses. She put her earto the door and tried to listen, but she could hear nothing. Behind herwas the corridor, out of which opened several doors, one of these beingthe one which gave into the room wherein she had been confined the wholeevening. Not a sound came from there either. There was not a sign of mylord Cardinal.
Once more she tried the handle of the big door in front of her: ityielded, and she found herself back in the room where the fight had justtaken place. The moonlight still streamed in through the open window.She could not see into the corners of the great hall, but straight infront of her was another massive door, exactly similar to the one inwhich she stood.
The room itself seemed empty. Wessex had gone, and she had not spoken tohim. That was the one great thought which detached itself from theturmoil which was going on in her brain. The door opposite fascinatedher. Perhaps he had gone through there. Nay! surely so, for it almostseemed to her as if she could hear that strange, bitter laugh of hisstill echoing in the distance.
She ran across the room, fearful lest he should disappear altogether ereshe could get to him. But even before she reached the door she felt herarm seized, her body dragged violently back. By the light of the moon,which fell full on him, she recognized the young foreign lord.
He had summarily placed himself before her, and he held her wrist in atight grip.
"Let me go!" she murmured hoarsely.
"No!"
"I _will_ go to him!"
"You cannot!"
He spoke from between his teeth, as if in a fury of rage or fear, shecould not tell which, but as she, poor soul, had never inspired terrorin any one she quaked before his rage.
Just then she heard, as if in the room beyond, a few footsteps, then acall: "Come, Harry!" and after that the opening and shutting of adistant door. It was the Duke of Wessex going again, somewhere whereperhaps she could not find him again, and here was this man standingbetween her and the object of her adoration.
With a vigorous jerk she freed herself from Don Miguel's grasp.
"Have a care, man, have a care," she said in a low, trembling voice, inwhich a suppressed passion seemed suddenly to vibrate. "Let me pass, or. . ."
"Silence, wench!" commanded Don Miguel. "Another word and I call theguard and have thee whipped as a disturber of the peace."
She started as if stung with the very lash with which he so callouslythreatened her. The fumes of wine and of excitement were being slowlyexpelled from her dull brain. A vague sense of bitter wrong crept intoher heart; her own native shrewdness--the shrewdness of the countrywench--made her dimly realize that she had been fooled: how and for whatpurpose she could not yet comprehend.
She pushed the tangled hair from her forehead, mechanically readjustingher cumbersome garments, then she stepped close up to the youngSpaniard; she crossed her arms over her breast and looked him boldly inthe eyes.
"Soho! my fine lord!" she said, speaking with a strange and patheticeffort at calmness, "that's it, is it? . . . and do ye take me for afool, that I do not see through your tricks? . . . You and thatpurple-robed hypocrite there wanted to make use of me . . . you cajoledme with soft words . . . promises . . . what? . . . Bah! you tricked me,I say, do you hear?" she added with ever-increasing vehemence, "trickedme that you might trick him. . . . With all your talks of Ursula andLady . . . the devil alone knows what ye wanted. . . . Well! you've hadyour way . . . he looked on me as he would on a plague-stricken cur. . . mangy and dirty. . . . Was that what ye wanted? . . . You've hadyour will . . . are ye satisfied . . . what more do ye want of me?"
Don Miguel, much astonished at this unexpected outburst of passion,gazed at her with a sneer, then he shrugged his shoulders and saidcoldly--
"Nothing, wench! His Grace of Wessex does not desire thy company, and Icannot allow thee to molest him. If thou'lt depart in peace, there'll bea well-filled purse for thee . . . if not . . . the whip, my girl . . .the whip . . . understand!"
"I will not go!" she repeated with dogged obstinacy. "I'll not . . .I'll not . . . I'll see him just once . . . he was good to me. . . . Ilove his beautiful face and his kind, white hands; I want to kiss them.. . . I'll not go . . . I'll not . . . till I've kissed them. . . . Sodo not stand in my way, fine sir . . . but let me get to him. . . ."
