by J. C. Snaith
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE CREATURES OF PERRAULT
Half paralysed as were the physical senses, there was a magic in thewords. Involuntarily, scarcely knowing what I did, I helped to unloosethe horses. I saw others climb into their saddles; with a littlefriendly help I got into mine.
In the growing light of the dawn, we started at a gentle pace towardsthe old and quaint and many-gabled city. Yet it was still too dark tosee who precisely was of our company. We came to the bridge, andhalted while Fitz gave the password at the gate. Suspicious eyes werecast upon him, but they let us through.
At the farther gate Fitz gave the password again. There was a littledelay, in the course of which Fitz spoke in a jovial manner with thecorporal of infantry. Finally another gold piece changed owners, andthen we were allowed to pass on to the open country.
Without having to fire a shot, we had got clear of the city. As yet Iknew nothing of what had happened during the hours of my suspense, butI was able to make out in the dim light that two of another sex hadaugmented our company. One riding by the side of Fitz had a familiaroutline; the other, an unknown lady, was accommodated somewhatinsecurely in front of the saddle of Joseph Jocelyn De Vere.
As we turned towards the mountain road there came the booming of a gunacross the turbulent water of the Maravina.
"They are awake at last," said a gruff voice at my elbow. The ChiefConstable seemed very weary and very grim.
Hard and straight we rode through the comparatively easy country to theinn at the head of the pass of Ryhgo. We had to be content with achange of horses here; there was not time to allow of anything elsebeyond a cup of spiced wine.
In broad daylight the pass of Ryhgo was shorn of many of its terrors.But as we rode above the lake the path was so narrow and its turns sosharp that care was still necessary. Happily the wind was now dead.
Even now I was hardly in a state to realise what had occurred. Thestrain upon my mind was still acute; my faculties seemed to have gotout of control.
"We had wonderful luck." The voice of the Chief Constable soundedremote and meaningless. "It was a devil of a climb up that rock, andI'll lay odds that we should never have got to the top at all, if Fitzhadn't remembered a secret stairway that led right into the heart ofthe place. Either the burghers of Blaenau had forgotten all about itor they didn't know of its existence. But Fitz remembered it all rightas soon as he happened to see the hole in the rock. When we got in, itwas as black as the tomb, except for Fitz's lantern.
"It was a poisonous journey up an interminable flight of winding stonesteps. It took us quite an hour to come to the end. And then we foundourselves confronted by a door of solid oak, which was three partsrotten. It took us another hour to cut through that, and Fitz'slantern went out and we had to keep striking matches. I shall neverforget that hour in the dark until my dying day. And when we gotthrough that infernal door at last, where do you suppose we foundourselves?"
"I cannot say," I said, dreamily, with a vague eye upon the blackwaters of the lake below.
"Behind the tapestry of the King's bedroom. A marvellous piece ofluck! It is a strange providence that watches over some things. Andthere we waited in the darkness, with our hands on our weapons, whileFitz made his way to the Princess, and he brought her and her woman tous, and we got clear away without disturbing a soul."
"A wonderful and an incredible story!"
I began to have a fear that I might pitch from my horse. But we gotthrough the fell pass of Ryhgo at last, and by three o'clock thatafternoon were in the presence of food and shelter and security in thehostelry a mile beyond the frontier. Thereupon a mute prayer passed upto heaven from the still shuddering soul of a married man, a father ofa family, and a county member.
The unknown lady whom Jodey had borne so gallantly upon his saddlethrough the perilous mountain passes was none other than the CountessEtta von Zweidelheim, that lover of Schubert, that charming interpreterof Schumann who had made herself responsible for the statement that ourmemorable evening at the Embassy was "petter than Offenbach."
Even when she was lifted cold, hungry and desperately fatigued from thesaddle of her cavalier, she was inclined to laugh; and we were able toraise among us a sort of hollow echo of her mirth when we observed thesolemnity with which my relation by marriage escorted her to the stoveand chafed her bloodless hands to restore the circulation.
The somewhat formal, perhaps slightly embarrassed nature of ourlaughter did not fail, even in these circumstances, of its customaryappeal to her Royal Highness. Her own, however, unloosed a thousandmemories which I shall carry to the grave, and perhaps beyond.
"Aha, _les Anglais_!" There was a maternal indulgence in the gaunteyes. "_Tres bons enfants!_" Her voice was low, canorous, quaintlycaressing. "_Tres bons enfants!_"
Suddenly she turned and gave both her hands to me. Lightly my lipstouched the frozen fingers. For an instant my eyes were upon thestrange pallor of her face; and then they met in a kind of challengethe sunken brilliancy which gave it life.
"The creatures of Perrault, ma'am," I said, rather hysterically.
THE END
LONDON: HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 1912.