The obstinate desire, half a mania now, had grown upon her with thiswanton thwarting of her wishes. A wholly unfettered passion seethed inher, half made up of hatred against this man who had fooled her andcaused her to be spurned with unutterable contempt by Wessex.
"I'll give thee three minutes in which to get sober, my wench!" remarkedDon Miguel placidly. "After that, take heed. . . ."
He laughed a long, cruel laugh, and looked at her with an evil leer, upand down.
"After that thou'lt go," he said slowly and significantly, "but not inpeace. The Palace watch have a heavy hand . . . three men to give theeten lashes each . . . till thy shoulders bleed, wench . . . aye! I'llhave thee whipped till thou die under it . . . so go now or . . ."
He looked so evil, so threatening, so full of baffled rage, thatinstinctively she drew back a few steps away from him, into the gloom.. . . As she did so her foot knocked against something on the floor,whilst the sharp point of some instrument of steel penetrated throughthe thin soles of her shoes.<
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She had enough presence of mind, enough determination, enough deadlyhatred of him, not to give forth one sound; but when he, almost overcomewith his own furious passion, had paused awhile and turned from her, shestooped very quickly and picked up that thing which had struck her foot.It was an unsheathed dagger.
Silently, surreptitiously, she hid it within the folds of her gown,whilst keeping a tight grip on its handle with her clenched right hand.Now she felt safe, and sure of herself and of ultimate success.
Don Miguel, seeing how quiet she had become, heaved a sigh of relief.For one moment he had had the fear that she meant to create a scandal,attract the guard with her screams, bring spectators upon the scene, andthus expose the whole despicable intrigue which had just been sosuccessfully carried through.
But now she was standing quite rigid and mute, half hidden by the gloom,evidently terrorized by the cruel threats hurled against her.
"Well, which is it to be, wench," said the young man more calmly, "thepurse of gold or the whipping-post?"
She did not reply at once, and a strange, almost awesome silence fellupon the scene. Not a sound from any portion of the Palace, even fromthe gardens and terraces, beyond the night watchman's call had ceased toecho, only from far, very far away beyond the river and the distantmeadows the melancholy hooting of an owl broke the intense stillness ofthe place.
Then the woman began to speak, slowly at first, very calmly, and in avoice deep and low, like the sound of muffled thunder, growing louderand louder, more violent, more passionate as she worked herself up intoa very whirlwind of fury.
"Powers of Hell!" she said, "grant me patience! Man, listen. Ye don'tunderstand me. . . . I am not one of your fine Court ladies, who simpersand trips along arrayed in silken kirtle. . . . I am called Mirrab, awitch, d'ye hear? . . . a witch who knows naught about the law, and theguard, nor about queens and richly dressed lords. The Duke of Wessexsaved my life . . . and I want to go to him. . . . Do ye let me go.. . . What is it to ye if I see him? . . . Do ye let me go. . . ."
Her voice broke into a sob of agonized entreaty and baffled desire.
"Shall I call the guard?" rejoined Don Miguel coldly.
She was now quite close to him, he, still between her and the door whichshe wished to reach, was half turned away from her, in obviousimpatience, and looking at her over his shoulder with a sneer and acruel frown.
"Do ye let me go!" she entreated once more.
For sole answer he made pretence at calling the guard.
"What ho there! the guard! What ho!"
But the last sound broke in a death rattle. Even as he spoke Mirrab hadthrust the dagger with all her might between his shoulders. He fellforward on the floor, whilst with one last gasp of agony he called uponthe man whom he had so deeply wronged.
"A moi! . . . Wessex! . . . I die! . . . A moi! . . ."
And the silvery moon, who had just gazed on so placidly whilst humanpassions ran riot in this vast audience chamber, who had shed her poeticlight on hatred, revenge, and lust, suddenly veiled her brilliant face:the room was plunged in total darkness as the Marquis de Suarez breathedhis last.
The Tangled Skein Page 29